The drunken chronicles.

Just had vials and vials of blood taken from me today for my annual assessment. If you remember last year, I passed with flying colours, so I’m hoping that I’ll do as spectacularly as before. I’ll probably get the results tomorrow, so there’s nothing I can do but to wait.

Since we’re just hanging around with nary a thing to do, maybe I should share some embarrassing stories to keep from scaring myself.

So I went out with the boys about a month back, and you know how rowdy we always end up. We previously went for drunken karaoke and it was so much fun. Therefore, we decided that drunken anything was the way to go. And that’s how we decided on drunken bowling. We met up for pre-bowling drinks, and as usual, I got bullied. They both claimed that they had drinks during dinner, so it was only right for me to catch up.

So within a span of half an hour, I gulped down three pints of beer because we found out that the bowling alley only sells alcohol till 10.30pm (it’s some lame restriction laws that we have about consuming alcohol in public spaces). We rushed down in a cab and was running around trying to locate the bowling alley a lá The Amazing Race. We made it with three minutes to spare.

Bought $100 worth of beer (about 18 cans) and we were ready to rumble. After 10pm, the alley transformed into disco nights, with loud, party music and trippy lights.

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And then we drank and bowled, and drank and bowled. And somehow, I got so massively drunk in the process that I fell to my knees while going for it. I think being drunk is a good thing because even though I felt the pain, it was somehow cushioned. Because when I woke up the next morning, I nearly passed out.

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I remember going for supper after that, because I splattered fish curry on my new shirt while trying to rip that damned piece of prata apart. I also remember myself in a cab, and how when the driver dropped me off, he was being all leery and pervish and asking me to go for drinks, but at that time, the only place still open was his home or something.

I’m so thankful that my alarm bells and auto pilot mode still works even when I’m in a drunken state. Like, I’m so amazed I even managed to shower and put on my pajamas the right way.

Sometimes, I think “I’m too old to be getting so smashed. Behave your age!”, but then I’ll usually go, fuck it. It’s something I still enjoy doing once in a while, and I still have company to want to do silly shit with me, so I better cherish whatever time we still are up for this.

Our next outing is happening in June in a foreign land (just our neighbour’s land) to celebrate K’s birthday in advance. I have visions of The Hangover. Be scared, be very scared.

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Our final tally for the night. Obviously I’m not as good as I thought I was. And ps, the name is actually Jones, the lady at the counter obviously couldn’t hear over the loud, thumping music.

xoxoxoxo.

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