All the Parties!

This has been one of those Reading Weeks that involved little-to-no reading. For the citizens of the Hallmarkian  Empire, Valentine's Day reared its vicious, consumer-focused head. Immediately following it was my birthday, more a product of my parents than Hallmark. Cue the parties.

Monday
The day before the V-Bomb hit, a group of friends and I got together for some drinks. We called it Anti-Valentine's Day. It's not a unique event, but our way of sticking it to the man was certainly more enjoyable than the Dreaded Singles of us sitting at home alone, albeit eradicating dragons and whatnot in Skyrim. Instead, we played Truth or Dare.

How horribly 1990s adolescents of us. Of course, ours was a 21st Century version: it was done using a Truth or Dare App. Society, you have lost your ability to exploit your friends and colleagues darkest secrets with the invention of Apps. Nonetheless, we did manage to have a lot of fun, while drinking too much and eating too much. Sure it's Anti-Valentine's Day; it'd be rude not to.

Tuesday
Tackling the Hallmarkian Empire once again, I settled into a day-long session of bitterness and banter with the Drama Society. Most of us are part of the Dreaded Singles, the Empire's biggest foes. For some, it's for lack of trying. For others, lack of interest. I don't know what to say about the rest. Heck, I'm not even sure where I fall in that system.

Regardless of whether we were a Dreaded Single or a Hopeless Romantic, we gathered around, chatted a lot, and ordered pizza. This was before the alcohol later that night, with which the Hopeless Romantic Singles drowned their sorrows. We piled into a car called Fearghus and drove to the off-licence, bought just enough alcohol that our livers wouldn't hate us for a week, and headed off to a house with two Hopeless Romantics, lots of bitterness and an attention seeking kitten.

A bottle of Captain Morgan's later - shared with a friend - I stumbled home. Actually, I got a taxi home, but Anti-Valentine's Day Part II ended, for me, at 3am. It was officially my birthday.

Wednesday
With my birthday on top of me - a heavy 21 years - we had some friends down at the house. I hadn't really planned on them coming down. One of them said to me before my brother did. Oh well! I still got to have people down.

Keep in mind I was tired at this point, but I was surviving on chocolate and awesome home-made burgers by my older brother. Hallmark got nothing out of my friends, but Forbidden Planet got themselves a lot of business. I had a few small presents, while my brother got a bag; the fun part was when I was pulling vouchers and money out of my gift bag and he could just sit there watching until I was done. Then they handed him his vouchers. Those kidders!

I suddenly regret sounding so 1970s American. Let's move on.

I spent this party sober, partially to give my liver a break, and partially to save myself some money. We watched The Breakfast Club, one of my favourite films of all time. After that, we played yet more Truth or Dare. With an App. I ought to ban that App. It was a good night, anyway, even if I was about ready to pass out from exhaustion from the day.

Friday
Yes, I skipped Friday. It was DnD day, not a party. This was the big day of the week, with the actual arranged 21st birthday party. I sat in the pub for over two hours waiting for the majority of my friends to arrive. In fairness, my secondary school friends and two girls I worked with made the effort to arrive earlier, but I wasn't drinking with them.

That was when the Drama Society, the first group of friends (and the same crowd from Wednesday) and my Meath friend arrived, all within ten minutes of each other. It was also when I lost control of when I was getting drinks (though I didn't have to pay for any myself previously.) The Meath Man covered the costs, and damn near did my liver in in the process. The result was that I struggled to stand up without leading against something and my face went numb.

I call that a success.

A group of us went back to my house afterwards, already heavily intoxicated. The Mammy and the Daddy had already set out drinks, which were hastily tucked in to by a number of the group. I avoided further alcohol at this point, and resolved to having what one of the girls calls a DMC with the Meath Man while he drank and smoked. I couldn't stand for most of it. I literally had to pick my moments wisely and appropriately, before collapsing back onto my seat (which was actually a sleeper in the garden).

I managed to walk around again after some time and a little encouragement, and two hours later the guests were leaving. Those two hours involved a number of broken glasses, lots of alcohol consumption, the breaking of a flower pot, a tour of the house (minus the bedrooms that aren't mine), more DMCs and a few falling people.

Le Conclusion
Overall, a successful week. But no study or reading done. Still, I think part of my education process involves having friends and having four parties in a week at least once. Further conclusions that can be drawn from the experience? My friends are crazy, my liver doesn't hate me, I can survive partying better than I first thought and I definitely want to continue living my life to the full.

And there you have it, my summary of all the parties!

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This blog post was brought to you by the letter H, for Half-Assed Hangover. I'm tired, my stomach feels funny (I can't tell if I'm hungry or full!) but I don't have a headache or any of the other features of a hangover. My body really doesn't like trying too hard, does it?

Nuggets of Info - Alcohol

For me, alcohol is a seldom touched substance. I used to never drink it at all. I had my confirmation vow and an unofficial status as a pioneer. I never actually became one. I was nineteen when I had my first taste of alcohol. Not much has happened since in that field. I can literally recall ever time I drank alcohol. In order.

The first drink was a sip of punch with the wonderful title of Purple Pussy. You really can't get a funnier name for a drink when you're texting someone telling them how much you like a person's drink, purposely failing to mention that it is a drink. I'll let you figure that one out on your own.

After that, sometime later, I had a vodka and orange and something I can only describe as filth. It was the end result of a game of Kings. A horrid mix of all sorts of stuff. I downed it quickly. As we were leaving, we had shots of Micky Finns. I didn't touch another drink that night.

Following that was the Jager Bomb incident. I say incident... I had a Jager Bomb. My first one. It was bought for me. I drank it. I didn't drink anything else that night. I danced with my drunk friend and had a pretty good night out.

Come November, I went out for a friend's birthday. I tasted several people's drinks: beer that tasted like piss, beer that tasted like piss and vomit, Bacardi (dangerous stuff! Far too easy to drink!), Guinness (I'm told one needs to drink more than a sip to appreciate it...), Bulmers, and finally Captain Morgan's and Coke. I settled on the last one. I had one for myself.

A week or two later, there was a table quiz. I got one drink that night that lasted several hours. A single glass of Captain Morgan's and Coke.

New Year's Eve, I drank with my family. I had two or three drinks. Not enough to get even slightly drunk, because that was over the space of several hours. All three were the Captain.

February: my birthday. I got drunk. Between quite a few drinks courtesy of the Captain and a couple of shots of Micky Finns, I was talking quite a bit of rubbish. Well, I wasn't talking rubbish, as such... I was just talking a lot. But I was relaxed. I had a good night. And I only had the munchies the next morning.

My next, and last, time to drink was the night of the Elbow concert. I had two and a half pints of Carlsberg (which, to me, tasted like piss, especially if it got warm... which it did, quickly, since we had plastic cups!), before we went to a pub. I was with the Captain all night. I got drunk. I was also tired. I slammed my head of the bar. It hurt, and I deserved it. Despite putting headdesk into practice, I still had a good night. And I had no hangover the next day, just the munchies again. I call that a success.

There were a few times during all that that I had a drink out, but with the exception of one - between my birthday and the concert - I can't remember when they were. All in all, I think it adds up to less than a dozen times drinking alcohol in over twenty years. I think that's a fairly good record. Unless you're trying to see if I have a good social life, which it doesn't look like I do. Still, these are my experiences with alcohol. So far they have not been bad.

The Seldom Seen Kid

I was kidnapped at half six on Thursday. We drove into town, heading towards the O2 Arena. He hadn't been there before, since it was renovated a few years ago. He asked halfway there if I had the tickets, then laughed at the idea that I would forget them. Needless to say, I told him about the time I forgot to bring some ID to a gig last year and had to get my brother to drive it in for me.

The original plan was the head into the O2 at eight, but we ended up getting there at around seven, maybe a bit later, finding our way to stage right and staying there for the night. I say staying there, we got drinks - Carlsberg, tasted like piss and alcohol the first time around - and after The Villagers had done their set, we moved along. The Villagers were actually really good! I hadn't really listened to them very much beforehand, despite my brother giving me a loan of one of their albums.

The announcement came: it was a totally no-smoking arena. There was some mild swearing, some agitation, and then he decided he needed to go to the toilet. We went the long way around - really we didn't know where we were going, but we'll just call it the scenic route past the girls' bathroom - and lo-and-behold, a smoking area! I've never seen someone look so happy to find a smoking area in my life. He'd been giving out that I didn't mention it was no-smoking in the arena before we went in. Well, not really giving out, more like complaining. This was something I should have checked before I left my house.

We got more Carlsberg - mainly because there were no spirits that I might have otherwise drank, even though I can't really stand Vodka - and yes, it tasted like piss, but I finished this one. The key was to drink it quicker, before it got warm. I then made the mistake of showing him I was done, but actually using sekrit-drink-code for "Want another round?" My bad! We waited a little bit - Elbow were already on stage at this point - and got the drinks as Neat Little Rows played.

There was a lot of "interactive audience bullshit" during the concert - that's what Guy Garvey called it - like raising hands in the air and singing along to With Love. That one was good: sing it like you're breathing in on "with" and breathing out on "love". Then get several thousand people to join in with you. Fantastic.

He began a series of love songs by asking was anyone in the audience in love. Some people put up their hands. Then, was there anyone in love with another person present, but that person didn't know! Naturally my friend - with only a little bit of alcohol in his system - turned to me, laughing, and shouted, "I love you Paul!" We drank to that, and kept laughing.

He'd dubbed some girls  near us as lesbians. I suppose if you wanted to interpret things like holding handbags for each other and one of them having very short hair and some hugging as lesbian actions, and if you had a little bit of alcohol in your system and no shame, you very easily could think they were lesbians. The joke was fun, anyway. It began with "Can you spot the lesbian?" and simply turned into "Look, lesbians." Good times.

On a more serious note, can all my female readers please tell that they don't spend the whole concert talking over the music? Because it's kind of annoying to everyone else there to hear a dozen women (they actually were women, mind) chatting away the entire time Elbow were on stage. And, you know, every other band. The only reason no one punches the talkers is because it's a bit disrespectful (and, you know, a slight overreaction to a bit of talking), but really everyone is hating the voice of the person who starts talking and doesn't stop.

Grounds For Divorce came on at one point. If you don't know, the lyrics begin with "Mondays is for drinking to the seldom seen kid." My friend turned to me, "I am the seldom seen kid!" Naturally, my response could only be, "I know! You bastard!" Good times.

When the gig ended - and it was all pretty awesome! - we went to the pub near God College. He went on the Guinness, I went on the rum and coke, and we started talking about just about everything that came to mind. The place was empty, which we didn't mind one bit; we could talk in peace, without the constant interruptions of friends. It was the first time it had ever just been the two of us and no one else in a pub, or anywhere, really, where it was actually possible to talk about things. Nobody in pubs cares what the strangers at the bar are talking about.

Obviously, I won't divulge all the topics we covered in our long discussions, but we shared a lot of stuff with each other that normally only really gets said at three in the morning when he's walking home from the pub and he calls me when I'm in bed, and in those cases I'm sober but tired, and he's drunk. In this case, in the pub, we were both getting a little bit drunk, and as a result of my climb the day before, I was very tired. So, midway of the conversation, I went to just put my head on the bar for like a second...

Nobody said things move quicker when you drink. I wasn't advised on all these little things about alcohol before I started drinking. It was my second time being drunk. So, I had a slight bar-to-head collision. You know I regretted it immediately.

Following a brief chat with a couple of the girls from college who were moving on to an over twenty-ones night club in town - which is why we didn't go, me being only twenty - we got to the stage of the night where we began to make promises with each other. Again, secrets. But they meant a lot to me, both the ones I made and the ones said to me.

Our talk continued outside the pub as we waited for someone to get home to let the seldom seen kid sleep in one of the beds in the house, by invitation of the owner, who wasn't presently in the county. He smoked, I wobbled (then sat down quickly), and while the conversations were quite serious, it was still some of the best fun I'd ever had. Dublin city is completely different at night when your drunk and with your best friend than when you're sober and alone; it seems less harsh than it can be, freer and wilder and the darkness is nothing but a backdrop as opposed to an all-consuming curtain pulled around the lonely street lights that barely taint the world orange.

I left at half three, as he and a few others attempted to get a key for the house - don't ask. We said our goodbyes, and not for the first time that night told each other that the night was only as good as it was because of the other person. I got into a taxi and headed home...

Normally, that's where my stories end, with me going home. And while the taxi ride was less than eventful, the night wasn't over. I got in the door, locked up, the works. I was drunk but I hadn't actually drank anything in an hour, so I was more coherent and less wobbly than I would have been if I'd gone straight home - which I almost did, except I decided to wait with him. I headed up the stairs and there she was - the mother. She asked me a few times if I was okay, if I was drunk - then she smelled the rum, and she knew the answer - and I kept wondering why she was asking if I was okay. I told her I was fine, had her go off to bed and went to brush my teeth - even drunk I don't forget. That's when I saw it - the mark on my head from when I'd had my bar-accident. I let out a laugh - more like a sigh, but happy - realised it wasn't sore unless I actually poked it, and even then I could only just feel it (it wasn't that big, either, thankfully) and went to bed.

I woke up hungry. I had a slight headache and realised it was half-eight - too little sleep. I got a drink of water, then my breakfast, and I was grand. I was still remembering things from the night this morning. It wasn't that the alcohol made me forget. I think it was more to do with the fact that the nine hours I'd spent with the seldom seen kid were all melting together, and it took some time for it all to spread out so I could remember all the secrets and all the promises and all the silly little things we talked about.

It was the best night out in my life. And I said that about my birthday, but this was so much better, because it wasn't a night where it's easy to believe it's all about you. This was a night I'd been looking forward to for months - I bought the tickets in October - and that I had been getting excited for for the past few weeks, and all my fears about him not being able to show up were washed away even before we drank. I got to see my best friend, talk about things that really mattered to both me and him; I got to see one of my favourite bands play live; I got to relax and enjoy myself without worrying about college the next day. It was a night with no bad consequences - I still don't think the bar-accident was bad, since it's something to laugh about now and laugh about then, and it doesn't hurt and it didn't impair. I don't think the night could have been better.

That Was...Different

In contrast to my birthday "celebrations" on Tuesday (steak, basically), I went out last night. I don't go out very much. This experience was not entirely alien to me. Not entirely.

But I drank. I mean, I've had alcohol before, but never very much. Last night... enough to get drunk. Being drunk for the first time because your friend insists of getting you drinks (I didn't exactly put up much of an argument... as if I would have been heard over the thumping music, anyway!) and then proceeding to drink said drinks and liking them... too much... well, it was all different.

I don't know what it's like for everyone else who's ever gotten drunk, but for me there was a sudden realisation that I was drunk, when I heard myself laugh in a way I don't normally laugh. And I didn't care.

I won't disclose the details of my alcohol related banter, except that it was, as they say, mighty. It was probably the best night of my life. I suppose I do owe that to the friend who bought me all the drinks (we were doing rounds... and he skipped me sometimes). I mean, it was great in the house beforehand, having pizza and a bit of craic with the Wii (I barely ever use the consoles in my house!), but things just got so much better when we got to the pub. It wasn't just the drinks, like. He came all the way from Meath for the night out (after I pestered him repeatedly...) and that really meant a lot to me. Plus the rest of my friends were still great craic.

It made up for the entirely boring Tuesday. Mainly I was in a mood, and I took it out on people in general rather than specific people, but I was just moaning for the sake of moaning, not for the sake of actually meaning anything by it. I've explained that to a few people already now, but it does deserve its place in the public spotlight from whence the trouble came.

Now... the hangover. I've seen lots of people with hangovers. There are grumpy hangovers, sleepy hangovers, moaning hangovers, giddy hangovers - many of which are also a combination of alcohol still being in the system - and then there was my hangover - the hungry hangover. I keep wanting to eat... everything. I've never felt so hungry for no reason at all, the feeling unabated by a Twirl bar and two cups of tea (and that after my breakfast this morning!). I didn't have a headache, which was weird. I didn't struggle out of bed (I got up before my alarm!). I didn't really feel the alcohol... I mean, I was tired from lack of sleep, but not crippled by it. I just want to eat... a lot.

I could say that this is all research into my books. I could very easily pass it all off as that. But honestly, it was just a lot of banter, and I don't regret any of it.

And finally, a massive public thanks to everyone who came last night and made the night so worthwhile!