Tis the season to be jolly. By jolly I mean pissed. Inebriated. Or my favourite adjective to refer to when drunk; bolloxed.
Today is Mad Friday. A day when many workers across the land will finish work a little earlier than usual, don their festive fancy dress outfit (my would be get up is pictured below) and hit the town to celebrate the up and coming Christmas holidays with vigour. Or should I say liquor.
I’m not going out tonight. I’ll be in bed by 7:30pm with a bowl of bran flakes I expect. However, I will be looking forward to having a peruse of the Mail Online tomorrow (don’t judge) to see the photos of the Mad Friday shenanigans in all their wonderful glory. Newcastle always does themselves proud, I’m often super impressed by their publicised antics. Never mind Geordie Shore, more like Geordie Gore. There’s usually a punch up that’s taken place outside of a kebab shop a pap has managed to get a photo of.
To be honest, all this talk of drunken festive frivolity is making me want to peel myself off of the sofa I’m currently perched on; complete with blanket and hot foot it on the bus into town and get amongst it. And then I remember how Mad Friday has served me before. I laugh and cringe in equal measures as I regress to 2008, 2009 and 2010 and recall my antics. Or should I say, recall what I’ve been told regarding my antics.
I’m an outrageous drunk. I say outrageous things. I do outrageous things and I spend an outrageous amount of money. So much so, I’ve decided to compile a list of things I probably should remember when drunk. It would save a lot of apologies, a lot of hard earned cash and one hell of a lot of blushes. But then, where would the fun be in that?
10.Shots are the devils wee.
To be fair to myself. I don’t often drink shots. I’m not one who learns from their lessons in life but when it comes to downing shots, I seem to. However, there was a party earlier this year where Jagerbombs suddenly became the best thing I’d ever put in my mouth. I’ll never forget that hangover. I had the rancid aftertaste for days following my Jager consumption and it was DIS-GUS-TING. Apple Sourz used to be a night out necessity but even looking at a bottle of the stuff turns my stomach now. Repulsive. How could anyone want to drink something that’s lurid green anyway?
9.You won’t drink that last drink.
I never, ever finish the last drink I order. Ever. Whenever I go out with my other half and it looks like the night may be wrapping up soon, I’ll always head to the bar or demand that he does. He’ll always say “You won’t drink that”. And I never do. Take last Sunday evening for example. We’d gone out for a few drinks. I go to the bar and order a last round in. 10 minutes later we’ve ordered a taxi, I’ve taken my drink out with me (it was a mini bottle of prosecco – so cute) only to be shouted at by the taxi driver that there is no way on this earth he is letting that anywhere near his taxi. I probably dared to enter into an argument with him but considering I came home empty handed means I lost that row.
The state of it.
8.Eat something. Anything. Just something.
I used to save my calories for alcohol consumption. Ridiculous eh? Back in my dieting days, I would forgo lunch and dinner just so I could have more allowance for wine.
This would often lead to me feeling ridiculously ill the next day, shaking like a shitting dog and shoving everything and anything into my gob, just so I have the energy to get out of bed.
Don’t do it kids. It’s not big and it’s not clever.
7.There are people who will remember what you said to them.
The bastards. There’s always one isn’t there. There’s always that one person who is either less drunk than you or has that incredible ability to remember every sodding detail about the night before. If only I had that memory wiper from the Men In Black film…..
I’d pay good money for that thing.
6.You are not Rihanna/Beyonce/Sia or any other incredibly talented female vocalist/dancer. You are a moron.
I strut. I slut drop. I sing. And I think I look like the best thing since sliced bread. When in actual fact people are probably looking at me thinking “who the fuck let her out for the night?” I always try to copy music videos without a shred of shame or even remote resemblance. Much to the embarrassment of whoever I’m out with.
I always pull this pose. I never look like Beyoncé. Ever.
5.The floor is to be walked on. Not to be led on.
So, when my legs begin to feel weary. My heels are starting to rub (usually after 5 minutes), my legs are sore from the slut drops or perhaps I’m just so pissed I can barely stand, the floor ALWAYS seems like the comfiest chair in the vicinity. It’s not. It’s cold. It’s rancid. And it’s ruined my just bought outfit.
4.You do not know that person. They do not want to know your life story or how you voted in the EU Referendum.
But they do. They find me really engaging and funny and they’re gonna be my new BFF. They’d deffo like to hear that story about the time I put my phone in a packet of Uncle Ben’s rice to try and dry it out.
Oh, they now think I’m an arsehole don’t they? That’s them trying to run away at great speed from me isn’t it?
3.You’re in charge of a potentially dangerous device. Your phone.
My skin physically crawls off my body the following morning when looking through my camera roll. It all starts so well then before you know it there’s far too many incriminating photos that should never be released into the public domain. Oh and apparently I like to take photos of myself whilst having a wee.
And don’t even get me started on the things I text, tweet and post on Facebook. I could tell you stories that would make your balls shrink to the size of raisins.
2.You don’t get paid for another 3 weeks
Saturday night: DRINKS ARE ON ME!!!!!
Sunday morning: How are you going to afford to get to work next week?
Also file under here, credit cards are not to be used to fund a night out. Whack it on the plastic is never a good idea.
It always makes for sobering reading the following Tuesday when my bank statement informs me of my whereabouts for 5 hours on a Saturday night.
1.You’ll regret this in the morning
No I won’t. I won’t regret a thing. These are the words I mentally tell myself when that little ‘Regret Reminder’ pops into my head at 11pm on a Saturday night when I’m asking someone from a Reality TV show why he was in such a cringefest of a programme (that happened). First thing I think of when I peel my eyes open the following morning?
You absolute fucking prick. You regret that.
We all do it though………don’t we?
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