
Yoh, Friday's hangover was special. A tequila induced, semi-comatose, brain-dead, laboured-breathing, waves of nausea inducing hangover. All at 8 hours of work. bloody norah!
Thursday I fell, yet again for the deceptive "just one drink" deception. crap. again. I never learn! FAIL! Off I trundle out for a glass of wine at 8pm. half a bottle later (on no dinner because eating is for the weak) i decide that of course driving 40 mins across joburg to some hippie-villed, garage-grunge, predominantly lesbian populated club is a spiffingly-jolly idea ol' chap.
Upon arrival it is decided upon by the girls that we will drink tequila. *mayday mayday. eject self from potentially irreversibly bad life decision inducing situation now* but NO, I agreed to inebriate myself further. The last Tequila incident at Rhodes involved me standing on the back of my pink bakkie waving palm fronds and screaming "Look at me, I'm Jesus (pronounced Hey-zuss like the espangol version) followed by mass puking in a dustbin with my upper half of my torso inside the dustbin and ending with the police taking pictures of me as I lay sprawled on some filthy, vomit-smeared pavement outside my favourite club/pub/place of name-throwing. Since then, just the mere scent of Tequila has made me weak at the knees and lurch forward as my stomach mock charges. Well, some say the best way to treat something is shock therapy. BAM. That's what I did. 4 tequilas in quick succession followed by 2 potency and numerous malibu and cokes.
Good-bye filter - hallo CRAZY! Crazy dancing, uncalled for whoring onto every straight man I stumbled into, slut-rubbing down many a sweaty back, raunching a lesbian or two... or three..., persistently encouraging multiple face pierced, tattooed, manly, mohawk-sporting lesbians to try score my straight friend and insisting she was just playing hard to get when she politely refused their advances all followed my tequila shooting. Dancing the horny-awkward-ostrich on an empty dancefloor, lying on an empty dancefloor giggling, giving free lap-dances to strangers are only a few of teh blurred memories I can recall. The night ended with me leaning out the car window on the drive home (with my straight friend leaning out the window in front) screaming "TITTIES" "5 DORRAR HOOKER" "TEN RAND FOR THE NIGHT" "RIPE GUAVAS" as we drove past numerous groups of offended and startled tragic boho-chic designer-garage grunge womyn.
Once home at 4.30am, I fell asleep most quickly. woke up before my alarm at 6.30am. Wow, I feel good [clearly still drunk]. woop woop. Made toast and marmite - ate one nibble. waves of nausea big time! Drove to work with the music blasting out of my car - everything is so bright! - smiling at random spamoni in the traffic - get to work, no voice, eyes still bloodshot. it was a mild struggle to fight of the ever-persistent waves of nausea but nothing on what it was like when i sobered up! By 11am, I had degraded into a cold, sticky, heavy sweat that i'm sure had the alcohol content of a bottle of stroh rum. My mouth felt like the entire north-west corner of the Sahara. I couldn't drink nor eat due to the waves of nausea. I had dark circles under my eyes. My voice had returned with a croaky hoarseness. AND my head felt like 37.5 small children were jumping on my brain.
5pm couldn't have come quick enough. I made it. struggled across that finish line and dragged my beaten body home while I'm sure my liver prepared his resignation letter.
I won't say "I'm never drinking again" or "I'll never go out on a work night again" because that would be lying. Of course I'll do it again [and soon no doubt]. And i'll do it often too... But I figure, might as well make the night-before the morning-after worth every second of that hangover. And damn right Thursday night was worth it!!! WOOP WOOP!
To irresponsibly, socially-unacceptable drunken week nights out! CHEERS! 1.2.3.4...slam it whore!!!
BAM!
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