I don’t drink a lot. What I mean by that is I don’t drink often. But when I do, it’s total Binge Britain. Normally I’m quite a together person. Drinking excessive amounts of alcohol changes this.
When I’m drunk, I like to pretend I’m in music videos. I channel my inner (and outer, at the time) Beyoncé and shake what my Mama gave me in performances worthy of the stage at Wembley. In reality, I look a complete and utter twat. Similar to a foal taking their first steps. On ice. Whilst suffering a convulsion.
I left the house looking a 10. I’m certain I did. So why, the next day, in these photos my mates are tagging me in, do I look like a RuPaul/Lily Savage hybrid? Because I kept nipping to the loo to reapply my make up. Especially to catch the eye of the fella in the striped shirt. Who was laughing at me cause I’m a shit dancer with drag queen make up.
Making best friends in the toilets with everyone, clapping eyes on someone for the first time ever, instantly deciding I hate her and then giving her the sly elbow in the ribs when I’m at the bar. Snogging someone I’d usually chuck a £1 at to get himself a butty. None of that is me. I’m not a people person. I barely like my immediate family, never mind strangers. I should really live in a cave. Alone. But at the same time, I’m not a fighter. The day the girl I elbow takes umbrage to me is the day L1 will see Perfectly Common shit herself.
I don’t mean a bit blurry. I mean totally and utterly blind. Case example: I once met a boy called Sam in a club. He was blonde, tall and exquisite. The banter was fabulous. I fell in love during that 40 minutes in the Garage room. Arranged to meet him a week later. Turned up. Oh. My. God. He wasn’t blonde, tall and exquisite. We couldn’t have had good banter. He was short, soooooo spotty and Iraqi. So not blonde either. He hardly spoke English. Sam was in fact short for Osama. How could I have noticed none of this? How? Fucking vodka.
Quite simply, when I’m pissed, I collapse easier than a faulty ironing board. I really need to start wearing pants more. Me wearing a skirt and being as good as I am at falling over is not fair on the general public.
This is scientific. Men can’t keep it hard or finish the job, and neither can us girls. So don’t put all the blame on the boys. Relax, drink a bit less, and you can actually finish your night with a smile on both of your faces.
Always drink responsibly but if you can’t, always destroy the evidence