Immediately, and I mean immediately, immediately after I posted my previous post on how noone exists, the phone rang. It was Calvin. Then my flatmate came home. Then Charlie rang. It just goes to show you: weather it be karma or god or a giant hamster, someone upstairs really enjoys messing with me.
Anyhoo, so I went to the party that I had mixed emotions about. It wasn't too bad. It had a theme. That theme was "Flat Idol". Yes, everyone had to get up on stage and do a little performance. The winners got a pech snapps and lemon shot and the losers got losers punch, the components of which are a mystery to everyone who spends more than $5 on alcoholic substances. I wowed the audience with a solo performance of "Apple Tree" and advoided the punch, and the shot was quite good. At bout 12.30, after one and a half bottles of wine, three snapps shots and a glass of vodka with diet lemonade, I walked home and made myself some toast.
And thats about my night. Toast.
It was alright. Nothing splendific happened. Nothing awful happened. I just did what I usually do- try to drink away the social uncomfortableness and, when I run out of alcohol, stumble home. Good times.
Well, today myself and Calvin are going to meet for some chicken curry, play some pool and then retire for a night of drunk and music. So I shall catch you all, my lovely captive audience, on the flipside.
Flan out.
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