I’m going to a wedding this Sunday. One of the girls I went to high school with is getting married.
I’m not talking like my sister’s boyfriend’s cousin four years above me who I sometimes smiled at on the bus and they came to my house one Christmas, so they are obliged to invite me to watch them
burn announce their love and commitment to another person.
Now’s the time when most of us look back at all the things that went on in 2013 and try and find some universal and profound meaning behind them in order to justify them. It sounds tedious and weird when you say it out loud like that, but actually it’s real and you probably do it without even realising it, even if you don’t sit down and write a “Dear Diary, in 2013 I…” usually your resolutions are informed by the recurring embarrassments of the previous year.
“Omg as if I need 2 read dis I have so many gr8 friends I could call to take care of mi omfg i’d take bullets for dem,”
If this is you, oh my God you need to read this.
So you wanna know how to be the baddest bitch in the club and conquer every guy and get really smashed off the drinks they buy you? Okay, so does every other single girl. Welcome to the club, we’re huge, we’re international. I know your game. Go to the club, dress all cute/slutty and strut around while you eye flirt with all these guys.
You are worried about what the socially acceptable amount of time is to contact your hook up? Let me put this into perspective for you, you have just, shamelessly, made out with this person in a very public display of affection possibly without knowing their name. If you were really on your game, maybe you went home with them.
Following last week’s article about people who do not accurately understand the purpose of nightclubs, I feel it is necessary to arm patrons with further lines of defence against annoying/seedy people that do not understand what a ‘fuck off’ face looks like. To smoke bomb means to GTFO without warning or notification and disappear into the night, as a magician or genie would, in a hypothetical puff of smoke.
A fun thing about nightclubs is that they turn the quiet moderate people, who are usually normal and maybe boring, that you know but don’t hang out with, into drunk psychopaths who do funny things. Those moments where the quiet girl you work with stops dancing on the bar to tell you about her and her boyfriends ‘bedroom problems’ are priceless and wonderful and should be cherished.
For anybody who cared, and for the fans I imagine I have, my absence of late was due me undertaking some very important field work overseas. By that, I mean I was in Bali watching Australians get drunk in a foreign environment, and believe you me it was educational. So much so that everything I experienced over those ten days are too extensive to be conveyed in just one post, there are enough funny and relevant anecdotes for an entire series. GET READY.
Dear Guy Friends,
You may not know who you are. What I mean is, you might not be aware you fit into the category of ‘guy friend’ or what qualities even make a guy friend.
Or, ‘Lies We Read That Make Us Feel Better About Binge Drinking’, or ‘Shitfaced Logic’.*