My Mumbling Thoughts

Being hungover hurts. We know this. It's not a new concept that we've discovered. And being hungover all day? Sucks.

Late yesterday afternoon, Trish and I decided to venture out to Putney (which really isn't that far; maybe ten minutes on the bus). I wanted to go to HMV and Sainsbury's to pick up some things, and Trish came along with me. It was a bit late in the day, but I figured, why not? I've been sat at the house doing nothing. I might as well go outside and embrace this nice weather that we've been having recently (even if it is still really cold).

We decided while we were there to stop into this one bar that I've never been to before since they were having a deal on their cocktails: buy one get one free. To two poor, alcoholic uni students, that sounded like a fucking good bargain, so in we went.

While we were sat at the bar, we got to talking about Trish's birthday which is coming up here in a couple of weeks. She was telling me how she doesn't want it to be a big deal, and I mentioned the idea that maybe she should have a pub crawl in Putney. It'd be easy peasy, and she'd get drunk really fast, just like how you should do on your 21st birthday.

"Should we have a mini pub crawl tonight?" Trish asked me with a sly look on her face.

"Oh don't do that. Don't say that when you know I'm an alcoholic and can't resist."

We went to two other pubs, and found ourselves stationed at a pub that I quite like called, the Slug 'n' Lettuce. It was pretty busy in there for a Sunday and the music was decent. We weren't planning on getting trashed, at least not until Trish came back to our table next to the window with two sambuca shots.

"Gross. No. No, no, no, no. The last time I did this I threw up all over Leicester Square," I said to Trish with a look of absolute disgust on my face. God, I could smell it wafting up my nostrils and wanted to heave.

"Oh come on! It'll go quick. Come on. Come on," she egged me on.

We went ahead and downed our shots and I was quickly reminded why I hate sambuca. It took all of my energy to not spit it out on Trish's face.

It was a good evening, and I found myself in a happy, chipper, drunk mood. I wasn't completely out of control like how I can usually get, and it was nice to just be out and having a few drinks with one of my girls.

We were outside having a smoke break, when we started having a conversation with another fellow smoker named, Pete. Pete was sweet. He was cute. He was funny. He also held my attention for more than five minutes, so I was pleased.

Pete came and joined us at our table, and I think we were so excited to actually have a man in our company, and mixed in with the alcohol that we had consumed that was still being released into our bloodstreams, we kind of took things a little overboard.

And by "a little" I mean, we scared the poor boy and sent him running for the hills.

The thing about Trish and I, is that not only are we both Americans, but we consider ourselves to be Super Americans. We are loud, obnoxious and we fucking love it. We can easily create havoc just by ourselves when we're left alone together and sober, so you can just imagine what we're like when we've got a bit of alcohol running through us. We're Super Americans to the max.

Trish and I were constantly talking, talking, talking, and I could see poor little Pete's head looking at each of us, as if he were watching a really intense Wimbledon tennis match. We told him stories that we find fucking hilarious, because mostly they're just inside jokes between us, and laughed, and laughed, and laughed at ourselves. I think he might have got four words in the entire time he was sat with us.

When he found a break in the conversation, he excused himself to go to the toilet and outside to smoke. He took his pint with him. He didn't come back.

He did, however, leave his hat and scarf down on the floor next to my stool, and before Trish and I left at closing time, we decided we'd be funny and take his things home with us. Because we are just SO COOL like that.

We ran out of the pub as if we were being chased by the police, and laughed at the bus stop with the fact that we "got away with it." We did not get away with it. He was already gone.

After that moment, I have no memory of what happened. All I barely remember is that I really needed the toilet, and how it is my greatest fear that I get ridiculously drunk and piss on myself. One, it's embarrassing. Two, it's nasty. And three, I'd forever be known as the girl that pissed on herself.

Apparently, what Trish and I have been told by Carlene, who was sober and trying to go to sleep when we finally made it back to the flat, was that we were yelling at each other, we moved furniture around, we tried making food (but I don't think we succeeded), and I screamed at the top of my lungs from our balcony something along the lines of "hello neighborhood! It's Sam and Trish!" Good times.

This morning, I was hungover. Badly. I was woken up by my phone alarm at eight o'clock in the morning, which was downstairs, so I was forced to get out of bed and shut it off. I was topless for some reason, my jeans were in the kitchen on the floor and my head was pounding like I had a construction crew of fifty inside my skull hammering away. I wanted to die.

The rest of the day has been okay, but I've still got a wee bit of a headache, and I've done nothing except piss about on the internet. I joined BlogRoll and have managed to fuck up my links bar. I don't have my dots. I want my dots. My dots make my blog. And it's my fault that they're gone. So I'll be trying to fix that for the next couple of days since I am technologically challenged. I've also been pissing about with Twitter and now I can update that from my phone, which is oh so important.

And a little random side note for my darling Trish. One day, you will come over to join the dark side with me. I found this and thought of you.

Now I must go and down yet another glass of water, and pray that the rest of this headache goes away. I may learn my lesson sometime in the future, but right now, I'll just nurse my hangovers as they come.