I’m beginning to feel the limitlessness of being 18. On Tuesday night, my friend EHC and I hosted our joint 18th in a bar in Fitzrovia – and a feeling that I can’t shake off is incredulity that that party was actually put on by me and my friend. I mean, me, the most socially inept person EVURR, put on a party that people said was worth all the hassle such as travel and snow shizz. Unbelievable.
No need to say that snow posed a huge problem; a few people e-mailed or texted me at the last minute apologising for not being able to attend because of adverse road conditions. Hah. All I could then visualise was a scarcely filled room for a party which could only be defined as AWKWARD.
And that’s what it was, in the first half hour at least. Then people started arriving, some sticking to the theme more than others, but that people were sticking to the theme at all was making me happy. Most of the beginning of my evening was spent trying to get people to go onto the dancefloor, or to at least integrate. Apparently that was fruitful, as it got a group of otherwise secluded guys to either a) eat girls’ faces, b) get pissed and dance horrendously, c) be crackingly hilarious.
I also spent the evening doing what I do best – get twit-drunk and make a complete fool of myself but still retain some control of myself and have an absolutely fucking good time. I was so happy on the evening and the morning after, but as that following day went on, it started to dawn on me that maybe I made more of a fool of myself than I could have realised. I certainly remember guys clearly talking about me and me going ‘
Are you talking about me?!’ and them thinking that I’m completely out-of-my-mind idiotic and that I would believe their downright ‘No’. Guys, I’m a clever drunk. Ish.
I have to say, the music played wasn’t at its best, maybe explaining the on-off attendance on the dancefloor. Obvs there were quite a few guys that couldn’t bring themselves to even set foot on that floor, one of them saying that he didn’t have his dancing shoes on and me going ‘Set a trend! Be the first to dance in those shoes!’ I’m such a twit. (I’m gonna be saying that a lot every time I remember something I’ve said that night) But anyway, it’s what you can expect of (most) guys; they either need a lot of alcohol, or they need a girl to be grinding against. Or both.
Another defining feature of this party has to be the number of times I walked into two peeps eating each other’s faces (not counting already established couples). It gives me a sort of smug feeling, knowing my party is making me matchmaker. But then, what does that say about my party, if it’s driven guys to get off with multiple girls, some of which are my innocent 16-yo friends?... Probably just that the girl:guy ratio was seriously unbalanced, meaning that guys had a huge selection and couldn’t stand sticking to one. As per usual. I am really happy, though, that my friends mingled (on several different levels, XP)
I didn’t do much dancing, mainly because I spent so much of the evening rotating around, trying to make everyone feel at home, and speaking to as many peeps as poss, including EHC’s guests and our guests’ +1s. Met some great people, but I have a pretty good feeling that they now have some amazing impression of me…drunk me. Hmmmmmmmmmmmm. I always do that. Oh but what made me LOL was
beingbehaving like a right drunk to the people who had never before seen me drunk. I’d say a large minority of the guests had already seen me drunk before, but some of those who hadn’t were well shocked. Their reactions are quite classic. Awh alcohol, I love you a bit.
Ah, the feeling of being able to buy drinks. Freely. Oh you know what, I don’t think the alcohol has worn off. My head’s a little unstable. I’ve had a freakin headache all day, and it’s got progressively worse as the day has worn on. It got to the point where seven successive statuses on my Twitter were either about my head or about my uprising vom. Charming aren’t I.
Back to the point, I could finally go up to the bar and
buy drinks! And buy drinks for other unable-to-buy-drinks losers! WOOP! Not that the bar even ID’ed anyway, but, you know, I liked revelling in the feeling. I had to be taught (again) how to do tequila shots but after my first
I was the one teaching them! Gah, I’m such a drunk. I’m starting to depend on alcohol a little too much in social situations. Bah, whatever, it loosens me up! If I get to 40 and still need alcohol,
then I’ll worry. In the meantime, I’ll take advantage of my youth (even though I’m actually not a ‘yoot’ anymore, dammit) thank you very much.
To be fair, the girl:guy ratio wasn't that bad, from the looks of it. My friend and I went to such lengths to get the balance right, and in the end it magically seemed quite even. Or maybe it's just that I cotched with guys most of the time. Anyway, not that the imbalance was too much a bad thing, for the guys at least.
So, the party was great, IMO. Perhaps that op’s a little influenced by the automatic rose-tinted view that alcohol gives you (rose-tinted?! or should that be blurred/slow/non-existant, I’m pretty sure it took me about 30 seconds to work out what it was that I was seeing). But my different social groups mingled, people actually danced, people got off, only 1 person (who had ID) got ID’ed, the staff were great, and everybody had a good time! Did last night really happen?! I’m slightly baffled. Apparently that’s a sign that you’ve had a good 18th. It certainly felt good. Forget saying hi to adulthood, I wanna say hi to throwing more parties!
I’ll leave you with some of the shit that I spewed out while intoxicated:
- ‘[prodding one of our guests’ +1s’ iron biceps; he happens to be Head boy at his school] You…are now definitely Head Boy material’
- the multiple slaps I handed out to guys across the party. Felt damnnnnn good.
- ‘SLAGS [at all the people getting off]
- ‘[to a friend who was standing with a girl he’d been getting off with] So how many girls have you got with now? Two, three, four, five?’
She turns around to him ‘Have you really got with five girls?’
‘No! IKP (me) tell her the truth!’
‘Yeah I’m only joking, he hasn’t got with five girls’
I hear the girl didn’t believe either me or him. Well she’s better off without him – he actually had got off with my 16-yo innocent friend.
- ‘JEWWWWWW’ [at my various jew friends. I love them really]
- Hah, I forget: on our way back, met a French black dude at the bus shelter. Biggest beg EVURR (sorry, gonna stop saying that). He tried it on with me and two of my friends, getting a wad of cash out and promising to pay for our taxi, drinks as various ways of enticing us to spend time with him. No thanks, you twat. Anyway, because he was French, I could babble away to him, but my firm threats were also made even more effective.
So, this is me, but in French, ‘my friend here..you know, he likes to show his body… oh, I dunno how to say this word in French… flasher?’
And also pulling the lesbian trick as an attempt to get rid of him (in French) 'hey we're all lesbians here. [later, when he puts his arms around my friend - who actually happens to be bi] hey, what do you think you're doing trying to get off with a lesbian?!'
It’s undeniable. I love my drunk self, perhaps a little too much.
Shit, that was long, though not as long as my Harry Potter post, just cause I definitely love Harry Potter more than I do alcohol. Definitely.
xxxx
