"Zander doesn't throw up when he drinks too much. Zander throws DOWN!"

Wow. That's all I can really say after this past weekend. Actually that's not true, I have a LOT to say about this weekend. Not to mention the fact that it's Monday morning, I'm typing this at work, and I am still TRASHED. Here's how this all happened…


FRIDAY

Managed to forego beer o'clock for once, but I'd still started pounding down the beers by 6pm. Met up with The Flattie and crew for a couple of hours, as they were getting started on their 'Blood On The Dancefloor II' theme night (don't ask). Unfortunately I had to pass on that carnage to head to a 'Super Hero' party with my cousin and her friends. Despite my lame-ass 'costume' (a superman t-shirt underneath my regular clothes – Clark Kent!), there were appearances by Wonder Woman, Zorro, Catwoman, two Lara Crofts, that chick from the Matrix, Luke Skywalker, and even Duff Man.

Of course I had to head off after a couple of hours to ANOTHER costume party, where the theme was the 1930's. Now maybe I'm confused, but wasn't that the Great Depression or something? Wooo! Nothing like poverty to get a party started. Anyway it's around there that my memory starts to escape me, but I'm pretty sure I was awesome and hilarious for hours after that.


SATURDAY

This is where it starts to get ugly. Woke up feeling fine, mostly because I was still half in the bag. Tried to sleep it off a bit, but by 3pm I was being dragged to a bar already (against my will, I assure you) and by the time I got to birthday drinks at 8pm I was having trouble seeing straight. Even better that I showed up to these drinks late because "I would have been here earlier but JEM came on TV!" It's hearing words like that out of a grown man's mouth that make people cry. Ah well.

Anyway, kept drinking, told some new racist jokes, made some new friends, and then finally headed to a party I was supposed to stop by at 6pm. Better 5 hours late than never, I always say. Unless of course I show up empty-handed, drink their wine, and then pass out upstairs until I'm woken up at 3am and told to go home. Oops.


SUNDAY

Once again, woke up STILL DRUNK (gotta represent the blog, you know how it is), blew off lunch plans to try and sleep it off, and then finally agreed to meet up with Scooter for a game of pool. Naturally this led to a bunch of us at Audrey and Dom's place having an impromptu euro dance party while finishing off a bottle of vodka into the wee hours of the morning. In between that we were at the Coogee Bay Hotel, where we were so loud and obnoxious that security came over and told us to 'calm down'. To put this in perspective for those of you who aren't familiar with the CBH, it's constantly full of drunk Irish sports fans, and they told US to calm down.


And so…it's Monday at 10am, and I am sitting in my office wondering why the hell I came into work when I am clearly having trouble walking straight (I've bumped into two walls already) and thanking god I'm in Australia and not a real country where they would care about these things.