That's More Like It

The only word I can use to describe this weekend is messy. I can count on one hand the number of hours I was sober between 4pm on Friday and Monday morning.


Friday

Started with champagne and beer in the office with coworkers. If only the night could have remained that civilized.

5 bars, 3 groups of friends, and eleventy drinks later, a bunch of us ended up at the trashiest place I can ever be convinced to go in Sydney. At least two members of the group had a bit of a cry for a minute (one had been dumped, the other had to watch their favourite sports team lose), but ended up dancing the night away otherwise. Which could have been embarrassing for those individuals but fortunately that was overshadowed by everyone else creating more than a little drama for themselves, the details of which I don't even want to hear about anymore.


Saturday

Since half of the people from the previous night weren't talking to each other at this point, I opted to head to a birthday BBQ at Coogee beach. It was about 33 degrees (about 90F) and some beach time was clearly in the cards.

Headed home between the BBQ and a few bars. Was only supposed to shower, change and head out, but a few of us ended up having an impromptu dance party right here in my livingroom to get in the mood.

The night ended around midnight for me, which may sound a bit tame, but it was 10 hours of drinking so I'm not going to be ashamed. And at least I didn't head home before I had been flashed by a friend wearing a kilt and a g-string. Which might have been more shocking if we hadn't all seen him buck naked 3 weekends ago, with the pictures to prove it.


Sunday

Did someone say we should start drinking at 2pm again? Oh, good. It was a friend's birthday (seriously, everyone I know here was born in September) and we ended up at Paddington Bowling Club for some lawn bowls. However I decided that was way too much sport for me about three rounds in, and set up shop on a bench in the sun with a jug of beer.

Eventually ended up at the Coogee Bay Hotel, where loud and offensive conversations are the only type permitted. I ridiculed a couple of Canadians ("Oh my god, it's like 12 people and a bunch of trees. You shouldn't even be a country. Losers."), told off a couple of friends, and headed home around 9 in the hopes of avoiding another Monday at work where I am clearly staring at the Sydney Opera House because I'm too hungover to focus on work.


The best part is that between the weather and my current mood, I'm thinking this will be my standard weekend for at least a month. And THEN Emla and Domini will get here, so it's only a matter of weeks before I'm deported. Let the countdown begin.