I can't even bother to try and fully describe the madness of the last week, so here's my laziest attempt.
I flew down to Melbourne on a "business trip" on Thursday night, for one meeting on Friday morning. At the last minute the client tried to tell me that I shouldn't bother, but I'd already made plans to meet up with friends for drinks, so I insisted that I be there for such a valuable meeting, and got on the flight anyway. The client probably wasn't impressed when I showed up hungover to the Friday meeting, having been out drinking and dancing until 3 in the morning, but it's so hard to care at times like that.
I normally would have stayed in Melbourne for another night, but I flew back to Sydney for our work quarterly event, which was salsa dancing lessons (while drinking endless amounts of sangria) followed by tequila shots and cigars. I unfortunately headed off to another bar just before one of our senior managers was sitting on a couch, leaned over to get something off the table, and simply keeled over onto the floor, to the utter shock of anyone in the vicinity.
Saturday was deceptively quiet until I went to some farewell drinks around 7pm, where everyone was about an hour ahead of me on the bottles of wine. After everyone insisted that I accompany them later to a dance club, they started dropping like flies around midnight, so I grabbed my friend Rina and headed to crash my coworkers sister's bachelorette party nearby. I give myself points for not stripping, but I don't actually remember getting home.
And on Sunday, I was close to death, but still managed a few beers at a BBQ before going to a Eurovision party to celebrate all of the weirdness and tacky shit that is Europe and their taste in entertainment. Potentially a proper post coming on that one later.
Anyway, it's now Tuesday, and even if I hadn't had an awful day and want to murder my main client, Fry and Duff are flying in tonight to stay with me for 4 nights, so I'm calling in sick to go drinking tomorrow. Life is good -- my liver, not so much.