After a few weekends that were neither quiet or retarded, one side finally won out this past weekend. Or at least for one night.
I met up with Juice, the Hickster, and a few stragglers on Friday night for a few drinks and "nothing too crazy". A few bottles of wine later I was destroying furniture at one of Sydney's most exclusive bars, and had trouble remembering how I got home. When I woke up on Saturday morning, the feeling that I might be dying was slightly outweighed by the comforting fact that no one else remembered getting home, although Juice did recall not being allowed to enter at least one rather trashy bar on Oxford Street.
After spending most of Saturday laying on the couch and hoping for a quick death, I allowed Junior to drag me to a showing of Transformers 2, which was shockingly bad enough to allow me to redirect my anger at myself for my hangover into fully fledged rage against those responsible for making such an awful movie.
We stopped by a 30th birthday later on but only lasted for 2 beers before I needed Indian food and my bed.
This was in sharp contrast to both Juice and the Hickster, one of whom started drinking before noon on Saturday despite waking up drunk, and the other partying until 7am Sunday morning and losing her third coat of the week.
I realize one shouldn't evaluate their lives by comparing themselves to their friends who are busy setting new standards for devious and self-destructive behavior, but it's really the only thing keeping my self-esteem afloat at the moment. I'm sure you understand.