Out and About again

As Pan has so aptly put it, this academic year has been the year of the party.

In other words, it's been the year where we've all pretended to care about people we don't care about, doing our best not to buy the cheapest presents we can (because these people are turning eighteen after all, and surely a pair of Accessorize earrings aren't all that appropriate?) and generally keeping up appearances and wearing skirts all for the sake of a little dancing and a lot of alcohol.

OK, not that much alcohol.

As usual, the gift-buying part of the pre-party preparations was assigned to me. Pan seems to be harboring the delusion that I am a pushover and she's awfully keen to order me around and find excuses not to come along to look for decent presents even though we're sharing them, so the whole point should be sharing the buying process too, shouldn't it? Because buying presents for people you don't like and/or care much about is one of the hardest things in the world, right? But nooo, I have to go around and be all decisive, and get tempted by random T-shirts at Zara, all because someone is too lazy to get her ass off the couch and help, for a change.

End of rant.

I bought bags. When in doubt, buy bags. Women love bags. I even bought myself a bag in the process. It's beautiful. A weird greyish sort of colour with a weird pattern on it that some would call gran-like but which I call sophisticated.

But I digest.

Pan and I ended up walking to the party. It was just a twenty-minute walk, which is not a big deal if you're wearing normal shoes, but we clearly weren't wearing normal shoes. It was rather painful. My feet were already hurting before I even got to the dancefloor, and that's never a good sign.

Eventually, we made it to the battlefield. Smiles and ostentation of good feeling abounded. We gave our gifts to the birthday girls (both rather vapid and shallow creatures) and began socializing as we waited for the disco to open. Once again, I willingly interacted with Mole, that bitch, and actually ended up having fun. Somewhere, a pig has learned to fly.

I'm buying myself a T-shirt that says: 'Hipocrysy sucks, and I hate spelling mistakes.'

The party was weird. Most people seemed to be hovering between listening to crappy music inside the club with a drink, and milling about outside the club without a drink. I myself was rather torn between the two alternatives, which is a clear indication that the music must have been beyond bad.

Seriously, I'm not that much of a drinker. I'm just trying to sound cool. Really.

I asked the bartender to add alcohol to my mojito. Then, I asked her to make my sex on the beach strong. Sex on the beach is supposed to be fruity, not strong. She gave me a look. I looked back.

I got tipsy.

I told Mike and Jude that they were looking sexy. I had yet more friendly interactions with Mole. I stopped caring about upcoming examinations that will decide my future. I complimented someone's sister on her exceedingly skimpy outfit without managing to mask my giggling. I learned that L, one of the birthday girls, paid 'only' 40 Euros for the skirt she'd bought from Zara and decided to compensate by buying and wearing a 150 Euro Burberry shirt. I watched and cheered as Micky flirted shamelessly with her longtime crush. I had the following conversation with an alarming number of people (and multiple times with Mags, whom by now you know as 'drug addict extraordinaire'):

'Hai studiato economics?'
[Did you study economics?]

'No!'
[No!]

Manic laughter.
[Manic laughter.]

And, last but not least, I fell.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I fell. I tripped. I made a fool of myself in a semi-drunken haze.

Except that I didn't fall because I was drunk. If that had been the case, I would have mercifully forgotten about the whole incident, but alas, I was merely tipsy, hence the rather embarrassing memories.

I was going out with Micky and Pan for a walk and for some random reason, I decided to dance as I walked out. Somebody called my name. I turned around, grinned and then danced some more.

What exactly happened next remains a mystery, but this is what I have managed to surmise up to now. I took a step back, tripped on a white leather couch and fell flat on my face.

Well, almost. I did manage to break the fall. My face made no contact whatsoever with floor (I mean, ewww!). I was not in any way injured. I sprang right back up. I resumed the dancing. I skipped all the way up the stairs and out the club.

I was amused. Now I'm just embarrassed. No, that's a lie, I'm still amused.

I got home at three, took ages to fall asleep (because I am, among other things, an insomniac) and woke up at seven. I fell back asleep and woke up at one, which was definitely a more decent time. I am now sore in all sorts of places, including but not limited to: my neck, a few vertebrae, my jaw (?), my left wrist, my ankles and achille's tendons, my disjointed ribs (I have disjointed ribs. More on that some other time) and my right hipbone which, incidentally, was the only part of my body that made contact with the floor during 'The Fall'.

Sigh. I had fun. This is two outings in a row now that I actually have fun. What is wrong with the world?