What I learnt from this weekend's debauchery:
1. Substitute beer pong for vodka-and-mango-juice pong, and I'm not half bad!
2. Never dance with D when he's had too much to drink...he'll try to kiss anything: me, a grandmother, a man in a dress...as long as it's vaguely female-shaped, it'll do. Blearghhh.
3. Boys are idiots (this is, of course, in direct correlation to Point 2).
4. Tattooed men are yummy (well, I always knew this. But this one I met reminded me of the fact. Kinda Dave Navarro-ish, but less grrr).
5. Apparently, pour enough alcohol in me, and I am capable of doing something I don't normally do...like giving a guy my number when he asks for it. I never do that...bah. No, really, in my world, that's a bad.
6. No amount of alcohol can get me to overcome my inherent and intrinsic grandmotherly traits. So, while I am sloshed, I will be looking after the equally (if not more) sozzled boys: making sure they don't get involved in brawls with white chicks, short guys and bouncers; listening to romantic woes and dispensing advice; pulling up guys' pants when too much underwear (and a bit of butt) is flashing; playing wingman (wing woman? wing person?) when one of the guys finds a hot chick, and in general just being as close to 65 as I can get. Bah again.
7. I am shockingly ignorant when it comes to slang words for male/female genitalia. And also that I'm the only one my age who uses the word 'genitalia'.
8. Jägerbombs basically ensure that I get no sleep for 36 hours.
9. I'm making up for my teetotaling college years by ruining my liver now. Well, no more...detox detox DETOX.
10. And, as you can tell by the last couple of posts, I pretty much swear by Wikipedia.
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