If I were to say that I was writing this dear blog with the intention of keeping peeps amused, I would be lying. Whilst my life is taking more black-out-twists-and-turns then ever, I need to record my frequent and not so classy exploits with the sole purpose of remembering what the hell I did last weekend.
I am totally aware that there are 52 weekends a year, but that does not mean that every single Friday should not be met with the same messy-as-fuck anticipation as the last. And hell, if you miss a Friday, or even a Saturday, it’s ok! In most cases Mondays are our best evenings out (not for the obvious eight Jager Bombs that ensue at Side Bar) but for the sly ‘couple of drinks’ that you tell yourself you’re going to have before you wake up in a pile of (what I hope is) my own spew before starting all over again with a suave brandy over a big breakfast (sunny side up please!)
Woah now! Take it easy! Before you think I’m some loose canon with no purpose in life, you must know that I’m not some raging alcoholic that has a tendency for backpackers bars, not at all! My simple philosophy in life is that the stickier the floor, the better, and at the tender age of 23 I know that I should be slowing it down a little, enjoying the finer things in life perhaps, but hell, who wants that when all the luxuries in life lay in the bottom of a bottle of passion pop!
So, in light of this, lets not call this a blog, let’s call this an ode to staying mad, no matter what society deems as appropriate, I say that starting a conga line on any given night, in any given situation is a-ok!