Put Your Hands Up

You can tell your hungover when you crawl out of bed complaining loudly "Oh God! I'm SUFFERING!", undress and curl up in a ball on the bottom of the bathtub. That's where you would have found me this morning. I finally got to go clubbing last night with my girlfriend Dee and I'm still proudly bearing my entry stamps, 24 hours later. I told Mum I was going to drink beers and get rowdy this weekend, secretly doubting that I had the ability to have a good time getting drunk and disorderly - thinking I'd more likely pike-out early to go cuddle up to sleep with my boys. Well I had it in me after all - If, loudly toasting every person that walked by; arguing with strangers drunker and more idiotic than me; thinking it's possible to make deep personal and cultural connections with backpackers in less than 5 minutes; venturing into the smoking section to scab cigerettes for my friends; allowing myself to get grossly overpriced drinks slapped out of my hands and hogging the podium all night thinking I need to audition for "So You Think You can Dance" qualifies as being rowdy I reckon I succeeded, but I think I drank everything but beer....but seriously we did totally carve it up on the dance floor.