Using a series of short movements I’ve managed to get the laptop from my desk to my bed without remotely being horizontal once. This is the sort of achievement on a day like today, where I like to tell myself that essentially I’ve already over stepped the mark of greatness and may as well take the rest of Sunday off. At some point I will leave my bed, possibly make toast and then have to make myself some sort of medal for reaching more impressive heights than I thought my current state would allow. I got home at 6.45am this morning and I won’t lie, I’m fairly proud. Despite low self awareness I got from an area of London I don’t really know, all the way home and at one point grimaced at a lady in a bagel shop because they didn’t have any cream cheese ones left. Her shrug of an apology was nowhere near enough and I told her as much, ensuring that she then handed me the smallest of all the plain cheese ones in her petty efforts to rid herself of a drunk idiot. It was less a bagel and more a doughy onion ring. Last night’s venture was a good old fashioned house party. Not old fashioned in the sense that they had gas lamps and the plague, no. Just in the way that it compiled the simple ingredients of nice and interesting people, a place, lots of booze, music. Its an easy mix that prepared incorrectly or with the wrong amounts can go horribly wrong. Not enough people makes a bad party, as does not enough booze. No place can also be an issue as then its no longer a party and instead just people wondering around as per usual. There’s a lot of things to think about. Last night however, was done well. Just enough of everything, nicely sauted together to equal a substantially fun mess. To summarise this entire paragraph: I hurt a lot. To winterise it: I’m cold and I hurt a lot. Arf.
At some point in the early hours I grabbed a bottle of beer. Not at all abnormal behaviour you would assume. I have been known to grab beers in the past. I am a man who likes a beer. You put those two facts together and it all makes good sense. Knowing full well that the only bottle opener in the room was crap, and in need of said beverage, I decided to just crack open the lid with my teeth. Not quite as normal knowing full well this isn’t that sensible, and that I’m not particularly good at doing this. I’ve only done it successfully once before and it really hurt. But needs must, and so in the most lassaiz fare attitude I just did it. One quick bite, off goes lid, no pain but indeed some useful beer gain. I shocked myself at how easy it was, and I managed to gain the respect of several people around me, including one girl who’s jaw dropped quiet noticeably at such things and meant a conversational point was rendered for further socialising. I think its easy to say its one of the most manly things I’ve done ever. So now what? There were no more bottles of beer that night and so I couldn’t test to see if it was a one-off. Nor would I want to test it again in front of that crowd incase it failed and all the kudos I had gathered with my booze container destroying noshers might dissipate into embarrassment as bits of my canines fall onto the floor like calcium based cous cous.
At the same time, I want to know if this is a new super power I’ve recently gained. Maybe at some point I’ve been bitten by a radioactive pair of teeth. Maybe I can now roam the streets biting cars and lampposts with no issue. More importantly, I can be the dude at parties that opens everyone’s beer with his teeth and ultimately doesn’t ever get to kiss anyone because they are terrified he’ll bite their faces off. Hmm. That last bits not a bonus. Maybe I’ll just leave it as a one off awesome T moment that will go down in the annuls of history as something I once did. I say annuls of history, but what I mean is I’ll remember it and no one else will. Meanwhile other people who bite lids off beer bottles all the time will just think I’m a dick. Essentially no change from normal. Sigh. Back to bed methinks.