Fucking Fridays

Encouraged by my horoscope, as well as a concentrated bombardment of text messages, I was a little drunk by about 8:30. This is what a full working day, lack of sleep and an empty stomach do to a man.

Appreciating the joy of inebriated cooking, I did just that: iPod in my pocket, earphones plugged in, the Shapeshifters album on, volume: high. Pre-partying music at it's best, with me dancing behind the stove. I was feeling tired, but good. My flatmates, usually absent on Friday nights, had never seen me like this, and were probably a little shocked. That night, Lola's Theme was my theme.

I had my dinner, polished off a bottle and a half and walked into town. I had a destination: Text Guy would be waiting for me. I found him at the bar, sitting next to his best friend, who I find, you guessed it, quite attractive.

Progressively, the three of us got hammered. At a certain stage, when none of us was capable of intelligent speech any more, it was decided all three of us should go to Text Guy's place nearby to sleep.

On the way, we talked to two more guys, probably unaware of what was going on but none of us could remember what we talked about. Text Guy and Best Mate were discussing the best way to arrange the sleeping; I got a bit annoyed and told them the bed was large enough for the three of us.

We all undressed, Text Guy went out like a light and Best Mate and I made love. I can't remember the details, but he had a real nice body.

I woke up hoping it was all a bad dream, but Best Mate had wisely disappeared early in the morning.

I feel quite good about it now, after apologizing to everyone around (even though nobody seems to care much). It was honestly just hot, and why feel bad about that?