Topping Twenty One
I had thought that nothing could top my 21st birthday, but I was so wrong.
Twenty Two started slowly, painfully, I felt sickness overcoming me and wondered if I would manage to make it past dinner, let alone past a few drinks. My oldest friend was in town, and we drank copious amounts of wine, pondering the future and casually catching up. I can't really describe how it all felt really, looking back: suffice to say that I managed, somehow, to prevent myself from standing up on a chair to make a toast about how lucky I was to have such amazing friends.
After we get to Bifteck, my memory becomes hazy. I recall a beer, some faces, Jordan, Jess, Krista and company. Scottish boys in kilts. Fatty, of all people. Shots from Mike, by that point I had given up on my promise that I would not do any shots. The rest is a blur. We ended up at Cafe Campus, and I am under the impression that I did many inappropriate things that my friends are loathe to remind me of.
I managed to get through the night without having to vom, without getting kicked out of anywhere. I ended up in a cab with Petra and her sister, the two Scots who were staying with them, clutching a rose. Somehow, this feels anticlimactic describing it all here, as I'm sure most of these nights do.
The next day we got up and made breakfast, I met Julia downtown for lunch. She said something to me that almost tops the list of funniest things said during my trip: "Care, I realized something last night, that when you drink, you get to this point in the night where all you want is sex. Its not that you don't want sex all the time, its just that at a certain point you drop all pretenses." So I will take that as advice to not get myself into any trouble at Oxford by getting overly drunk.
My next installment? Edward King-Can-Hands and the supreme Thursday, getting hit by the week-long-hangover and the funniest quote of my trip.
Twenty Two started slowly, painfully, I felt sickness overcoming me and wondered if I would manage to make it past dinner, let alone past a few drinks. My oldest friend was in town, and we drank copious amounts of wine, pondering the future and casually catching up. I can't really describe how it all felt really, looking back: suffice to say that I managed, somehow, to prevent myself from standing up on a chair to make a toast about how lucky I was to have such amazing friends.
After we get to Bifteck, my memory becomes hazy. I recall a beer, some faces, Jordan, Jess, Krista and company. Scottish boys in kilts. Fatty, of all people. Shots from Mike, by that point I had given up on my promise that I would not do any shots. The rest is a blur. We ended up at Cafe Campus, and I am under the impression that I did many inappropriate things that my friends are loathe to remind me of.
I managed to get through the night without having to vom, without getting kicked out of anywhere. I ended up in a cab with Petra and her sister, the two Scots who were staying with them, clutching a rose. Somehow, this feels anticlimactic describing it all here, as I'm sure most of these nights do.
The next day we got up and made breakfast, I met Julia downtown for lunch. She said something to me that almost tops the list of funniest things said during my trip: "Care, I realized something last night, that when you drink, you get to this point in the night where all you want is sex. Its not that you don't want sex all the time, its just that at a certain point you drop all pretenses." So I will take that as advice to not get myself into any trouble at Oxford by getting overly drunk.
My next installment? Edward King-Can-Hands and the supreme Thursday, getting hit by the week-long-hangover and the funniest quote of my trip.
posted by Care @ 12:31 a.m.
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