This is about as exciting as it got last night. This and takeaway pizza again (YAY! But also I am so fat).
Oh, and a brief moment of hilarity when one of the guys ordered the “Bru-shitty” pizza, instead of the bruschetta pizza. And then someone made pink Nesquik, which baffled me so I stayed well away.
It was wild, I tell ya…absolute madness. Rehab-style.
Ever since a (former) friend of mine stupidly decided to get into her car drunk out of her mind and reverse into the neighbour’s yard via their wooden fence one New Year’s Eve, I’ve tended to prefer small house parties over anything wild and exciting.
Hell, I’m frequently asleep before midnight. Not often, but it’s definitely happened. Once. I think. I could’ve been high…? I can’t remember and it doesn’t matter.
Prior to watching the London fireworks go off, we indulged in back-to-back Family Guy episodes.
The second episode we watched was the one where they fed Stewie a cocaine-laced energy drink so he could get acting gigs. It ended with this:
Random guy at the gym: “Want some cocaine?”
Stewie at 30ish year’s old: “YES! YES! IT’S AL I WANT ALL THE TIME!”
There were two cokeheads and one crackhead watching and we all had a jolly laugh, though I’m pretty sure I saw one of their eyes twitch.
The third episode was the one where they raised the drinking age in Quahog to the age of 50. There were too many “HOW ON EARTH CAN WE LIVE WITHOUT ALCOHOL?!” quotes to remember them all.
Again we all had a jolly laugh, though the alcoholics probably giggled nervously more than they laughed heartily.
It will only get worse once I get out of here, so we might as well practice from the safety of our rehab bubble.
Just before midnight we flipped to BBC, all of us very keen to put 2016 behind us and ring in a new year – and a chance at redeeming ourselves – and that was it.
Bittersweet, but nice.