Bad, bad, bad. I also made the stupid decision to walk home from the Hume Avenue bus stop instead of calling home for a ride. Why was it a stupid decision? Five steps up the overhead bridge and I felt like I couldn't breathe properly, like there was something pressing down on my lungs. It was all I could do to walk up the stupid stairs to the road along which Mel's condo is located, cross the road, and sit down at the bus stop. I called my parents but they were out and I didn't want to wait aimlessly at some random bus stop so I did the only thing I knew to do.
I took a cab.
And it was a bloody five-minute drive.
What. The. Fuck.
Wine? Never again.
I came home and my entire body was red and blotchy. Ew. I was tempted to get a pina colada but I didn't feel like spending $12 so what the hell.
The pasta was rather yummy. The atmosphere at Wine Co. was nice. I think we made quite a bit of noise but this other woman (Rui and Mag, you know who!) made a hell lot more noise than we did. She was obviously tipsy lah. She was talking so loudly and everything, which was so obnoxious and...ew.
I started laughing hysterically after a while at the most random, unfunny things, like Rui asking, "Where's the Concourse?" (I still maintain, however, that it was the WAY she said it. So funny.) I think I'm terribly embarrassing to be around when I'm high on booze. Like, seriously, who the hell would want to be seen with some crazy-ass chick laughing loudly and hysterically and obnoxiously at absolutely nothing?
But wine makes me sleepy more than it makes me high. I still prefer beer/cocktails. Yeah.
Um, I think I really need to study. I mean, I really need to study. This is bad, once again.
I had driving. I'm pleased to announce that I still can't parallel park and the two instructors' different instructions regarding vertical parking have screwed up my vertical parking too. Well done, Yelen. I'm so going to fail my driving test. I need new clothes then.
I really want my licence. Boo, Hiss.
I've been having super scary thoughts for the past few weeks. The disorientation brought forth by those two glasses of wine (yes, I know, I'm sad) pushed those thoughts into the spotlight and forced me to confront them.
Just watched Desperate Housewives. Susan, all drunk and everything, crashed Ian's party and said a whole lot of things to him that she didn't remember the next day. Ian repeated everything she said to her and asked, "Susan or booze?"
For me, those scary ass thoughts were definitely not booze.
(Just in case: These thoughts do not relate to anything punishable under, inter alia [because I can't remember my sections], sections 299, 300 and 377 of the Penal Code.)
Going swimming tomorrow morning. I'm so fat I disgust myself.