A university tale
It was the first year of university. I was eighteen, away from home for the first time, living life to the full in the big city. Naturally, this involved drinking copious amounts of gin and rose wine as often as humanly possible, whilst attempting to build lifelong friendships and meaningful relationships. Birthdays are often an extension of this, and my nineteenth was to be no different.

As it turned out, March 12th 2007 would go down in all my friends’, and friends of friends’, memories as the most debauched night out of the whole of first year. Entertainment was provided by the hapless birthday girl, who stumbled into the student bar an hour and a half late to the sound of applause and proceeded to attempt a curtsey, only to fall into a chair and demand a drink.

Now, student bars are renowned for their foul concoctions but I’m pretty sure Manchester Uni’s got the one most guaranteed to get freshers lairy. The “Green Monster” is a pint of neon, pulsating toxic ooze tasting vaguely of fruit. It consists of one orange Reef, some blue curacao and is topped up with cider. I think. This wasn’t the drink I was presented with, however. Some clever soul bought a “Turbo Shandy” – lager and Smirnoff Ice in one glass. Some even cleverer soul decided to get a fresh (plastic – classy) pint glass and mix the two concoctions together to create a Superbrew™. Well, it was grey, it smelled like nothing on this earth and I necked it in one long guzzle. To the bar!

So on we moved to the gay village, to a lovely place with £1 shots and cheap bottles of fluorescent alcopops. Uproariously (an underused word, in my opinion) drunk by now, I proceeded to flaunt my bisexuality in the worst way possible by face-raping my gay female housemate. I then went to the toilets and was lost for half an hour (apparently), until the same female housemate came in looking for me. Sadly, I was asleep in a cubicle. Getting me out of there was fun: I accidentally bashed into one of the walls in that awfully uncoordinated way that only the terminally wasted can manage and embarked into a Laurel & Hardy-esque sequence of bouncing off each of the walls of the toilet about three times before staggering through the door and sitting at my housemate’s feet giggling inanely.

The aim of this drawn-out tale is merely to prove that I was in a state of drunkenness near to alcohol poisoning levels. This was when my friends decided to get me home. A male friend of mine helped me towards the door where I was, spectacularly, sick all over his trousers and shoes before demanding pizza and cigarettes. On arrival back at halls (sans pizza) my housemate asked me where my keys were. “Inmabag,” I advised sagely. “And where is that?” she said gently. “Inbar. Hehe.” I giggled back. Fortunately the warden was feeling sympathetic and let me in, where I lay in a haze of blackness until about 7pm the next day, completely unable to touch food.

The point of this? Apart from providing my soul-baring introduction to b3ta, the friend who I threw up on later took a shine to me. Clearly my vomit is one of my most attractive features: we’ve been together nearly a year. He delights in regaling that story, and keeps threatening to return the favour some day.

Length? Missed the bouncer’s shiny shoes by a couple of feet.
(Holloway_Girl To err is to be human, to be a fool is to believe, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 15:30, 3 replies)

Bloody students.
Made me laugh, though... well-written, that girl!
*click*
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 15:50, closed)

I don't know why
but I never tried that green drink, god knows we spent enough time at the OP Bop to invent some pretty disgusting drinks of our own.
(Bazongaloid, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 16:11, closed)

Click
for having the same birthday as me
( waffle1 is lurking on, Wed 3 Sep 2008, 5:40, closed)