Turning Twenteen

Sitting in the back of a cab, sandwiched between two of my best friends, blasting (as loud as my phone would allow) songs we could only sing the first verse to, a bandage wrapped round my food, plasters on my face, shoeless and wearing a dress that wasn’t mine. Is that the way a 20 year old should behave?

All day at work I’d been glancing at the clock; the hours dragging by as the anticipation bubbled around inside me. Luckily, as home time approached, I was alone in the office and my cheeky eagerness boiled over and I decided to leave early. On the way home I bumped into my friend on the bus, who abruptly told me “Don’t look in this bag!” You see, my teenager years were running short; I was to turn 20 the following day. With one day left to enjoy the right to be reckless, I decided there was no better way to spend it than with my friends, pumping our body with alcohol and dancing like no one’s watching.

The night began with a long cab journey into Watford where my birthday celebrations were to be held. Throughout the journey the conversation was mainly held by me and a girl I used to go to school with, about the days we spent in classrooms, not doing any work. Whenever I go out with said individual we always end up reminiscing about the good old days, often including embarrassing and hilarious moments from primary drunken escapades, as well as the characters from “the best years of our lives”. Whilst we pissed ourselves about girls looking like mammals and general girly gossip, we were gradually getting closer to our destination, where the alcohol awaited us.

Once there, my mission began; walking in 6 and a half inch heels. Admittedly, it was easier than I thought it would be, but I still had to take it slow and clung on to my boyfriend for the duration of our journey down the high street. After eventually making it to the pub and in once piece, we settled ourselves in a nice corner and the conversations continued as others arrived.

One specific moment I remember amidst the flow of drinks is my friend turning to me and telling me that she feels it’s ok to say less than kind things about others when she’s with me, because I’m probably thinking exactly the same things. I have no shame in confessing I tend to speak before I think when it comes to judgements and I accepted my blunt honesty a long time ago. My mouth can run away with me at the best of sober times, without a glance at the angel sitting on my shoulder, urging me to be a bit more subtle, sympathetic, and compassionate. So when I’m 3 double vodkas down, the devil perched on the other side dominates the reigns of my initiative and any morals are drop-kicked out of sight.

Soon Vodka Revs began to call us and we abided to her wishes and made our way next door to indulge in some more alcoholic treats. Two of my friends and I each decided to have two shots of flavoured vodka. Even after all these years of knowing that I detest straight vodka, I still buckled under the pressure Vodka Revs thrust upon me and stepped up to the bar to fulfil her bidding. I tried to convince myself, as I stood in front of the varying colours of alcohol that were placed before me, that this wasn’t going to be as bad as I remembered, for these shots were diluted with fresh fruit flavours. Of course looks can be deceiving and after forcing each shot down, I had to request a glass of water, confirming that I am still a complete pussy when it comes to shots.

As it was getting later and a few members of the group were soon going to have to depart, we decided to move on swiftly to Area, our final destination and the location I would wave farewell to my teenage years and embark upon my 20’s.

After purchasing our drinks, the countdown began to midnight. I was quite drunk and more excited than I would have usually been. “5, 4, 3, 2, 1!” “Woo!” “Happy birthday!” “Here, blow out this candle that’s sitting on the table!” “Yayyy!” I stared down, trying to focus on the blurry candle before my eyes, and blew. Next thing I knew, I was covered in candle wax. The table burst into raucous laughter and as I giggled my way to the bathroom, trying to peal the wax from my face, I was unaware to the disaster that I was about to see reflected back at me in the bathroom mirror.

I ran into the toilet and cleaned up my wax covered skin with ease. However, as I leaned away from the mirror, horror struck as I saw the white stains covering the front of my black dress. In all honesty, I think I stayed relatively calm throughout the whole ordeal. After futilely trying to clean my dress, it was considered a lost cause. Luckily, I had a plan. One of my friends was leaving soon and she just so happened to be wearing a dress I had drooled over previously that night. Despite being something I wouldn’t usually wear, I boldly asked her if we could possibly swap dresses. She graciously accepted and became the saviour of the night. Exciting the bathroom, I held my head high and navigated my way back to our table. I definitely needed another drink.

Unfortunately, the time had come for our group to be severed and half of the attendees were heading home. Once they had departed, those of us left took to the dance floor. I’m surprised I managed to dance whilst balancing on my fashionable stilts, but as I’ve determined, heels are a lot easier to wear when your system is flooded with alcohol. However, I did manage to kick over my own drink, placed carefully to the side of the dance floor, hidden from any unwanted hands; I didn’t predict that I’d forget it was there myself.

The night was drawing to a close, but the fun was to not to end just yet. Gathering ourselves together, we left the club. With my mind on the kebab I was about to purchase, which I had been waiting for for weeks now, my brain neglected my feet and I catapulted myself out onto the pavement. For the thousandth time in our relationship, my boyfriend found himself dragging my limbs from the ground, as I absentmindedly laughed to myself; being drunk is the best pain killer you can get.

Whilst obtaining my meaty goodness, surrounded by potatoey delights, swimming in mayonnaise and covered in my only five a day, lettuce, little did I know my friends were on a top secret mission, to acquire an essential piece of equipment that would complete our evening: a first aid box. There was, surprisingly, method to their madness, for earlier in the evening I had complained that my heels were rubbing my feet and I needed a plaster. Obviously, by this point in time my body was numb to any pain, demonstrated by my epic fall mere minutes beforehand. So although their actions had cause, they were wholly unnecessary.

As any group of drunken individuals would do, we opened the box and proceeded to unpack its contents. Plasters, bandages, plastic gloves, were stuck and wrapped to our bodies in varying places. However, we all had a blue plaster stuck on our cheek, to confirm our alliance to the First Aid Gang. I cannot fathom what the cab driver must have been thinking as he pulled up and saw all four of us looking as if we’d just walked out of a hospital run by 5 year olds. I will never forget what that cab driver said in response to my apologies for playing music and singing loudly whilst we climbed out of his vehicle outside my house. Gesturing to my boyfriend he announced, “Don’t apologise, it’s him I feel sorry for!” With that final laugh of the evening, I made my way inside with my boyfriend and closed the door on an unforgettable 20^th birthday.

Travelodge Adventures

Two weeks after the event and I’m struggling to remember the finer details of the night. “I need to write my blog!” I told my boyfriend in exasperation, to which he replied “Oh yeah, you still haven’t written about the night we stayed in the hotel.” “It’s hard when I’ve left it for so long though...and I don’t really know what to write because all we did was have lots of sex.” His so very unhelpful response was “That’ll do, just write that.” Luckily for you, I decided to not be so crude and put far more effort into this post than simply informing you that I had so much sex that night that afterwards my vagina decided to go on vacation. Enjoy.

It was a lovely day. I’d spent the night with my boyfriend and the day dragging him around the shops and enjoying the glorious sunny weather. I then travelled home and packed my stuff for our night in a hotel. Admittedly it was the hotel in our local town, but I couldn’t wait to spend some quality time, completely alone, with the one I love. I’m sure you can guess exactly what a young couple did upon arrival to a hotel, by themselves, free to do anything they set their minds to without any unwanted attention; we jumped on the bed and started squealing in excitement at how bouncy it was. Why, what did you think I was going to say?

Within minutes we’d made ourselves at home. I know I’m messy, my bedroom at home is a mere pit, with my floor housing the majority of my belongings due to my sheer laziness in regards to putting things back where they belong. However, I didn’t think it was possible for two people to create such a mess within such a short period of time and we truly out did ourselves throughout the rest of our stay, managing to practically flood the bathroom the next day. For now I needed to concentrate on getting ready. We were going out for our friends’ birthday and I have to say it was lovely not having to worry about getting a bus anywhere, as all we had to do was walk round the corner.

As I put on my make up, my boyfriend lounged on the bed, Britain’s Got Talent on the TV, practically wetting himself with glee whilst watching the happiest fat woman I’ve ever seen, play the piano. It was the perfect evening; I don’t think we’ve both ever been in such a good mood.

I was wearing a new pair of bright orange heels, which I’ve now deemed my favourite pair of shoes. Although they are the most comfortable pair I own, as when walking in any platform, I was glad to have my boyfriend holding my hand, helping me keep my balance as we descended down the high street.

We met with our friends and made our way to the first pub of the night. For some reason this pub was excruciatingly hot and I think I spent a majority of the time merely complaining about the heat, even having to step outside for a while to cool down. As we drank, we all contemplated where we would head next. This issue often arises. You see, the town I live in has only two establishments that stay open until the early hours and the chasm between the type of people that go to each place and the music that is played is wide to say the least. In the end, we decided to be sensible and go to the pub where we could sit outside, rather than work up a fever in a club.

We trotted off down the road, as happy as a group of drunk young adults can be. The last time we had ventured to the pub at hand was a couple of weeks before and it had been completely empty. However, this evening it seemed everyone had left their homes to enjoy the weather. To add to this relief, they were playing music we could dance to!

Before we took to the dance floor, we spent some time sitting outside, talking, with growing fear for the boy passed out on our table, who had been there since we had arrived at before 11pm. This poor guy became rather infamous that night. As time passed by, he didn’t move. I was beginning to wonder if he was so drunk that he might have forgotten to breathe. Fortunately, my qualms were demolished when he proceeded to projectile vomit all over the floor. For a moment, everyone seemed in a state of shock, before we all realised that this wasn’t going to be a single bout of nausea. As he was dragged out of the pub (his legs at this point now with the mental age of a 1 year old) he continued to expel his insides down himself and into other’s beverages, until they managed to park his paralytic body outside, where he could continue his alcohol induced sickness in private, not before I’d run after them, camera in hand, to document his shame though.

Once that episode had ended, we all continued on as if nothing had happened, apart from when we had to edge around the pool of vomit that had been left behind. The alcohol continued to floor and soon we were on the dance floor. One of my friends and I have always danced as normally as we could when in this particular pub, until now. If you’re a follower of my blog then you may have read in previous posts that we have a habit of indulging ourselves in “piss take” dancing and tonight was the night that this side of us would be unleashed to a new community. However, there is always hope that no one noticed.

At one point, whilst sitting outside to cool down, my friend and I were approached by a couple of gay guys who began to gush over our heels. Well, who wouldn’t? With me in bright orange and her in bright red, anyone who didn’t notice our glorious footwear simply must have been blind. This wasn’t the only time my heels were admired either; I bumped into a girl in the toilet who, although reprimanding me for wearing suede shoes in one of the dirtiest pubs in the land, didn’t refrain from also admitting how amazing they are.

As the group began to thin, the urge to head back to, what felt like, our secluded abode grew stronger and we soon said farewell to those who were left and began our short journey back to the hotel. As we exited the pub, we passed the guy still sitting outside, now thoroughly drenched in his own body fluid. He was accompanied by a friend, who had been continuously ringing the same cab number and continuously been turned down. We gave them a new cab number and went on our way. I have never envied anyone less.

After we’d stumbled our way down the high street, intervened by my boyfriend having to drag me past the kebab shop as I gazed inside like a homeless child staring into a sweet shop, stocking up (for some unknown reason) on coke cans, we finally made it back. 3 or so hours later, we unknowingly fell asleep.

It occurred to us both the next day that staying in a hotel is not the same as being completely alone. I feel slightly sorry (and embarrassed) for the people who were staying next door to us; we definitely treated that room like it was home. The intimate details of our evening I will leave for you to conjure up, for I wouldn’t want to undermine how amazing it was and how much that night meant to me.