girl

dalena | 25 | counting fancies
fmps/rgps/nygh/rjc/smu (biz)
a dancer with mosaic
working at the learning lab
4th feb 1986
dalena@gmail.com
clearing out her wardrobe


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adeline
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boons
chiew
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eileen
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haihan
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miche
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destinations

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mr brown
oh no they didn't
orisinal
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pink is the new blog
postsecret
the butterfly tales
the superficial
tomorrow.sg
xiaxue

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layout: detonatedlove♥
pictures: ohhspontaneityy
stocks: _excentric_
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Thursday, December 23, 2004
5:26 pm

Delirium.

The thing about drinking is that it makes you feel especially giggly, and the world starts tilting a little sometimes in that way, sometimes in this way. After a few margaritas and some beer (eww), the alcohol goes straight to your brains and makes you talk really loudly. Suddenly, all you feel like doing is to get up and dance like you've never danced before, except that, of course, you were in a bar and not in a club. You cling onto the nearest (semi-drunk) friends' arm and both of you start waving your hands around while walking in a zigzag fasion - barely avoiding a cat so unfortunate as to be in the way of your semi-drunken stroll. A (sober) person points out that the group had just walked past Taufik, and the slightly crazed and very-high-on-alcohol pair turn straight around and saunter back, all the while babbling "I LOVE TAUFIK! WHERE IS HE?!" in an embarrassingly high volume for all to overhear. Then they realise that he's simply too far away - their wobbly legs and blurry vision couldn't possibly carry them across all that distance - then spun around again to rejoin their (sober) friends who were amusedly watching them all this while.

You hop into the cab with another (sober) friend, all the while insisting that you're sober. He briefly believes you, because you were actually sitting sedately and talking seriously in a normal, everyday conversational volume. The high effect had (seemingly) worn off already.

Then you reach home. And you log on. And you spout random rubbish and spam out your friends with all your typoes because you somehow cannot coordinate your hands to your brains, so while you're thinking of something, your fingers type something else so incoherent everybody gets headaches trying to decipher your words. You, too, suffer from a throbbing headache, and complain incessantly in jumbled letters like "io ha ve a hedadahceeee, helepppp :(" (i have a headache, help) over and over again. Finally deciding to take a wise (sober) friend's advice, you head to the bathroom, ready to take a long, relaxing bath. After filling the bath with warm water, you climb in and promptly fall asleep, wake up almost an hour later, to return to a screen of friends discussing the possibility that you'd puked your guts out or had drowned in the bath. By this time you are (really) sober, and amazingly awake. You proceed to have insomnia, reading until 5am, then falling into an exhausted sleep so deep that nothing can penetrate.

Ah, and the very eventful night had come to an end. The consequence? Nobody could wake you up so you miss the Mango sale on today. :( What a pity, but it's all your fault for being such a lousy drinker.

Damn.

Spinning: Remy Zero's Shattered.