The drunkest I have ever been

I've already told you about how I was a trainwreck. This is another one of those stories.

Once upon a Saturday I woke up at 10am to Brit (my flatmate) and Cheyenne (our friend) knocking on my bedroom door.

Being the trainwreck that I was, that sounded like an awesome thing to do on a Saturday morning. I had work at 8pm that night, but I thought that there'd be enough time to sober up by then.
We went down to the shop and bought a bottle of wine. We then crammed all three of us into a cubicle in the public toilets on Lambton Quay (one of the classy streets in central Wellington) and started drinking.

Slightly tipsy, we carried on towards the skate park, rating people out of one to ten loudly as they walked past. We thought we were so super sneaky and that nobody would know what the numbers meant. But after a few dirty looks I think they'd figured it out.

We finally arrived at the skate park. We'd been expecting to see this:

But we saw this:

Disappointed, we decided to go and get some more alcohol. I bought a small bottle of jager, which was my favourite drink at the time.

It was nearly midday, so we decided to go and get some lunch from the food court down the road from the bottle shop. Brit and Cheyenne got some food, while I declared that "EATING IS CHEATING" and started drinking my jager. Through a straw. Out of a paper bag. So that nobody would know. I'm so sneaky.

Pictured above: Sneakiness.

When they were finished their lunch, we tried to decide where to go to next. They asked me how much Jager I had left, so I pulled the bottle out of the bag.
I was expecting this:

I saw this:

Pictured above: Horror

I knew that this was going to be bad. I couldn't believe that I'd drank that much jager in about 15 minutes. How did that happen? But strangely, I felt fine.... until I stood up.

I don't really remember much from this point on... The following is what I have pieced together from witness testimony.

We walked around town for a bit. Not sure where we went or what we did. But then we went to visit my friend Doug at work.

The next day when I woke up, I found some sunglasses. According to Brit and Chey, I stole them from Doug's work. According to Doug, a security guard was following me the whole time cos I was so drunk, so I couldn't possibly have stolen them.

After visiting Doug we went to McDonalds, I'm not sure why. Brit and Chey ordered, while I passed out at my seat.

Pictured above: Pure classiness

I then woke up, just long enough to projectile vomit all over the windows, which were facing out onto Manners Mall. Cos I'm classy like that.

The people working at McDonalds tired to make me clean it up. My friends stood up for me.

We left McDonalds, and I somehow ended up getting separated from my friends. So I stumbled home, drunk, covered in vomit, at 3pm on a Saturday afternoon, through Central Wellington.

It turns out that Ben (my best friend at the time) had actually seen me as I was stumbling home, but saw what a mess I was and decided he didn't want anything to do with it.

I finally arrived back at the building, and was so drunk I couldn't figure out how to get back in. Luckily, a friend of Brit and Cheyenne's saw me, and helped me back in. Now I only lived on the fourth floor of the building, but the elevator ride seemed so long that I swear we were going to the 348913595th floor.

I tried really hard, but I couldn't hold it in.

I vomited all through the elevator. I finally got into my room, and passed out in my bed, covered in vomit.

I woke up at 7pm, vomited some more, and remembered that I had work. I threw on some new clothes, and crawled to work. I'm pretty sure I still had vomit in my hair, and I was still really drunk. Luckily the function that was meant to be on that night was cancelled, so I got to go home early. I'm not sure if my boss was grumpy or amused.

I met up with Brit and Chey after I'd finished work (around 9pm) and we went to a bar. I had one sip of my beer, decided that I had already had more than enough for the day, and sulked home, tail between my legs.

I vowed never to drink again... until a few days later. 

Beauty is in the wallet of the beholder

Every now and then I get bored of being me and decide to change how I look. If I actually spend money on it, it normally turns out good. If I am poor and want to save some money, it normally turns out terribly, but I never seem to learn my lesson.

When I was 16 I wanted a haircut I'd seen in a magazine, but I'd lost the magazine so I had to try to explain it to the hairdresser myself. It's a "scene" haircut, but "scene" wasn't really a thing back then, so I wouldn't have known how to google it (but if you google scene hair now there's heaps of results showing the haircut I wanted). So I tried my best to explain it. "It's like two different haircuts, a short one and a long one" and I drew a little picture.

Because I was poor at the time, I got one of the trainee hairdressers to do it for me, because they were a lot cheaper. As she was brushing my hair I should have realised it was a bad idea to go the cheap way. The brush got caught in the butterfly at the back of my newly pierced ear; she yanked it and my earring came out.

But no, I was determined not to pay heaps of my haircut, so I let her continue. When she was finished, instead of having beautifully layered scene hair, I had a short bob with long hair underneath.

I wanted to cry. It took a few months to grow out, but in teenage time that feels like five years. People at school even thought I was wearing a wig. But seriously, why on earth would I wear a wig that ugly?

But did I learn my lesson?

Around Easter this year I decided to put a red streak back in my hair. I'd had red streaks in my hair on and off since I was 17. Usually I got them done at the hairdressers, but that was back in Taupo where hairdressers are a LOT cheaper than they are in Wellington. Here, it's about $80 for a "student" haircut. What kind of student can afford that? So I decided to do it myself, because it would be much cheaper. And how hard could it be?

It had been a while since I'd dyed my hair, so I had a lot of regrowth.

I went to the supermarket and stocked up on hair dye. One packet of blonde, two packets of black and one packet of red. It cost around $50. Much cheaper than a hair dresser!

I started off with the blonde.

The regrowth went ginger, and the rest stayed black. This was on Thursday night. The next day was Easter Friday, so all the shops were closed so I couldn't buy more hair dye to fix my mistake. I had work too, so I decided to wear a hat to cover up the ugliness. And just to add to my misery, I chipped my tooth on some toast at breakfast. It was just a tiny chip, but it felt huge and horrible to me. I felt like a hideous swamp beast.

So off I went to work, with my confidence shattered. I told some of my workmates about what had happened, and they all said the same thing "you're so dumb, you should have used colour stripper first. Duh!". As soon as the shops were open the next day, I went out and got some colour stripper. It cost about $40. I put it in my hair, and it made my hair smell like Rotorua (ie. rotten eggs).

It didn't work.

So now I was smelly, and ugly, with a chipped tooth.

The next day I decided that I might as well just try putting blonde in my hair again. I bought another packet of blonde hair dye - $15. I used it, and the roots turned very blonde, and the rest turned dark brown.

By then I was sick of wearing my hat and looking like a monster, so I just decided to give up and put the red and black in.

It didn't turn out anywhere near as good as a hairdresser would have made it look, and for those keeping score at home - it cost me $105. So for the same price I could either do it at home, take three days, and feel ugly, or I could get it done at a salon, take one hour, and look hot.

But did I learn my lesson?

Today I decided that I wanted a fringe. I had a fringe when I was 18, and it was cute. A few of my friends have been getting fringes lately, and they all look hot, so I was jealous. Now I could have paid my friend Yen who is a hairdresser (an amazing one actually - he managed to give me the scene haircut I wanted, but four years later) to do it for me, but nooo I wanted to save money and decided to do it myself. And now I'm sitting here, looking like this.

The lighting is a bit weird, so I've drawn the outline of my fringe for you. Hopefully Roxanna will come home soon to fix it.


Did I learn my lesson?

Probably not.

(You may have noticed the IWAGIATT tag. It stands for It Was A Good Idea At The Time. There will be many, many more posts with this tag)