Never mix beer with spirits

Last night, I have officially reached new heights in pushing my alcohol limits. It has been awhile since I've clubbed back home and some of us trooped, or rather, scaled the 72nd floor New Asia Bar at Equinox, The Swissotel or what was previously known as Westin Stamford.

It was a pretty posh place - loads of ex-pats, nice cushion-y seats and soft lighting. I was quite amazed at what the view had to offer - never realising that I have not seen Sg from an aerial view before. I even felt midly proud of the view our country offered - vibrant city lights - organised, clean, energetic.
We proceeded to explore the place and to my dismay, the dance floor was too small. If it was slightly bigger, it would have been the perfect club I would say. It was the right atmosphere (not many annoying young squealing schoolgirls, nor primitive perv-looking men) and it played great music! (James, they played hey mama! last night and I thought of you.. you so should have been there with me)

But now on hindsight, I don't think the size of the dancefloor would have mattered much judging by how the night went for me. I can't exactly distinguish at which point in the night did I start losing it... I had a pint before I went to the club. And then vodka. And then, ten really foul shots (it was happy hour and it was ten shots for $35!) of which some tasted like a mix between Absynthe and Sambuca. I have no idea why I allowed myself to consume that many when I was never a shots kinda person anyway. More drinks followed... and I think it was just a celebratory high we were on that it didn't even occur to me what kind of effect it was gonna have on me. Last night now officially wins hands down as one of my most unglamorous and drunken nights ever and I solemnly swear I will never touch alcohol again for as long as I live - or as long as I can still remember this night as vividly as I do now.

I mean, vividly remember the parts before I was so intoxicated that I couldn't stand and had no recollection whatsoever of what exactly happened. Thank goodness for Wei who took care of me and sent me home. I blame the beer I had before I consumed the spirits, someone had told me before that mixing beer and spirits was never a good idea. And judging by last night, I can vouch for it. Although it probably had to do with the foul shots more than the beer... I will never know. And certainly will never ever attempt to find out again.

I vaguely recall dancing loads... and talking to this Danish bloke where I tried to hold a decent conversation about Lars von Trier, having studied some of his films and watched quite a lot more of them outside the course - the latest of course, being Dogville which I immensely enjoyed. All I remember is the Danish guy saying von Trier was a weird fellow and he was impressed that I knew about him. Citing The Idiots as an example, I cheekily claimed that it seems Danish people were weird and had funny ideas. (this was a very mild expression of what I genuinely felt about that film - perverse and unecessary) He just laughed and said it was 'only von Trier'. That is, if I actually recalled the conversation accurately.

Another part of the night I firmly recall was W dancing with her heterosexually-challenged friend Y. I was dancing with them and this conversation thus ensued.

W: "Y, aren't you happy....all these foreign men around?"
Y: "Of course! I can now take my pick..."
W: "What are you waiting for! Go for it!" (laughs)
Y: "Maybe later..."
And then,
(Y, indulging in flambouyant camp dancing with W and me)
W: (laughing) "Y...don't you feel like a slut now?"
Y: (in an affected, camp tone) "Darling..... I am a slut.

I can't remember at which point did I stop laughing at the hilarious conversation and started feeling sick. I suddenly had a head rush and tried sitting down to recover. Not sure if I puked then, but I was ushered to the toilet and what followed after that was a blur and hazy recollection of distant voices and events. I don't think the club was too impressed by me - if they knew my name, they would probably ban me from there forever for the amount of crap I spewed on their floor - the bouncers (or my friends, I cannot remember which) carried me out of there and we descended 72 floors to make it to a taxi, after which my friend drove my car which I left at her place, to send me home. I shall not go into further details to save myself from further embarrassment but you can probably tell it was certainly not a pretty night.

I awoke this morning to find two huge purple bruises on my kneecaps which W explained afterwards in a text was because 'you couldn't even stand up properly'. I am quite impressed with myself, actually making it for mass, even though I felt extremely sick. Went home after and promptly slept the whole day afterwards.

I now cannot believe I have to work tomorrow and file freaking three stories - two for tuesdays paper, and one for a supplement. Interviewing CEOs and going for press conferences announcing Financial Year results is not exactly the best of hangover cures.
So now I know, no mixing of alcohol. And no more shots for me for the rest of my life.
As my dear friend puts it, as I walked in for mass in a zombie-fied state this morning,

"I have no sympathies for you whatsoever."