The 12 Shot Challenge

Bonjour Mes Cheries,

I often look back at my life and wonder how so many moments of madness have managed to occur in such a short space of time, my most recent and most horrifically humiliating to date was when I took on The 12 shot challenge. For you to truly appreciate the depths of my folly I thought it was only right that I share it with you.

A two month period of solitary revision was coming to an end as my January exams had just drawn to a close, I had been feeling an ache in my loins (which some may also refer to as a need) to go out and show the world that N was indeed back in action. Refreshers week kicked off and everyone except me had been expressing themselves as temporary alcohol deprivation reared its ugly head and took its toll, whereas I had decided that Wednesday would be the best day for me to showcase my stupidity.

After witnessing my friend Ricky a 6 ft 3 Rugby boy take a battering at the hands of 12 shots of  concentrated vodka sans mixer on Tuesday, me being the cocky 5 ft 5 cunt that I am decided to take on the challenge on Wednesday. I’m not gonna lie to you I did it with serious swagger in under 60 seconds (whoop whoooop!!), there were bets placed that I wouldn’t even be able to do 5 shots and my triumphant response within the 7 minutes before the real aftermath begun when I was still glowing with pride was SUCK ON THAT!!

And thats when It HIT me, I started to suddenly burn up and had the extreme desire to run around in front of the house in muddy fields with no shoes on because I was really hot, only the fact that my vision suddenly became impaired meant that it was more like rocking with the motions of the wind, leading me to roll on the floor several times (If the sober me had seen the drunk me I would have received a slap).

Then at pre-drinks the fact that my best friend is going to another university in 5 months lead me to have an emotional breakdown were I cried incessantly for 35 minutes begging her not to leave, smearing my make-up in the process and moving me to number 1 on the scale of most embarrassing melt downs, coupled with the fact that I fell down on a porcupine and screamed that hedgehogs (yes I meant hedgehogs plural) were attacking me in view of at least 50 sane people. (You can see that at this point I was really on a roll and was just getting into my stride)

Just about managing to get into the club without being barred, I then decided to hump the leg of Bobby the bad boy  only to rush into the nearest cubicle to release all that vodka goodness in my stomach. I was somehow able to escape the clutches of my friends who were monitoring me like hawks as they feared that I would need my stomach to be pumped and bought spring rolls from the Chinese takeaway, rushed home, threw up some more, brushed my teeth, reapplied my make-up only to return to the club at 2:15 am to be hailed a legend for my troubles.

In the end I got a good reputation, got a date with Jay, had a fight with Bobby who was jealous of me flirting with Jay and stormed home somewhat less victorious at 4 am after being called a ‘slag’ twice.

I woke up late in the day with a mop bucket full of only God knows what, a text from a potential mate, and paralysed with bruises on the  right half of my body, only for me to crawl into my kitchen to be greeted with the scene of my cleaner getting drunk on the job.

Is this life!!

N xx