Wagging Tongues...Wagging Tails

Its just one of the hazards of the job.
When you work in an office as porous as a ragged, year old sponge... You know that even zealous attempts at keeping your true self concealed is a fruitless, futile exercise. Thus, the 'oh I read your blog about the job woes' and all such catty comments follow suit. Or a questioning gaze wondering what the hell my problem in life is coz me by virtue of being incharge of a beat coveted my most am subjected to remarks like, 'the princess doesn't think anything is good enough for her' and some such.
But as they say barking dogs can't bite. Or wait, was it the other way around. Anyways...
But I am not trying to say that everyone in this profession is a two faced moron. There are some wonderful people that you meet everyday and some that become friends for life. Many others make an unmistakable impression that stays with you for a lifetime. My team is made up of such people. All beautiful, all talented, all warm.
And of course there is my fave dual identity. Nice gal gone naughty, who is probably reading this right now and snickering away, getting her jollies.
One of those most treasured colleagues of mine is perhaps the best looking guy I've seen. Let's call him A. There might be those better looking than A but its his charm and his demeanour that make him far better than the rest. And he was involved in a car accident on route to an assignment day before. Now as he lies in a hospital with a broken jaw, swollen lips and seven plates in his face post extensive reconstructive surgery... You wonder once again why bad things happen to the best people.
Life is really unfair. And at times like these, you forget everything else and just pray. Even though I don't believe in god, I am praying hard to whatever higher being is out there. Stay strong A.

Life In Between Living...

Following in the same mood as my last post...
Fading away in the background, merging with the crowd, lost in the sea of monotony, over the din of a computer left in standby mode too long and a clatter of cluck, cluck, clack... That is my workspace. My daily prison. I loved my job. Notice the past tense. Writing on food and music was like a dream come true. Nevermind the peanuts they paid me in the name of a 'salary'. The perks in the form of an endless stack of music cd's, food reviews, wine tasting invites and gigs to attend kept me hale, happy and hearty. Nonwithstanding the two sizes it added to my 5 foot 7 inches frame.
Now, not so much. It gets old real fast they say, I think that process has started for me already. I have reached a stage in my job where I can sleep walk my way through every issue. My 'work shelf-life' has expired it seems. Okay that is a blatantly dangerous admission but what the heck. The creativity, the zest, the enthusiasm all wiped away by the indifference of The Man! My newspaper that is. And now I have a vague, nagging feeling that all my eccentricities are being drained away which automatically leads to no cooky, wacky writing by SIM. I am fighting this, real hard.
In the meanwhile brief update: I've decided to get inked. Am currently veering between two of my most favoured symbols from Egyptian mythology, being the ancient history geek that I am. Any suggestions anyone?

M.I.A

Life is a crazy 'comedy of errors' at times. My assumed identity S.I.M has been M.I.A for the past month and a half and my mind has been wiped clean, hence the no writing bit.
When one goes through tragic/life-altering moments, your mind goes into shock and there are no thoughts, views or opinions... Just a strange inquisitiveness. Why me? You ask yourself. It's not self-pity, neither wallowing in misery... It's merely a lack of zest and want. Completely devoid of emotion, good or bad, I have been floating through life rather aimlessly.
Or so I thought. During this wandering, I have managed to sleep walk my way through a more than satisfactory raise, a very eventful birthday, a close pal's wedding planning and also found someone capable of bringing a smile to my face everyday. Yet there is a strange yearning. Of something lost, or of something never found. And I have realized that I am the sort of person who can give up things easily... There seems to be nothing that I need to stick with or cling to for comfort. The most recent case in point being alcohol. Now some, ok lots of people turn to these 'spirits' for some upliftment. I used to be one of those. There was no amount of sleep deprivation, bad hair days, relationship blues or work woes that a JD and coke or a Vodka OJ couldn't solve and then one fine day, a month ago, I decided to stop. Just like that.
Some might call it depression. I don't. It is what it is. A general lull in life and I know everyone goes through it. And this too shall past. S.I.M will be back again baby!

Chocolate Coloured Dreams...

What is the first thing that comes to your mind when someone mentions a chocolate? Sweet, luscious, indulgent, glistening and sometimes melting little pieces of heaven!
And what type are you... Milky white, dark or bitter...Nutty or liquer filled, caramel centered or crunchy?

Either way, chances are that you are a true blue chocoholic, just like moi.
And the type that you are defines your personality. Or, so some say.
But whatever may be, chocolate coloured dreams would sound like a good thing right? Hmm, not really.
The dreams aren't black or white, nor grey but a deep, all encompassing chocolate brown. The kinds that lure you in with the promise of sweet returns and then end up engulfing you from all sides on a never ending trail into the land of no return. They aren't bad dreams...just the kinds you can't recall and yet can't recover from. Like you can remember the flavour of that last bite of chocolate but yet don't feel like you have tasted it till you can sink your teeth into a chunk again. A vicious vice that teases you with its memory and keeps inviting you back again.

I am bitter and liquer filled. Ahem, perhaps that defines me and my dreams as well. Or maybe I should just stop going to bed after polishing off that box of chocolates... And as Mr Gump's mamma always said, "life is like a box of chocolate, you never know what your gonna get!" Happy eating!

The Wishing Bone...

One fine day... on a beautiful glorious sunshiney (yes, its not a word but i'll use it anyways) day... I got up really late with a massive hangover, having lost my wallet, banged my brand new car into an innocent tree the night before and missed an important story deadline by 3 hours right before an overdue promotion. Oh, yes! I can be that irresponsible.
I wake up, not in a crappy mood but in a cheerful one. A throbbing head but a beaming smile nonetheless. The coffee is perfectly black and bitter and the breakfast is wonderfully runny eggs and burned toast...the birds are chirping on an unusually shrill pitch and there are no missed calls from the boss fretting over my no-show at work (it sucks when they don't even bother to pick up the phone and tell you how incompetent you are isn't it?). I might be dreaming. But a firm pinch confirms that I am indeed wide awake. Am I delusional then? Deranged perhaps? None actually. I am simply content.
I think many of us, including yours truly, have forgotten how to feel completely content. When you can't find anything to complain about even though the otherwise obvious crib worthy instances are glaring straight at you... that's when you know what contentment feels like. It can simply be explained as a kind of 'looking at the world through rose-coloured glasses' phenomenon. And no it isn't directly related to being in love. It is about being in a good place in your life. Everything else could suck but you find the strength to smile through it all and emerge unscathed. All the better for it.
I am living through my very own personal hell at the moment. But I am still content being me. Just me. All wild guesses point towards the direction of some good luck courtesy 'the wishing bone'. Or so said my horoscope in the morning paper:
"You have been blessed with a wishing bone for a short period in your life. Make use of it"
Within the day, my wallet was returned to me with all its contents intact, the insurance agency verified and agreed to pay full damages on my car and upon reaching office I was informed that the boss had called in sick, which meant I got off the hook. I have also been gifted with an excellent appraisal and a hefty bonus.
I am not a believer in the higher arts or whatever other gifts the fortune tellers are born with but sometimes you got to turn believer.
My version of the story - It's a wishing bone, stuck in a fishing zone. Go, fish!

Firefly...

"Like a firefly that burns bright...he came suddenly, out of the dark sky. He hovered around for a little while, he lit up my days with laughter and smiles. Then he vanished just as suddenly, my dear firefly."

I hate insects and their likes...no matter what kind they are. Who doesn't? But what can one do when a charming firefly buzzes his way into your heart. The dark recesses of which you thought were impenetrable. But they creep up on you don't they...naughty little fellas. They seek a glimmer of light. He found it somehow and rescued me from the night. And then they disappear just as fast.

Before one can sit and ponder over why all good things must come to an end...one knows the truth will be a bitter pill to swallow. When you go looking for trouble, you will find it. But oh wretched heart, it just craves for what it shouldn't want. Fireflies are nothing but trouble.

Ah, my dear firefly.

Americana...

Yes I am in Americana these days. What might that be, you ask? It is the constant state of being surrounded by all things American. Food, music, movies and now the language.
It is July after all. The glorious month when the oh so glorious country brings out the barbeque grills to tuck into all forms of meat, guzzles on enormous amounts of beer and basks in the afterglow of fireworks and the usual revelry. Its Independence Day!
While I am sitting across continents and oceans on the other side of town, this heightened mood of Americana is taking over my life. In the form of hot dog food reviews, music cd's of the typical US pop scene, movies celebrating the American life and now, an office advisary saying 'We are going American'!
Oh, pray, yes! This is what my esteemed colleagues and I read first thing Friday morning in office. My entire newspaper is going American, we are putting on our stars and stripes people.
What does this mean? This means understanding a whole new way to write, this means setting the word documents auto-correction to the American grammar, this means lots of 'zees' and oh my lord, unlearning a whole lifetime of English and then relearning it again.
The directives come the next day, tacked up right in front of my work portal. We are back in elemantary English 101 again. So we learn, we re-write, we re-edit and then the flag flows in the opposite direction again...as the month of Americana ends and we enter the Chinese month of August, we are back to old ways. The big bosses have changed their minds once again. I loved Americana but viva Britannica!

The Travelling Pants...

Women find shopping therapeutic. Women never have anything to wear. Women will shop for reasons other than the lack of a decent wardrobe. Women love to shop. Period.
All women know that and all men should understand that at the earliest.
So returning from a trip that maxed out my credit cards and landed me in a hell lot of trouble at Sydney's check-in counter...what with 15 kgs of extra baggage, you would think that I would've had my fill of retail therapy right? I thought so too. But, wrong!
Oh how I fought with the ground staff, pleaded and cajoled...all for a few extra pieces of clothing and accesories.
But then there I was, at home with a suitcase full of brand new goodies and what do I discover? I left my favourite pair of jeans in a hotel room in Gold Coast. The one that had been with me for 3 years...the one that accentuated what was good and hid what was not as good...the one that had travelled with me across the globe and lived to tell the tale...the one that was faded and scratched from said travelling but still holding on.
Now all fellow femmes would understand that is quite a tragic mishap. There is nothing quite as bad as losing your favourite denim. Its almost like you lose a friend. And now nothing is as good.
So what does one do? The best pal consoles me but with no avail. I need that denim again. I can't let go of it. Well she doesn't give up easily...and so, with her fully functional credit card and a determined stance, she drags me along to find a new fave denim. It won't happen I say. Never again.
After 3 hours of futile rummaging and window shopping...I have lost all hope. And then, quite suddenly I see it again. A pair quite similiar to mine and the best part, its spanking new. It fits, oh yes it fits perfectly. Goodbye old, hello new. Ah, all is good again.

P.S: This is me being completely vain as Im bored shitless, men will not understand this post but women will sympthasize with me :P

Kiss The Cook

I think I've said this before but there is nothing sexier than a man who cooks. Now all you macho types out there who think it's a pansy activity, think again! Ask any girl and she'll agree with me. Infact I've been told of women who go out with a man just because he cooks...cooks well that is. It is almost sensual to watch, a man who knows how to put his hands to good use in the kitchen will in all probability be just as good in the other rooms of the house. Ahem, I wonder what you guys are thinking right now :P
Being a foodie by both passion and profession...a man who cooks works well for me. Especially since I'd rather eat than cook, not because I can't but simply because I am too lazy to cook. Plus, kiss the cook is something I've been meaning to do for a long time.
Let me put my feet up after work, hand me a glass of wine and I'll gladly dote on you while you manoeuvre your way through the culinary world. That is what my ideal evening should be. Now its a reality. And the man in question is cooking up a storm in my life, in every sense of the term. So if they say watch out for the calm before the storm...what do I watch out for when the storm is already gaining momentum?

Of Rainbow Coloured Dreams...

When the lighs go on and the last ray of sunshine hits the ground...when the 9-5 grind ends and you drive down that busy lane...when the kids stop playing to go back home...when the variegated aroma of dinners being cooked fills the air...when prime time news feeds jostle for their share of mindspace...
I turn the other way and shut my eyes and paint a world of rainbow coloured dreams.
SIM is back home and soaking in the flavour of Delhi once again. There really is no place like home :)

Down Under...

Before you start getting ideas in your head...this one is just to say that SIM is going on vacation to her favourite place besides home...Australia. The beautiful country down under :)
Cheers to all of you...happy holidays till I return!

Do It Like A Man...

There aren't a whole lot of times when I would advocate doing anything like a man but in this case my neo-feminist instincts give way to a lingering question...and the answer is simple...Do It Like A Man!
A newspaper report leading to an intense discussion with colleagues last week got me thinking...are Indian women mature enough to handle sexual freedom yet? So you meet this charming fella, you get along, everything seems perfect, you decide to sleep with the guy, things are going alright and then it all takes a turn for the worse...someone cheats, someone screams, the relationship just doesn't work anymore. The scenario can vary, whether its mutual or not, it could be a million different reasons but all with the same result — a breakup. And then the woman screams rape!
Yes this actually happened.
Now I am not saying that all women would react this way, Im not even trying to generalize when I wonder if Indian women are ready for the sexual revolution...I am merely talking about the misguided women who give sex to get love, men on the other hand, would give love to get sex.
Agreed that the whole free love movement is still a newer concept for the female species of this subcontinent. A decade or two ago...blogs like mine would be deemed indecent and the writer labeled a 'loose' character...not that there aren't enough hypocrites doing the same damn thing even now, but still. This was the time when Mills & Boons casanova's and Shobha De's luscious characters and their illict doings were the stuff of fantasy for women. Now, the fantasy has translated into reality.
There's plenty of lust, sex and carnal frenzy going on in the very office I am sitting and writing this blog from. In fact, I work in one of the most sexually devious profession of them all. But nonwithstanding all of that..even with all the hushed whispers, stolen glances and hidden gestures...simmering beneath it all is one scandalous accusation.
So if you sleep with someone out of your own free will...does that mean they are signing away their life to you? Do these women really consider sex out of wedlock as another informal institution? As it is the archaic notion of marriage made it nothing but a legalized form of prostitution...i mean you have to sleep with your husband no matter what! What the hell was that?
Well now that women are actually speaking up and asking for what they want in the bedroom and otherwise...I think its high time they learn one valuable skill from their male counterparts. Sometimes sex is just sex! It does not necessarily equate to love. It does in a lot of cases but only if both parties feel the same way. Men understand that. Sure we call them dogs and all that jazz but at the end of the day, they keep things simple. No, I don't admire sleazy slimebags who promise you the world to get you in bed but I think men who are honest and upfront are perfect. If you think its being promiscuous, then you shouldn't be reading this post anyways.
If you made your own choices, learn to handle them.
So ladies please, Do It Like A Man!

Blast From The Past...(Part II)

When I wrote the first part of this post, I never anticipitated the stream of comments, advice and smiley's that were awaiting me and I didn't expect that there would be a second part because that day was one of those character defining, life altering, choose your path kind of days for me and the constant palpatation and pounding heartbeat weren't a good sign.

I sat across from Ex, hearing him fill me in on his life as it had been in the past 5 months since I left. A mix of emotions were surging through him, I would say, perhaps because I was going through the same damn thing.
A melancholy memory, a happy sigh, a joyful reunion with lost love mixed with an increasing feeling of nausea...my mind is a mess to say the least.
No I don't love you anymore Ex, but yes I do miss you. Yes I think about you often, but no I don't fill my days with thoughts of you and our relationship.
He wants to be friends, I don't think that is even feasible. Friends after a five year relationship? Can that ever be a no-strings attached proposition?
Are you saying there was no intensity, no love, no emotions between us...no Im not saying that retorts the Ex. Well then if all those things existed between us then there can never be a 'we are just pals' situation. So leave it alone.

I am being cold is it? Well yes I am. But its not about being cold, its about being sensible and preserving whatever little sanity you might have left.
Getting over Ex was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. And Im not about to undo all of that. So this is it. The Ex is blacklisted from my thoughts and my blog.

A heavy heart and a single tear...

Blast From The Past...

You know that sinking feeling one gets sometimes when the phone rings? Tring, tring...something is wrong, I don't feel right...who could be calling? Tring, tring (louder this time) damn, why is the phone getting louder, as if screeching to be picked up (oh, wait its the ascending ring tone option in my cell!) Last tring...I finally find the damn thing under a pile of files at my workstation. Its him, the 'formidable ex', the only semblance of a long term relationship I could ever have hoped to sustain, the man I haven't spoken to in the past 5 months.
I pick up unsure, hesitantly, at the last possible second, hoping he'll cut the phone...
Ex: Hey, how've you been?
Moi: Hey, good...umm what about you?
Ex: Great, I got placed at this big firm. Just got out of the interview and wanted to call you.
Moi: Congrats! That is good news.
(yes I sound braindead...can you blame me? I am in shock!)
Ex: Meet me for coffee today S.I.M please, I wanna share a good moment with you.
Moi: Uh...I am at work, not sure if I can get out.
(lame excuse I know, thats the best I could come up with)
Ex: Don't make excuses S.I.M, spare an hour. That is all I want. For old times sake if nothing else.
Moi: Umm...okay...5'o clock @ Barista
Ex: Great, I'll see you there. Thanks.
My palms are sweating and my heart is pulsating at an abnormally high rate. No good can come from this. Am I too young for a heart attack?

See Moonie, I told you it is the calm before the storm...whenever things are going smooth, I await a bump. This one is a big one! Lord help me...

Old Habits Die Hard...(Part II)

So the 'Older Man' fought his way back into my life last week. He huffed and puffed and then some...threw fits and asked nicely...pleaded and shouted. All in the same vein and I finally relented. Hesistantly, unsure of the consequences of my forgiveness and if I do admit to myself, in a rather stupid unthought of move that might as well come back to bite me in the ass!
For the past month since my earlier post on him and the subsequent cleansing my life of his toxic presence bit that followed, I had been happy. Happy to just be. No complications, potential heartburns and what not. I ran into him every now and then at the neighbourhood bar or coffee shop. In case I forgot to mention, he lives walking distance from my house, so avoiding him completely wasn't an option.
Then one fine day, after a particulary wierd and awkward meeting, where he happened to catch me on a date...the incessant calls and messages began. I know what you are gonna say to that one...typical jealous male behaviour right? Ah uh...so wrong!
The truth of the matter is that before all this stupid mess, we were really good friends...the kind you laugh over dumb mistakes and cry for broken relationships with...meet for coffee at midnight after a long day or a drinking session and go for impromptu drives to devour chicken kathi's with...sit on the terrace and smoke marlboro's with and bully them to go along for inane chick flicks too.
And we both miss that terribly, more than anything else. Sure the past between us means that things might never be the same again but at the end of the day, friendship is more important. Pointing fingers at each other and playing the blame game never helped anyone. Wow I almost sound like an adult for once :P
Well it took a long, intense and not entirely pleasant conversation to get to this point and I feel relieved if nothing else.
Taking it one day at a time...and with a good pal back in my platonic life...I am onto some other greener pastures.
There you see, as I said...Old habits die hard ;)

Old Habits Die Hard...(Part I)

I am a creature of habit. I was born with some, adopted others out of choice and stumbled onto yet some more reluctantly. But all said and done, the point I am trying to make, is that I suck at spontaneity and all that jazz. Quite simply because I like knowing or having a vague idea of where I am going, what I am doing and also at times of seemingly calm clarity and sanity (which are few and far between) who I am doing it with.
So basically I suffer from a self-imposed and self confessed OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, people!) Thus, everytime the wild streak in me takes over and I give into the mad manifestation of my alter ego...Miss 'S' lets call her...I end up with a whole bunch of stories to tell. It gives me the kind of strange and warped high that others get from a good joint. Yes, I know what that sounds like. But hey, that is my vice. Anyways, now the thing is that these brief hiatus' from my regular persona lands me in a lot of trouble.
One of them, a recurring one at that, as would obviously be the case, are the encounters of the male kind. Ah, before you rev up your imaginations and concoct dirty details I am not saying what you think I am. Rather it's that I get into the forgiving mood and readily bury the hatchet (however sordid it might've been). This tendency has led to one particular man, the often mentioned 'older man' strutting his way back into my life...

(to be continued...)

Look Busy...Saint Valentine Is Coming!

Ugh! What is wrong with people these days? Are we living in a attention deprived world where one latches onto any vague attempt at feeling special...if only for this one sordid utterly commercialized day?
I am no bitter and cynic 'single' spinster as dear annie would have you believe.
Nopes. I do believe in the warm fuzzy feeling (aww...) and the 'i wake up with a smile in the morning thinking of you' bit (double aww...) as well as the seeing the world through rose tinted glasses part (ok...enough!) but, but, but...there's only so much of red roses, heart shaped balloons and cupid cutouts that i can tolerate. That too at 10 am in the morning, when i walk into work. Yes, this is the scene in my office...some brilliant crap ass thought it would be fun to deck up the whole office with vestiges of valentine vomit (pardon my choice of words). Its as if they are promotiing romance at work and the last time i checked, that was a bad HR policy don't you think? Especially in an organization like mine, which is as porous as a two bit ragged sponge. Hehe.
Anyways so somehow i'll get through this day...i know i will. I'll not frown on the lovey dovey hand holding couples, i will not roll my eyes at the one hour traffic jam i was stuck in at delhi's biggest market coz of the said couples rush to get to candle lit, rose strewn eateries and i will not balk at the romantic music.
Watch out though...
Achilles Heel...Cupid's Arrow!

Wreck Of The Day

Its one of those days...

Driving away from the wreck of the day
And the light's always red in the rear-view
Desperately close to a coffin of hope
I'd cheat destiny just to be near you
If this is giving up, then I'm giving up
If this is giving up, then I'm giving up, giving up
On love, On love

Driving away from the wreck of the day
And I'm thinking 'bout calling on Jesus
'Cause love doesn't hurt so I know I'm not falling in love
I'm just falling to pieces

And if this is giving up then I'm giving up
If this is giving up then I'm giving up, giving up
On love, On love

And maybe I'm not up for being a victim of love
When all my resistance will never be distance enough

Driving away from the wreck of the day
And it's finally quiet in my head
Driving alone, finally on my way home to the comfort of my bed
And if this is giving up, then I'm giving up
If this is giving up, then I'm giving up, giving up
On love, On love

* Wreck Of The Day by Anna Nalick

The Seven Year Itch...(Part II)

So what exactly is going on here? My male friends quite candidly, in their daftly charming 'we will always be men' attitude say that if I tell a guy Im not looking for anything serious right now, I should, in their extremely politically incorrect words, 'be golden'! Hmm no-strings attached yet monogamous. That sounds doable right? No! This is what makes the whole situation even more upsetting than it already is.
I am on unfamiliar turf here. Having been in relationships all my adult life, its quite unsettling now, when I have to make a choice of which way to go. Another attempt at coupledom or a blissfully ignorant singleton existence.
The thing is that you get used to having someone in your life, it seems almost strange without a male presence. Even though Im loving this freedom.
Getting back to the issue, I just don't get it...when it was quite clear from the beginning, that I am not willing to 'get hitched' into a committed twosome quite yet, why did this said Older Man suddenly change his mind? Me thinks...its just my luck. Coz I have a knack for finding all the right men, at all the wrong times!
So like a little boy in a toy store, he got stubborn and was unwilling to settle for anything less than what he wanted...he came, he saw, he liked...me disagreed and that was the end of it.
If nothing else, atleast my humourous anecdotes of random mishaps with the opposite sex keep the rest entertained. Yes, that's me trying to see the bright side of all this mess.
And in case you haven't caught on to the not so subtle marriage innuendos running all through the two posts...let me spell it out for you, the Older Man proposed, i said no and now he's getting married to someone else!
Touche.

The Seven Year Itch...(Part I)

No, no hold your horses! It ain't what your thinking. No marriage...no plans of any such thing whatsoever...infact no male candidate on the horizon. This seven year itch merely refers to the age gap between yours truly and her latest object of desire. The age gap which has grown into a mammoth age divide.
It didn't matter before, during the elegantly put 'honeymoon phase', where everything is honkey-dorey, fine and dandy and umm...pause while i think of some more cliches.
So the usual wine-ing and dine-ing followed. Well more wine, less dine, a lot more rum and quite a few marlboro's.
The thing is he's almost on the other side of a significant age milestone and im nowhere nearing it. Although my fixation with older men makes that a good thing, in this case it apparentely isn't.
In all honesty, i ain't looking for love...i am by my very own brave admittance...on a rebound! This fella though doesn't quite see it that way.

(to be continued...)

Hick...hick...hurray!

The New Year is here and now that the party high has withered away and life jolts you back into the reality of 7 am workouts, 9 am workdays, half an hour lunch breaks and bloody deadlines...all the partying and frolicing goes out the window and weekday blues come knocking at your door. I don't know about anyone else but i am definately suffering from post party withdrawl syndrome. What are the symptoms?
Hmm, well for starters... Them jeans dont fit you no more...what with all the post holiday weight you've piled on. You tend to look for excuses to call in sick from work (i did it twice), you've consuned so much alcohol over the week that you are still buzzing with the after taste and you regale yourself and those around you with stories of all the drunken debauchery!
That's pretty much all that it is. Drink...drink...drink away like there is no tomorrow. Chilled shots, bottoms up and damn those LIIT's. I dare to admit that i've had enough of drinking for a long time to come. Ahem! Enough to last till the next weekend that is :)
Hick...hick...hurray and Happy New Year!