file under: would only happen to me.

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Emma’s not feeling very well this morning, kids.  Might have over-indulged with one can too many of Super-Strongbow last night.  Damn you, Super-Strongbow.  You and your alcoholic content that is twice that of regular Strongbow.

(Before I begin, a quick disclaimer: when I was a youngin’, I used to feel bad about myself when I saw media depictions of drinking and drug use because I thought addiction was cool and—-since I was not a addict—-I could not be cool.  I have no idea who reads this blog, but if you happen to be an impressionable young person, know that binge-drinking is not glamorous, I am legally old enough to drink in England and nothing I’m about to say should make you question your personal choices, whatever they may be.)

Last night began with a trip to the theater.  I had been talking to my mom the previous day and she was making me feel guilty because I did not remember that it was her and my father’s anniversary and also insinuating that I was going to forget her birthday (I didn’t, though I would have if she had not reminded me).  Anyway, she is always telling me that I should “see as much theater as I can” while in London, so I bought tickets for the cheapest and best-reviewed play I could find: Václav Havel’s Protest.

Protest is a “moral dilemma” one-act about a Czech novelist who has made political compromises to keep his job writing for television and his friend, a dissident playwright, who has just been released from prison.  The play was really good, but no one in the audience was under the age of 70, which was somewhat embarrassing.  In addition to being geriatric, they were also very posh—-a little ironic given the content of the play, which is why I did not feel that guilty about being dressed like a slob.

Then I went back home.  I do not remember very much after that.  What follows is what I have able to piece together thus far:

• It was a sort of “American-style house party.” My friends were playing drinking games.  I was not allowed to play beer pong because I do not understand the rules.
• I remember talking to someone about Rachel Maddow, though I don’t remember the context.  I think I might have also admitted that I have a crush on Keith Olbermann?  I don’t think it went over well.
• I feel like I was doing amazingly well at Flip Cup, but perhaps this sensation was born out of the euphoric effect of alcohol and not my actual performance.
• At one point, we drunkenly went to the convenience store to get more Strongbow.  Now I can never go back there.  Great.
• I was embarrassed that people were in my room because it was messy, so I turned off the lights, which, in retrospect, was an inappropriate response.
• Possibly made fun of Beth for being Irish?  Don’t really know.
• Towards the end of the evening, I lay down on the kitchen table.  Not in a seductive way.  I just needed to lie down.

This morning I drank a cup of coffee while sitting with my head in my hands for a very long time.  I also wasted a huge amount of time making potatoes because I felt like it was the only thing my stomach could handle.  They were really good, actually.

Finally, am I the only person who doesn’t watch Mad Men?  I have not felt this left out of a nationwide television phenomenon since the early days of Lost.