Yup, that sounds about right...

I feel like I'm dying. That's right, I drank a bit too much last night. That Bulmers, man, that'll do it. So after sitting around for hours and hours waiting for the boys to finish playing poker, we finally head out to that ridiculous American Bar down the street, the Q Bar. You know, the one that I went to earlier in the week. Horrible place really, but I can't really be choosy. So, to begin with it was me, five French people, and a Belgian. That's right, a Belgian. But this guy was really nice and nothing like the ones who caused such scandal on Saturday night. So we get into the Bar, and I'm like crap, this place is ridiculous. But everyone seems to be really enjoying themselves. I think the bar is a kind of place that you just have to have a positive attitude about to enjoy it. So I did. I ordered a Bulmers from this really attractive Bar tender and asked him if it was ok to tip. He said "Yeah, absolutely, we like getting tips, and it doesn't happen very often". So, we all know how much I love tipping hot bar tenders, I told him he was hot and then walked to the table. Thus began my evening. The first of many Bulmers went down smoothly and the following, I don't even remember how many, went down just as nicely. So, Tony, mmmm, was the only one who seemed like he wanted to dance, so he left, and the rest of us were just sitting there, and I mentioned that we should all get up and dance, and they just looked at me and said, maybe later. I was like, fine, be that way. I just kept drinking while they all spoke to each other in French. Occasionaly, Alex, the Belgian, would fill me in on what was being said, but that didn't happen nearly enough. I eventually got up and walked around a bit, perused the dance floor, etc. Drank a bit more. Tried talking with some people. But let me tell you, it's hard enough to understand any sort of accent in a completely quiet room. When someone has to yell to be heard, that makes it even harder. Eventually Tony and I headed to the dance floor, but that didn't work out as well as I had planned, I got irritated, and walked further onto the floor. There was this somewhat attractive guy dancing. We caught eyes and started dancing, we exchanged names and what not, and it turns out he's a little creepy Italian guy. All I wanted to do was dance, not be felt up, so I quickly left that situation and headed back to the bar. The bartender was funny. When I gave him another tip he was like "Are you lonely, or something", and I was like "No, you can just speak english better than anyone I'm here with". He was busy though, so it's not like I could stand there the whole night talking with him". So I headed back to the table and eventually Nunzio and second hottest French guy show up, so I chat with them a bit, and come to find out that Nunzio has been keeping up with my blog. That's a little embarrassing. Haha. I NEVER thought someone I would meet here would be reading it. Damn. So we talked for a little while longer, I kept drinking, and then I headed back to the table. Since I had some alcohol in me, I wanted to dance a bit. I'm not sure how it happened, but I ended up on the dance floor with Max, one of the French. I think we were talking to begin with and then I mentioned dancing, so we danced. That seems about right. It was late at this point. Like probably around 2. The Bar had already been closed down, but they let people stay and dance for a while. So Max and I head to the floor, and all our people were still at the table. So we dance for a while, and it was really fun. No groping or anything disgusting just dancing. They were playing a lot of remixed old stuff, like Michael Jackson and Madonna, so it was fun. I decided I was ready to go, so I grab Max, and we head back to the table, which has been deserted. That's right, apparently everyone got tired and left without letting the two of us know. I'm sure glad I wasn't on the dance floor by myself when they left. I would have been pissed. So Max and I are getting ready to leave and I look over at the table beside us and these two guys are sitting there, and one of them looks at me, and I swear to god, he does the "Eating at the Y" at me. I couldn't believe it. How did he know that Max wasn't my boyfriend or something. I thought it was incredibly rude. So of course, being in the state I was in I walked over and was like "Dude, what are you doing". And he was like "I just caught your eye and thought you were attractive" and I said "Well, where were you three hours ago when I didn't have any one to talk to" and he was like "I just saw you" and I was like "Sorry, dude, it's too late, I'm going home" and he was like "No, with that guy?" and I said "Of course". So I grabbed Max's hand and we walked out. On the way home I was like "Thanks for staying with me, I can't believe everyone left without telling us" and he said "It's no problem". So we get back to the hostel and all of our people are sitting in the doorway smoking cigs. So a few of us head upstairs and smoke a bit on the roof, after which I bid the boys adieu and passed out.

Now, I woke up this morning with a really bad headache and hang over, completely stripped down. Because, see, when I'm at home, and I get really drunk, I usually go down to my room strip and just pass out in the bed. Apparently I mistook the hostel for home in my drunken stupor. Haha. All I can hope is that I did this long after the lights were turned off and everyone had gone to sleep. Because I don't actually remember doing it. I also, pray to the lord Jesus, that I didn't get up and walk around at all last night. Haha. Yeah, that sounds about right. That's the story of my life.

So today I tried to go and get my PPS number. Apparently, however, I have to jump through hoops to do so, because I have to go back tomorrow to actually fill out the paperwork. I asked the guy if it was vital that I have a PPS number and he said that unless I want to pay 40% income taxes then I need the number for tax purposes. So I guess I'll do that tomorrow.

P.S. There's a really cute maintenance worker here at the hostel.