Being Drunk and Productive = Counter Productive

I've finally learnt after 3 separate occasions that being drunk, in my case, and trying to be productive has often left me in a situation worse off than improved. This is also 3 occasions that I remember because they have left a lasting effect, like when you watch all of LOST and realise that you could've stared at a giant question mark for 6 years and STILL have gotten more answers.

"Previously on LOST..."

The first of these stupid escapades was something I mentioned in a previous post before. I stumbled into my room like a bowling ball falling down a staircase and saw my curtains agape. This could not stand if I were to sleep in that morning so like a whiley racoon I decided to close them. This proved much more difficult than it appeared, my drunken motor instincts confused closing with going rigid and my balance confused standing up with...not standing up. I forgot this had all happened until I woke up and thought for a moment "my window wasn't on the floor before?". Anyways, the good thing was, I still managed to close the curtains, even if they weren't attached to the wall anymore.

The second time is also something I've mentioned in previous posts. My sister and her boyfriend were over visiting and we all were drinking here in my apartment, which is also their ex-apartment. As per usual I was using my laptop to show funny videos (probably about cats) and play music no one wants to listen to at 3 in the morning. I also felt that the laptop needed no better place to be than on top of stereo speakers, at my head height with wires protruding from it all around the room. After showing them one of the trippy psychedelic fight scenes from Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World I took my own trip over my laptop charger sending my laptop on a very brief and ultimately horrendous speed date with gravity that ended at the floor. My laptop still worked but now my screen is stuck in what I am dubbing "Scott Pilgrim mode", it's flickery, crazy, fuzzy and psychedelic making reading just about bearable and the only thing that does look normal on it is Scott Pilgrim Vs. The world.

"Currently what Hibernation Mode on my laptop is like"

The final escapade happened nary a night or two ago. I came home and realised that I had left on a dehumidifier in my room for the majority of the day and as a result my room resembled something of a giant sandcastle. My bedsheets also weren't dry nor on my bed as I had just washed them, so I decided to stay up for a while drying those (not physically, in a dryer of course) and put them on my bed, all the while letting the dehumidifier suck up any dampness left in the sheets. When all said was done I proceeded to turn off and move the unit out of my room. It was probably like watching a newborn deer learn how to walk while trying to carry a dehumidifier. As you may have guessed, the simple idea of moving it didn't go exactly as planned and much like my cutrains and my laptop it ended up on the floor with an almighty crash loud enough to wake a Kraken. It also proved it did it's job well by spilling all of the daily moisture it had collected all over my bedroom floor. Now that's what I call counter productive!

After a bitter 5-10 mins of cleaning this mess and also reassembling the unit, I succeeded in removing it from my room. I walked back into my room and closed the door. Now, this was the third thing that has fallen to the ground in my apartment because of me being drunk so I think it was at this point that the other inanimate objects decided to join in on the fun too, such as the foldaway table behind my door. It lunged itself at my foot and nearly broke my toe. If I wasn't so drunk I probably would've also noticed it giggling as glided effortlessly through the dehumidified air. The Kraken awoke, ME!

"BLUAAAA MY KRAKEN TOE!!!!!!11111!!!1"

I've decided the only thing I can't do wrong when drunk and returning from a night out is to just go straight to sleep. What could possibly go wrong in that situation?

Dance Pants - NO!

I just recalled a slightly embarrassing memory from a few years back. I went through this odd phase thanks to a few of my friends where I would pull down my pants whenever I was drunk, because, y'know, it was just THAT funny to do. What was even MORE funny was doing it in a nightclub, on the dance floor, because everyone wants to see that right? So there we all were, early as the morning birds (except it was night time, at the club Cuba, and we're not birds), we had the dance floor to ourselves so we all took our stationary dancing posts at each corner and dropped the pants, laughing at our delightful foolishness! This idea progressed into the night but became less frequent as more people began arriving, the non early birds. It seems we were only trying to impress each other, our strange insecurities made secure by bearing our legs to each other. As the night wore on (like a pair of jeans!) we got progressively more drunk, me in particular as the event I'm about to tell you unfolds.

Everyone was dancing in a group on the dance floor. This excited me greatly so I downed the remainder of my pint, slammed the empty glass hard on the table as if what I was about to do my final note on my "to-do before I die" list and headed to the dance floor. I imagine if this was some sort of film the remainder of this would play out in slow motion. Like an unexpected ostrich I sprang onto the dance floor into the center of the group dropping my pants and flailing wildly in an orgy of cacophonous laughter while swinging my head around in a drunken insanity. If I had feathers they would've been flying everywhere. As I continued flailing but slowly succumbing to a more acceptable dance so I could read the reactions of my friends, a sudden realisation fell upon me, like a bird had shat on my head. These weren't my friends. And they certainly weren't impressed by my powerful bare ostrich legs. The looks on their faces were caught somewhere between disapproving, disgusted and eyebrow raised confusion.

As the truth of all of this dawned on me I turned around to see all of my friends sitting in the corner laughing at my misfortune. All I could do was stand there, hang my head in shame in a group of strangers, with my friends pointing and laughing at me, with my pants down. Textbook humiliation

Flight of Doom

There are a few things in life that absolutely terrify me: Leaving the cupboard slightly open when trying to sleep, using the toilet and then realising there's no toilet paper left, trying to change the channel from E4 when Hollyoaks is about to start but you can't find the remote, etc.. But none of them come as close as being in one of these while they are doing their thing:



These flying metal cargo coffins are quite simply one of the safest most dangerous ways to travel. People always say flying is the safest way to travel and that you're more likely to crash on the way to an airport than to be in a plane crash. That's all dandy, I mean, how often is there crashes in Ireland really? Oh wait, all the TIME. But there is one key difference between a car accident and a plane crash, let me illustrate with this video:



It's called playing a little game of "Chances of Survival". I think even the first air plane crash of the video illustrates what I'm talking about. Just parking the f@&king thing proves to be a life or death situation, at least when I'm in my friends car when he's parking we're not going to drive into a goddam jungle and explode. On top of that you're sitting in this confined space with probably 50 other strangers screaming in your face while thinking "I wish I got to see Batman 3" *sad face* before becoming a gravity pancake with a topping of flaming petroleum (the only way this could be possibly more terrifying is if the Hollyoaks theme song played over all of it). Now, I'm not gonna lie....

...Good, I'm glad we got that out of the way!

Anyways, I actually used to be quite calm on planes but unfortunately for me, the National Geographic Channel decided that when I was 17 years old it was as good as any time to unleash Air Crash Investigation into my naive little World. It was like watching CSI about planes (without gingers), it was addictive, it was frightening, it was mysterious and then it finally hit me all at once after watching 20 episodes: it was REAL. Then the reality of the show really hit home when I was on a plane to London (which is only a one hour flight) that I was able to pinpoint every moment of my flight where I could potentially, you know, DIE. Air pocket = Plane falling for a couple of hundred meters,  calm air hostess = where's my f@&king parachute, plane turning = go more than 60 degrees and we'll resemble something of an overcooked Irish breakfast within minutes. Indeed it was a confined smelly demon (a fart?) flight that day.

Now, I kicked my ACI addiction after while because it was doing me no good service (sort of like UPC: NTL Internet/TV/Everything), but then it turns out,  plane crashes had become a hit phenomenon on television shows anyways. Did you ever see that episode of LOST, I think it was saaaaaaay, the FIRST GODDAM EPISODE? The plane decided to take a break mid way through it's flight, quite literally sending passengers cascading into a confused writers most cherished mistake. Then there was a film that decided to enact being in the fracking explosion:



Even worse was that I was compelled to actually sit and watch these, as I reckon it is my fate at this point that it will happen to me. Although when the time finally comes  and the plane nose dives, I think I'll laugh, make a gigantic crap in my pants and start tickling the person next to me, I'd be screaming "fate you penis, you finally found me hahahaha!". And I know it will be at this moment fate will go "hold on a minute, he's enjoying this!?" and fate will super street fighter uppercut the plane and the flight will return to normal.  And I will be sitting there, my laughter slowly dying away, and a probable new restraining order staring me in the face and on top of it all I will have a giant crap in my pants. At which point I will realise that I have ironically become the most terrifying thing on the flight, stupid fate.

I think, in the end, the main thing I'm trying to tell everyone here is probably this: Don't fly with Seán O'Beirn.

And don't watch Hollyoaks.