Hey, I Just Met You

If you're reading this because I've obnoxiously paraded the existence of this blog all over Twitter and in your BBM inboxes, welcome. I hope you enjoy your stay.

I only have one thing to say today and that is:

If any of you out there ever feel the urge to download a whole bunch of Carly Rae Jepsen songs, more than you'd like to admit, I strongly advise you to fight that urge. It's just not worth it. Not that I would ever have done that.

The Blue Bracelet Vow

The story that I'm about to tell you is the tale of what can only be described as the Morgan Freeman of hangovers. The events that lead to this tragically unforeseen situation took place on the evening of Wednesday, the twenty-seventh of June. My friend, Noo (also known as Nicole) (I was going to change her name to minimise the risk of being sued for defamation of character, but then I realised that the only person that you'll be judging by the end of this entry is me) had organised to host a get-together at her house (which, let me just add, is one of the, if not the most, adorable houses that I have ever thrown up in stepped foot in). It was a Bad Bitches gathering, so that was the first clue that it would be no innocent affair. The second clue that the proverbial shit was about to hit the likewise proverbial fan, was the fact that I neglected to buy a six-pack of something, but instead, I opted to bring a bottle of Russian Bear vanilla and coffee bean flavored vodka. Jhayde brought some sort of cookies and cream liquor, and I'm pretty sure a bottle of whisky was introduced to the table at some point in the evening.

Now, prior to the morning of Thursday, the twenty-eighth of June, I thought of myself as someone who could not be penetrated by the evil ways of "the wet devil". A kind of invincible badass, if you will. I couldn't have been more wrong, my friends. I couldn't have been more wrong. 

So, eight hours, about seven vodka shots, four liquor shots, and an unknown number of sips at the bottles of the aforementioned drinks later, I find myself - or rather, Nicole finds me - passed out on the bathroom floor after falling and hitting my face against the toilet/tiles. The hours that followed that little discovery of Noo's were, for lack of a better phrase, suck-a-bag-o'-dicks. It was just a dark period of time in my life. I'm very grateful for Noo, Jhaydey, Linda, and Bu, who sat with me and tried their best to feed me toast and tea, and comfort me throughout my agonising ordeal, and I would like to take this opportunity to apologise to the four of them. I would also like to take this opportunity to apologise to Vanessa, Noo's mom. Partly for my unladylike and undignified behaviour in your beautiful home, and partly for telling you that I wish you were my mom (even though that's still kind of true).

And that brings us to the Blue Bracelet Vow. On Friday morning, when I was finally back to my sober and functional self, I scouted my house for a piece of string or anything that I could tie around my wrist to serve as a memoir for the previous morning. All I found was an actual bracelet that I had bought in Ballito, but beggars can't be choosers so it had to do.

No Time Like The Present

I guess I can't sit around for the rest of my life, waiting for inspiration to strike. So, I'm striking instead. I've put off writing the opening post for this new blog of mine for quite some time, considering I've spent the last few weeks meddling around with template designs and image editors, and lost in the complicated world of html. I barely made it out alive, and it's questionable as to whether I made it out with my sanity intact. Actually, it's questionable whether I had any sanity to begin with. I'm thinking: no.

I decided that the longer I delayed the publishing of the first post, and the subsequent release to the general public, the harder it would become, so that's why I'm taking this opportunity to get a little writing in. "What opportunity is that?" you ask? Well, at this very moment in time, I am sitting on my bed, indulging in my guilty pleasures (Oreos and Glee music), while all my friends are out clubbing. I was unable to accompany them as I'm still underage and, unlike my friends who are also still seventeen, I don't have any faux documentation, if you catch my drift. The recent BlackBerry Messenger status updates referring to vaginas and public masturbation suggests that they're all have a splendid time. What a bunch. I'll introduce them to you some time, okay?

If my memory serves me correctly, this is my fourth or fifth blog. The others have all been tragic and dismal failures, but I assure you that this time, things will be different. Yes, that may have been what I said in the establishing posts for the last three or four blogs, but this time things really will be different. I've never had the self-discipline to keep a diary or a journal for more than two months, so this blog is going to serve as my diary, one that I am foolishly exposing to the outside world.

Dreams, aspirations, anecdotes, observations, the life and times of an average South African high school student, adventures, sarcasm, doodles, overemotional rants, Glee references, and pointless ramblings. Those are the things that you can expect to find here. If you wish to stick around and see where this thing goes, well, that's great. If not, don't let the door hit your uppity ass on the way out, and good luck finding something that meets your completely unreasonable standards. Too much?

Hi. I'm Lara. And I have no idea what I'm getting myself into.