Two words. Jesus Christ.
I felt it necessary after this weekend to make a post dedicated to the ancient art of seshing. A "sesh" is slang in my area for a group of friends getting together to drink gallons of booze and to smoke various oddities (including bread sticks... yep, tried it) until we collapse in bed completely obliterated at 6:00am. Seshes aren't something which can happen often... it's only every now and again you feel like drinking and smoking yourself into a senseless stupor, but on some occasions it's absolutely necessary. And, if there was any occasion more perfect than my boyfriend's 20th birthday - one of the greatest seshers who has ever lived, might I add - then feel free to slap me around the chops with that greasy hotdog we found on the cooker yesterday morning. (It was disgusting.)
I don't mean to brag, but if there's a sesh happening, I'm in it right until the end. If I'm not the last blubbering drunk on the kitchen floor in the early hours of the morning, then it hasn't been a true sesh. I think I speak for everybody when I say that when you're in it until the early hours, you form a wonderful kind of connection with the people your drinking with which won't ever be forgotten - no matter how many shots you try to wash it down with at the time. Nobody likes a sleeper, is what I'm trying to say.
On Friday I had my first "every stage of drunk" cycle. Usually all I do when I've had a few drinks is dance like a woman possessed, attempt to sing, and stagger around telling everybody how I believe in them, as though I'm some kind of philosophical master. But, for some reason on Friday, for the first time I went through the textbook stages like a swot in a science lesson. At first I started to get loose, and then came the dancing... all of a sudden I was smoking two at a time, and the confusion reared it's stupid head. I couldn't understand why my boyfriend was getting people to thump him on the back of the head to wake him up... and as a result, I slapped him around the head myself. Stage 5: Violence.
After a little depression session on my own next to the amp - iPod in hand and The Sex Pistols blasting - I was carried upstairs to bed like a sleeping baby in heels. When I realised that the sesh wasn't actually over and I'd just been taken to bed because I'd been depressed for the last fifteen minutes, I stumbled downstairs hardly dressed and ended it how only a true sesher would - one of the last three remaining musketeers, drinking the last glasses of everybody's leftover booze, sitting cross-legged on the floor and dressed proudly in just tiny shorts and a vest - not giving a flying fuck about the fact that it must have been below freezing outside.
I've managed to piece that night together through pictures and stories, but there's a middle part I can't remember for the life of me. Who knows... I might have got even more embarrassingly "violent" and then uncharacteristically quiet and sad. The videos mostly tell a different story (one featuring both a sailor suit and "New York City Boys" blasting, then another partyboying to "I Just Had Sex"), and I'm glad - if I'd of spent the entire night as I'd done for that strange and completely out-of-character fifteen minutes, then I wouldn't be able to say it was the best sesh I've ever been to. It absolutely was!
A true sesh is all about perseverance. As it turned out for me, a little bit of quiet time sorted me out and avoided any arguments which may have ensued if I'd of remained boozed-up and flailing my fists around... Honestly, if someone filmed me, I'd have the video on this post. I'm so ashamed but at the same time find it absolutely hilarious because I'm the least violent person you'll ever meet.
Finally, after pacing yourself and lasting until you're in the final crew at the end of the night, you have to deal with the aftermath the next day. Any tips for sesh hangovers? Well... sleep. Just sleep the fucker off. Oh, and it is a fucker to sleep off. I didn't get out of bed until 5pm on Saturday, but apart from my tummy feeling a bit fragile I was okay. Sleeping naked with a good-looking man for an entire day is the best hangover cure I could possibly recommend.
... Y'know what? That's the best cure for everything, let alone hangovers!