The butterfly haze

It’s 1.17 a.m. Looks like sleep has deluded me.I’m sleepy, but I’m awake.Like my mind refuses to go to sleep.

I must stop having dark chocolate. It sends sleep flying out of my window. It is times like these that I do the randomest of things.

There are a few beer bottles left over from new years. I’ve been pouring it on my hair ever since. Just before I take bath. It does wonders for my hair, I tell you.

It seemed like such a waste, though. To let my hair drink all of it. I decided I’m going to drink it instead.

I love my alcohol, but when it comes to beer, the mere taste of it makes me want to hurl. I've always wanted to know what the big deal about this golden-brown liquid is, anyway. I closed my eyes and gulped a few sips down.

Alcohol bottles sitting at the back of my closet usually spell trouble. And I’m not the usual sharabi ladki who sneaks bottles in and drinks them at inappropriate hours. It’s a little hard to get rid of these bottles, though. New years left me with a bunch of good memories. Funny, I haven't spoken about it at all.

I like playing hostess. I just get a little worried about calling a bunch of people who have never seen each other, even on Facebook. What’s a host got to do if the guests won’t talk? I wish I was an awkward moment breaker. But in most cases I end up being the creator. I can be socially retarded like that.

As it ends up I’m just one among a lot of other socially awkward beings. I’m not saying all of my friends are like that, I’m just saying I have a few of my kind around. What happens when you put them in one room? You have a party you’re going to remember for a while.

While I’d like to believe I did make a good host, I have random memories of jumping around the house in a pair of grey stockings and yellow bunny rabbit ears. Having friends like these also means you’re allowed to wear whatever the hell you want.

In the bargain, I shamelessly forgot to order food. Or make some for that matter. We survived on Saloni’s pizzas and Avanti’s nutella sandwich.

Sugar rush is an awesome thing I tell you. Especially, if it hits you when you’re already high on alcohol. I was dancing to Sheila ki Jawani at 12 am. Item dancing. The spastic version. The sort when alcohol hits you and your limbs decide to go on a break.

There were conversations. Some emotional, some meaningful and some nonsensical and some downright hilarious. Apparently, there was singing as well. Right before I randomly fell asleep. Will you judge me if I tell you I sang ‘saat samundar par’?

Awesomeness that we are, Shreya and I party crashed as well. In the dead of the night. But we left as soon as we realised a) they were too old for us b) the aunties had too much cellulite on their thighs c) The music they were playing made it seem as if they were welcoming 2006. We slipped out quietly. Coke glasses in our hands. Her's ‘neat’. Mine ‘spiked’.

After all the little adventures, I finally properly fell asleep at 5 am, only to wake up to a happy-yappy me.

It’s going to be a good year. Don't you think so? *grins*