I went out last night. Have you actually listened to the words of Single Ladies by Beyonce? Holy shit.

I liken Auckland nightlife to all the times I got stuck in an elevator at AUT. Kinda thrilling, but you hope that you never do it again, but you know you will someday because, after all, it’s really awesome have a small personal-space-to-actual-space ratio, but kinda be scared out of your brains and then be thinking and eventually screaming stuff like, “WHY AM I HERE? WHY. WHY COULDN’T I JUST STAY HOME AND DO DRUNK PILATES?”

I’ve never done drunk Pilates because I don’t drink [much]**, but I’d imagine that doing Pilates drunk would be just like everything else you could do while drunk: not very funny. “Oh my god, you’re like, falling over n stuff.” Oh. Wow. That’s uniquely funny.

Excuse me, Gisborne’s reigning tequila queen, the title of funny drunk is exclusively reserved for Dylan Moran. Thank you.

Anyways, going out is always enlightening and last night I had literally buckets of enlightenment. Buckets.

I learnt that I would much rather buy vodka shots for my eyes, than jump around to recordings of bands whom I really liked in 7th form but am severely embarrassed to like now.

“Weird. She’s like, pouring shots in her eyes.” Weird, yes, but you’re booty dancing to Fall Out Boy.

You really build a sense of compassion for your fellow human being and you want to say to that really lovely looking girl, “Please don’t go home with him. He’s going to double strength your chlamydia.” I almost said that when a friend pulled me aside and said, “I tried.” Despair overcame me, I fell to the ground and wept tears of empathy, sympathy, apathy, psychopathy, neuropathy, telepathy, hydropathy and footpaths.

People think they can touch you. What the hell? You can’t touch me. Shut up and stop touching me. I only allow people to touch me when getting beaten in a crowd while watching The Mars Volta. So, I was standing on one side and there was plenty of room to shuffle on past, but the guy looks me in the eye and says, “Sorry, hun excuse me.” and then grabs me around the waist as if to move me to the side politely. I can’t merge myself into this wall. I can’t. My boyfriend is related to the Sicilian mafia and you live in Henderson. But what do I do? Being the badass I am, I reply with a very offensive, “Oh, sorry.”

I also got licked by a girl on the arm after stating that I might taste like rice because I’m Asian. Apparently I taste normal, and that’s okay because, normal is often good.

Finally, I ended up in a bar where people were wearing oversized Wayfarer glasses, using big words and not smiling. It felt like home, yet I was compelled to ask them if they liked Midnight Youth, cuz they’re eclectic right? I started smiling for some screwed up reason I can’t remember and everyone walked away.

Ah, Auckland nightlife, when can we meet again? WHEN I ASK!!! WHEN??!!?!!!!! WHEEEEENNNN!!!!!!!!????