4 days of drinking, 1 embarrassing SMS sent, 300 precious dollars spent and 1 potentially damaged liver… Anyone knows where Moderation hangs out? Cos I need to be introduced to him. 

Thursday: Debs has just gotten back from a press trip and we decide to go out to catch up. OK, not that we need to catch up cos the press trip was only for three days and we see each other everyday. Hmmm.. I think I might have just proven that this was a lame reason to drink copious amounts of beer.  

But anyway, I would have been able to drink more moderately if 7atenine at The Esplanade didn’t have such an awesome deal. On Thursdays, for $39++ per pax, it’s free flow of Stella Artois or Hoegarden all night. It came to a point that when I ask the waiter for another round of Stella and he cheekily asks if I’m very thirsty.  

When he asks me that question, I stop for a while to wonder if the amount of beers I’m having is appropriate for a Thursday night but I take a look around and realise that the place was packed. Using the flawed logic that the majority wins, I conclude that it’s alright to go to Happy Land on a Thursday night. 

Anyway, the night ends with me making a stupid bet with Debs. Here‘s what happens: 

A random song is playing.

Debs: “I can’t find out what the name of this song is! Argh!”

Genius of the year: “What if I can find out?”

Debs: “Please lah, if you can find out the name of this song, I’ll kiss any boy you point to on Saturday.”

Genius of the year: (laughs in the most maniacal way) “Set!” 

Lesson learnt from Day 1 of drinking rampage: I really should learn to shut up when I’m drunk. 

Friday: It’s Friday morning and I’m popping my vitamins in hopes that it will miraculously undo the damage done to my liver the night before. I realise there is no way to find out what the song was. I didn’t recognise the artist the night before and I can’t recall the lyrics and the melody. I hope Debs had forgotten about the bet. But to steal a line from Red Thread, she never forgives and she never forgets. Thankfully, the whole day, we’re both too busy to settle this issue.  

Come Friday night, I’ve made arrangements to have dinner with my girlfriends at Shinryoku Yakitori Restaurant at Purvis Street. I’m looking forward to the a-la-carte buffet that goes at $58 per pax but it’s not until my friend informs me that with a top-up of $30, you get free flow of beer and Umeshu. The thing is yakitori does go perfectly with ice cold beer. It’s like bread and butter! Like pen and paper! Like Chip and Dale! I really can’t be faulted for having a few beers.  

After dinner, we head to Mr Punch Winebar, my latest favourite hangout. Situated at the rooftop of Mint Museum, the place is a cozy place that sits a maximum of 20 people and boasts a stunning view of the CBD area. The thing I like about it is that it feels a bit like Cheers. I’ve only been there three times in the past two weeks and already the waiters know my order, some regulars have already struck up a conversation with me and I’ve even earned myself the entitlement to request for the music to be changed.

Halfway through the night, this boy I have a teeny crush on joins us and I spend the rest of the night at Mr Punch Winebar attempting to be on my best behaviour. Last stop, the bestie and I head to Butter Factory. The Crush has to work the next day so he goes home and sends me a sms apologising that he can’t join me at Butter Factory. I end up sending a grammatically wrong SMS. Doesn’t sound like a big deal but it was appallingly bad grammar. It ranks as bad as someone who smses “I is a boy.” Not exactly good for building cred. Especially when you’ve told him about how much you enjoy writing.  

Lesson learnt from Day 2 of drinking rampage: It’s not enough to shut up when I’m drunk. Communication in general should be banned.  

Saturday: I wake up, log on to Facebook to find out Debs hasn’t forgotten about the bet after all. She leaves me an ominous note about how she’s looking forward to me carrying out the forfeit. I can’t feel my toes, my throat is parched and my wallet’s full of receipts. And now, I have this horrible visual of kissing a lecherous 60 year old man. 

The night comes and we head to Angelshare at Dempsey. An ex-bachelor, Paul Foster, has organised a networking night that comes with free flow of booze at 49 nett per pax. We’re sitting around with my pals who are visiting from KL, having a good time before I notice Debs whispering to Paul. I shoot them a look and they both laugh. I know what’s up. Paul goes off promising to bring someone real nice over, Debs has a positively evil look on her face and I’m peeing in my pants. It’s a lie, beer doesn’t give you false courage.  

Thankfully, Debs has to go off somewhere else before Paul manages to find someone suitable and I’m glad that I managed to chicken out of it.  

Lesson learnt from Day 3 of drinking rampage:If you want to make a bet with the Devil, be prepared to burn in hell. 

Sunday:It’s my friend’s birthday and she has come all the way down to Singapore to celebrate it here so I have to forgo my mandatory detox day for birthday cheers. We head to Orgo, the new rooftop bar at Esplanade. The place is stunning! From where we sit, I can see Fullerton Hotel, the Merlion and the CBD skyline. To my right, the Singapore Flyer. I’m eagerly looking forward to catching a glimpse of the cute Japanese bartender Serene told me about but no luck that night. The Martini menu looks really good with a Pomelo Martini catching my eye but the birthday girl insists on keeping it real and orders me a beer instead. That follows with three other pints. 

I reach home and my sister asks me if I’m on a suicide mission to die before I hit 30. At this point, I do feel like I’ve been on a suicide mission. I’m exhausted, bloated, broke and I can feel a pimple on my forehead.   

Lesson learnt from Day 4 of drinking rampage: Reflection requires energy. Energy nobody has after drinking four days in a row.