drunk woman typing

So this is a drunk post.
Be warned.

I know that it's 11.40 pm which, considering I'm a fairly capable and socially average 26 year old, should be the starting point of my evening.
Instead, I seem to have chosen to embrace my inner 72 year old, leaving the party early (I didn't have tickets to the show the rest of them ere going to see. A really great thing as it was as it gives me an opportunity to sincerely moan about my misfortune while at the same time and equally sincerely feeling happy about the excuse for leaving early served up on a silver platter for me)and am currently lounging on the couch with fiancé, nursing a cup of tea.

If time travel is ever possible, I sure hope that my 18 year old self never visits this moment, as it surely will mark my demise.

However, tonight was a lovely lovely night, and a first at that.
You see, with all my travelling through the years I've never really stayed long enough to establish a sort of social circle and even less had to introduce anyone to said circle. It's always been me to have been introduced to my current beau's friends and swiftly find a way to manipulate them into liking me.
Tonight though it was me doing the introducing.

And I was terrified.

Fiancé is very likable and very socially capable, (which at times makes him very handy, especially when he's around me) but still there was a part of me worrying; wringing my hands and muttering to myself just thinking about it.
The friends I've made here in Melbourne are quite the bohemians I'd say, whereas fiancé is an engineering square, albeit a lovely and wonderful such. I was worried fiancé would feel out of place. I felt like a mother, worrying that her child might be the only one playing alone in the sandbox. Which, I admit, might be a bit of a creepy analogy when talking about the man I..ö you know.

Anywho.
Things went well.
Turns out, men seem to bond around stuff cooking on a barbecue. Apparently these men don't even need to have shown any kind of previous excitement or even vague interest in cooking, when there's a barbecue involved male bonding just seems to happen effortlessly.

Oh..
And yeah. Alcohol.
There was some drinks of alcohol involved. Which might discredit the male bonding (although one should never underestimate the power grilling equipment holds over the mysterious creature that is the man), but on the other hand will totally explain the possible lack of proper grammar and the probable presence of spelling errors.

But you know guys, it's the thought that counts.
Unless it's Christmas.
Then that's just rude.
Rude.