She says she loves who I'd be if I grew up, but 'til then could I please keep my shoes on

You'll soon come to notice that as my thesis deadline creeps closer, the frequency of my blog posts will significantly increase. That instead of getting the small BOOK I need to write out of the way sooner rather than later in order to enjoy an Amsterdam summer of festivals and fun, I will be spending my days re-posting Buzzfeed articles showcasing The 17 Best Parts Of The Only Shirtless Picture Of Ryan Gosling In “The Place Beyond The Pines or 18 Microwave Snacks You Can Cook In A Mug. And until 'the fear' kicks in I shall be found dancing around my bedroom to Taylor Swift, eating peanut butter out of the jar and cutting in my own bangs after a New Girl overdose. Do I enjoy living this close to the edge? Yes actually, I'm very comfortable here. I've got my Ryan Gosling pillow and the cuddly crocodile I won at the Dam fair by my side, oh, and another thing, an alcoholic beverage in my hand..

The longer I live in Amsterdam work at Coco's, the more the ratio of my having a beverage in my hand to me not having a beverage in said hand is increasing at a rapid and mildly concerning rate - unfortunately alongside the number of alcoholic beverages consumed and the exponential growth of my beer belly, sigh. As a result, yesterday I created a new rule for myself whereby I no longer drink during the week, playtime should be reserved for weekend purposes only. Alas, this lasted all of FORTY MINUTES - damn you and your Espresso Martini, Adriaan - so here goes, ten reasons why I'm definitely convinced that I'm slowly but surely becoming an alcoholic:

•  Mieke Bal is one of the core theorists of my thesis, she's a great gal. However, whenever I reference or quote Bal, as I type her name I immediately think of Bol's liqueur
• When out shopping for birthday presents last week, me and Linda stopped for a shot of tequila mid-mission, then resumed our business as if nothing had happened
• I haven't had a hangover in months
• When I leave for work on a Saturday afternoon, my floormates don't expect to see me again until Monday morning
• There is a drink that exists at my work called 'a Robyn'
• Me and Hannah have recently made up a dance especially designed for bar stools in the Coco's Mine, since we find ourselves sat there every weekend. Minimum effort, maximum proximity to the bar.
• I legit drink beer to unwind
• Me and a friend actually hid beers at a house party the other week, in fear of supplies significantly depleting
• If I make a mistake or forget something, my friends just assume I am/was drunk
• I properly enjoy downing an Irish Car Bomb
  

However, the slightly bigger issue would be that in actual fact that none of this remotely bothers me. Drunk me has a hoot. Drunk me is a generally better and more talented human being - as my recent Pool reigning and continually improving efforts at the Smirnoff Challenge prove. Hell, drunk me is probably going to write a substantially better thesis than sober me could ever fathom.
And I'll drink to that.