I have an hour to myself before work this morning - working slightly later, got up slightly earlier than usual. Plenty of stuff I can get out of the way before my day even begins. This hour-long vista of opportunity for productivity can only mean one thing:
Procrastinating on the internet!
I just wish I hadn't checked my bank account first. Grim. Looks like it's going to be a fairly quiet (translate: sober) month for this one, if I want to be able to get suitably pie eyed in front of this motley crew next month:
Oddly enough, though, I'm quite looking forward to a month of relative sobriety and peace. I do love a night out, but they seem to be losing their sheen for me. I don't know whether it's an age thing, or something to do with the fact that I only have to smell sambuca to transform into the emotional equivalent of a crayon left on a hot hob.
Most weekends, I go through this phase where every bone in my body is jumping around under my skin to get me out "dancing" (more translations: running around with fixed grin, arms rigid in the air) and I'm compelled to send out a barrage of oh-so-subtle "I'm soooo BORED tonight!" texts, in the hope that the people in my contacts list are equally soooo BORED and want to do something like, oh, I don't know. Maybe just nip to the pub and, y'know, see what happens?
It's pretty much a guarantee that by the end of the night, I will have regretted listening to my jumpy bones, feeling disappointed because my expectations of the wild night of fun times weren't met. I don't know what I expect....unicorns and American girly TV-esque lollitude where I am very drunk but still oh-so fabulous? Dream on, sister! *finger snap*
Because I'm feeling old and embittered, here are 5 things about nights out on the tiles that never fail to disappoint:
- That bit at the end of the night where no one is actually communicating with each other (myself included). The whole club are just glassy-eyed pissed and looking through each other. The best kind of conversation you can hope for at 3am is someone talking at you about their insatiable need for a kebab/that "fittie" they can't stop staring at yet wouldn't have looked twice at in the cold light of day.
- The sleepiness: I never ever used to experience this, but a wall has sprung up between me and a good time, and I tend to smash my face into it somewhere between 1 and 2 a.m. Closing time was always too early for me, and I would be chomping at the bit to carry the party on elsewhere, anywhere, as long as I didn't have to go to bed while I was a student. Nowadays, the witching hour passes, and, laden with knackered-ness and cider, I find myself too proud to admit that I"m feeling a bit snoozy and want to go home. Instead, I have "dancing breaks" at the bar and end up getting so messy that when it is time to go, I have to actually instruct my legs to work as a team to get out of the door and into a taxi.
- The pulling: I don't want to sound like a prude or a party pooper. I have spent my fair share of nights as a teen latched onto some random's face in aid of a good time/a novel way to keep myself upright. We all have. But when you're looking at it from the outside of said pull, there is nothing wild or exciting about it. It's just a sweaty, wriggly mass of "well, I certainly hope I don't remember you in the morning, sweet cheeks!"
- The dancing: I love a goofy dance-off as much as the next white girl dancing shamelessly to hip hop, but there comes a point in the night where everyone has stopped with the silliness and they have begin to really mean it! Hips are sashayed, people are doing that weird feel-yourself-up dance that you only ever see in nightclubs... Even while I'm pissed, I'm still inherently British. This part of the night is where the "dance breaks" start to happen, and when I am "dancing", my exuberance will have melted down to a wobbly foot-shuffle as I pray for bed.
- The emotions: Oh, God, the emotions! If I have any insecurities, doubts, feelings previously bravely held in by a stiff upper lip, they will come spilling out of my mouth, because when I'm in da club, it's obviously a perfect time to tearfully inform everyone how fat and unloved I am. Because that's appropriate, and everyone loves to talk a jibbering wreck down at the ass crack of dawn. Such fun! Most people have their own version of these mini meltdowns when they're on the sauce, but more often than not, they have to good sense to pipe down about it the next day and claim to remember nothing the following morning in hopes that any witnesses will follow suit. I, unfortunately, am a dweller. The shame can follow me around for days.
Well, that was a happy-go-lucky post! In other news, I am running my first parkrun with the lil sis next Saturday in preparation for the Race for Life event the following week, so pretty excited for that! If you've not heard of a parkrun before, they are weekly 5k races dotted all over the country for people of all abilities, and they're 100% free! Take a look:
Happy Friday, all!