Update - Monday

Dear Diary,

Oh my god!! It's Thursday!! I have unknowingly gone FOUR DAYS without doing a blog! Well bugger me with radish on top. Where to begin? Except, obviously, with Monday- that would make sense.

MONDAY:

Well, crikey. Shocking news of the day: Anne texted me - it turns out she has a boyfriend. Now, I don't mean to sound like a total bitch, but when someone who looks like the bastard offspring of a goldfish and Ron Weasley gets a boyfriend, it really was enough to make me think I should just shoot myself now. Grrr.... And I know people may be thinking "Well, Kat, there's probably a reason other people get the boyfriends instead of you - because you say such shallow and horrible things like that yourself."

Now let me clear something up - I am only a tiny bit shallow, (because, let's face it, who isn't? Don't lie, we all are) and I don't for a second believe that "attractiveness" should be the majorly defining aspect of someone. It's the simple fact that Anne is just NOT THAT NICE A PERSON. I'm sure in her own weird way she's sometimes alright, but whenever we hang out, there's always at least 5 instances where she will criticise me, talk down to me, sneer at me, or slip an oh-so-subtle snide aside into a conversation. And she desn't even joke with it. The fact is, we've known each other since we were five, and she (and her parents) were always so convinced that she was a better person than me - she was a carnival queen while I was climbing trees, she did ballet while I did gymnastics, she studied Maths while I studied Drama. It's the kind of condescending shite that makes me sick, I HATE people looking down on other people (especially when it happens to me) and judging people by who they are and what they do with their lives, there is nothing worse. And there is no excuse for it. And that is why I'm astounded that she has a boyfriend.

Moving on - Off to usual Monday night shenanigans (ie: pub). Marie and Sue seem to have realised just how incredibly far down my throat they pushed their boyfriends last week, as they hardly uttered a squeak about them this time around. Can't pretend it wasn't extremely nice NOT to hear about them for 4 solid hours.
Trouble is, "Yes Man" got me into trouble. Well, not REAL trouble, only a Grade-D kind of trouble (I think you can see where this is going.....) We were innocently stood by the Pool table, me chopping cider and dancing to "Bodyrock," when we were approached by a guy who'd been in for a while. WITH A SCOUSE ACCENT. Naturally I kept making him talk, just so I could listen to that fantastically familiar twang. Oh god, I've missed it. Anyway.......

THAT NIGHT I SAID "YES" AND CONSEQUENTLY:

Played about 6 games of Pool against "Gaz" (and lost almost every one)
Bought him a drink (because he was the winner)
Bought Marie and Sue drinks (the advantage-taking bastards)
Smoked a cigarette (I know, I know. At least I didn't inhale)
Downed almost an entire PINT in one go (Something, strangely I never learnt to do at uni)
Took up Gaz's offer to carry on drinking at his (Yes, yes, I'm awful.....)
Walked all the way up to frigging ASDA to buy Doritos and Sausage rolls
Played drinking games till 2am with a relative stranger

I know, there should probably be limits to this "Yes" thing, but dammit, you're only young once, and these are the crazy memories I'll be looking back on and laughing my arse off at on my deathbed! So, anyway, after the drinking games we sat watching the "Promise" video on TMF, munching our sausage rolls (*feel free to insert a massively innapropriate innuendo here*) and debating how actually ridiculously gorgeous Cheryl Cole is, and which 5 same-sex celebrities we'd sleep with if we absolutely had to. Just for the record, mine are:

Cheryl Cole (Enough said. And I'm a sucker for an accent)
Shakira (Sexy Columbian-ness)
Erin Daniels (Model-gorgeous and funny as hell to boot)
Pam Grier (Absolute BAD-ASS)
Keira Knightley (Again, the accent. But only if she ate a damn doughnut once in a while)

Looking at them, I wouldn't even really HAVE TO. I just WOULD. But I'm digressing.....
So, after the munching and the debating, things kind of..... took a natural course from there. Well, I mean, it TRIED to, except for the fact that drink was once again about to play it's cruel and ill-timed trick on my new friend, as it took several HOURS to get the British flag flying, let alone to reach it's natural conclusion (yeah OK, I couldn't think of any flag-related metaphors for "ejaculating"). But eventually it did, so all was well! Wasn't really much to be said about the experience really, he was very quiet, not bad, but not fantastic. And I was thinking of David almost the whole time. Sigh. He said I was "gorgeous" - although Christ knows how, as all the lights were out - we chatted some more and fell asleep.

Woke up the next morning and tried to do it again, well, after a lot of "I'm so hungover" moaning. He seemed particularly worried about anything "rocking" and people "hearing." Eh? Didn't matter anyway, as he once again couldn't finish. What the hell was he DRINKING last night?! Before this could sink in, however, there was a knock at the door, it was his mates wanting a chat. So being the nosy numpty I am, I put my glasses and my ears on, had a good old eavesdrop, and this is what I found out:

YOU SHOULD NEVER GO HOME WITH SOMEONE IF:

• They live in a CARAVAN. Which is situated ON THEIR WORKSITE.
• They don't even have a TOILET in their caravan, but use the communal one.
• You are so drunk, you didn't even register that you were in a caravan, or indeed a workyard, to begin with.
• Your paramour was chucked out of a pub before coming to yours.
• Said paramour is due in court on Friday, charged with "D+D" (being Drunk and Disorderly)
• It is not the first time this has happened.
• It has happened so often, he knows the police term ("D+D") for his charge.

He was a fucking JAILBIRD!! OK, he's never been inside apparently, but still..... Needless to say, he never told me ANYTHING about the last four. And even MORE needless to say, I set a World Record time for getting my clothes on and getting the fuck out of a place. Oh, he was all lovely and asked for my number etc.... and swore he was never violent on those occasions, just being a bit of a dick. Hmmmm. Strange really, as he seemed so nice. It goes to show you never can tell..... (as that fantastic song once proclaimed)

Eventually said goodbye and walked out the worksite, ignoring the stares and pretending I knew where I was going. I literally ran when I reached the main road - not because I was scared or anything, just because I was a little embarrassed and ashamed, but also because I had done something, which thinking about it, was quite daft and reckless - and I just felt like laughing madly. And it felt good on the hangover, well, until I stopped, anyway. Ended up walking ALL the way up the literally never-ending road in the rain, which, again, felt good. Since when did I become such an indie-film poster-child? Jeez. I can only hope I was staring soulfully into the distance to complete the look..... Caught a bus back home, stopping off at Subway to buy my traditional pepperoni, cheese, chicken and mayonaise foot-long (aka: The Heart-Attack-In-Sandwich-Form) crisps, diet coke, 3 cookies, and a "Can you tell I have a hangover?" hat.

Strangely, he did text me later, but never replied to my reply. And hasn't since. I'm not really surprised, and to be honest, I'm not that bothered anyway. Plus, I suppose your phone gets confiscated in jail, anyway.

I'm a crazy fool, I know. But really, what else should I do with my days?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Current Mood: tired - for a change
Current Music: An "L Word Season 6 Promo" EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!! So excited, it's only a few weeks away. Turns out Jenny does die. Thank fuck for that!