Dear Diary,
God, I'm such a twat sometimes, I really am. Friday was absolutely fine. Turns out I was just stressing my head all along about nothing in particular. Joe came to pick me up Friday evening - and as much as I was planning to remain cool and aloof, I just apologised for being all crazy and paranoid. He in turn apologised for neglecting me, so all's well that end's well! We made our usual stop at Tesco for booze, grabbed a pizza (I know, I know) and snuggled down in front of Saw 3. 3 down, two to go! I know, I'm such a collossal nerd.
Saturday - was pretty awesome. Decided it would be pretty daft for Joe to miss anymore footie practices, so he dropped me off home early. And by that, I mean we went for a Subway breakfast and ended up chatting/easting so long that he missed practice anyway. Oh well. Apparently he went for a run when he got back, so I feel less guilty at least! Dossed around all day watching a programme about the moon landing with parents and did another abs workout with Shaun, before spending 4 hours getting ready. It was Joe's mate Matt's birthday, and I'd been invited along to the night out in town. Sweet! Wore the Cheryl dress (I'd make a terrible celebrity, I always seem to wear the same clothes) with contacts and straight hair and raced into town - late as usual.
The night out was brilliant! Sadly, three quite unfortunate things happened:
1) It rained. Bye-bye straight - or even normal-looking - hair
2) I went to withdraw money only to discover the hard way that some bill had recently been paid - had £10 to last me all night
3) We went to the expensive part of town - as per Matt's request
Rather adorably, Joe promised to "look after me" (I love that - it sounds like he's my pimp) so I dived straight into a horrific whiskey-laden cocktail which got nicer the more I drank it. Although it did cause me to wince everytime I took a gulp. Good times! Was quite nervous about meeting the rest of his friends and talking in a proper non-cinematic setting, but my instinctive talk-gene kicked in - and soon we were chatting away about Catholicism, having a laugh and nattering about how splendidly terrifying "Bruno" was.
So we moved on, from bar to bar. We went to a science-fiction-esque bar where we played "I never" and sat in a rocket. We moved on again, ending up at my favourite bar, "Blue." The bad news is, Joe hates my kind of music. The good news is, I love it, and "Blue" was playing it, so soon got down to strutting my drunken stuff with Matt, who was the only one willing to dance with me - I'm sure the massive amounts of brithday alcohol had NOTHING to do with it! Hell, I'm not complaining, he even got up during Jackson 5! Typically, I got a tiny crush on him for the evening - damn my libido. Welllll, he's lovely, quite shy, but very good looking, and a GIANT of a man - we're talking 6 foot at least. Obviously, I would never act on it, but you know - a girl can look, surely?
Finally ended up in a superb grill/cocktail bar, where Chris's girlfriend and I got chatting. One of the group got in a huge man-strop about something, so Joe went off to play peacemaker. Matt eventually left to make sure Pete got home OK, so I followed him outside and wished him a Happy Birthday - at which he gave me a big hug and a kiss and thanked me for coming out and "being the only person to dance with me." Awwww! I just wish I hadn't felt all girly inside - what a stupid slag I am. A good-looking man gives me a kiss on the cheek and I go all excited? I'm ashamed, really I am. You can take me out of the slag mindset, but you can't take the slag mindset out of...... wait, I'm not sure that makes sense. Oh well, it doesn't have to. Nothing I say ever does.
After a while the lights went up, so we took our clue and got the hell out. We walked all the way to the bus station (us girls barefoot, of course) debating religious issues and the like. Joe was being very chivalrous - he'd only drank a little, claiming he wanted to "look after me." Aww! I would like to say this is NOT because I was drunk, but frankly - I was. In fact, I think at one point, in a fit of wasted guilt, I proposed to repay him with a sexual favour for every drink he bought me. Maybe that's why I ended up so drunk!!
Anyhow, we got the night bus home, a disgusting, crawling cacophony of pissed-up knobheads, shouting things and trying to look cool. I rested on Joe's shoulder and put my Ipod in to block out some 15 year-old emo-tastic weasel-faced little runt shouting Michael Jackson jokes at the top of his voice (which, I'm told, went on for about 25 minutes). We got back to Joe's about half 4, and then, I'm ashamed to say, got into his car and drove to MacDonald's. Did you know it was open 24 hours? Yeah...... We got back, and - inexplicably - I found it much less hassle to pull on a pair of his shorts and t-shirt than to just sleep in my underwear. Intrigueing......
Ah, Sunday - this went fantastic until I ruined everything (see blog title). Well, I woke up all hungover and bleary-eyed, half the day gone. A text chimed through from Mum, proposing a roast dinner, so we shuffled out of bed, wondering how to pass the time till 6. Why, Frankie and Benny's, of course! Although I, slightly embarrassingly, only had my dress, so was forced to go out in public in a baggy pair of combats (complete with 29 pockets) and a black hoodie. Fun times! But the meal was gorgeous, and a lot of fun. If only it could've lasted......
Since the meal went on so long, I only had an hour till I had to be home, so I suggested a little "work-out" to give me an appetite. Except, on the way back to his, something blew out on his car. I won't go into details (mainly cos I can't, I know fuck-all about cars) but basically he was in big trouble - he shouldnt' have been driving it so soon after it being decked by his mum. In fact, the only thing that apparently stopped his dad having a huge go at him was the fact that I was there.
We traipsed up to his room, Joe all miserable, where we just flopped on the bed and cuddled. And here's the awful part, I, for some mental reason, thought a bit of sex would cheer him up. Despite him very obviously just wanting to cuddle. But I, never knowing when to stop and learn a bit of tact, kept pawing him, until he half-heartedly agreed. And it was awful, he was so clearly not into it, and we ended up stopping halfway through. So, as it stands, I have essentially raped my boyfriend. That doesn't feel good.
The drive home was awful, mostly in silence, and whenever I attempted to apologise he just told me to forget about it, and pretend it didn't happen. Eeeek. I didn't get a text whilst at work, and to be honest, I didn't expect one.
Work was pretty terrible - it was kareoke night (following the landlady's grandson's christening) so we were pretty rammed. So, I was flustered, miserable, and receieved shite-all tips all night. Oh, what a fun evening!
Got an extra shift tonight. Oh, and a text from Joe. We seem to be ignoring what happened. Fine by me.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Current Mood: shitty
Current Music: "Sleeping Satellites" - Tamsin Archer
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