I'm checking in again today with a hangover. I'm beginning to think this blog should be sponsored by Lucozade Sport and Nurofen. And yes, it's Tuesday, I went boozing on a Monday, I'm suitably ashamed of myself, yada yada. It's been a surprisingly productive day on the work front so I'm not going to beat myself up over it.
And I had a great night. It was myself and three friends from school, that I don't see often enough but whose ability to pick up wherever we left off, no matter how long it's been, never ceases to amaze me. It's a wonderful quality, and I really appreciate these easy and happy relationships.
I did feel a little like a fish out of water at times though. It's rare that I'm out in the company of women. They scare me, truth be told, and a girls' night out for me would be a nightmare. I've never seen myself as a girly girl but abhor the idea of myself as some kind of tomboy, so it leaves me a bit stuck. I don't wear fake tan or have nice hair (I suppose I might -if I brushed it- but it's awful curly, you see) but I do wear pretty skirts and paint my toenails, so I'm not a complete lost cause. But groups of women intimidate me. We're disgustingly competitive, us females, and I worry that I just can't compete. The conversation inevitably boils down to men, and at the moment (who am I kidding? for fucking ages now) I find myself tragically and bafflingly single. Plenty of my friends are in the same boat, but I have this tendancy to overdramatise my own singledom and assume that their men are just around the corner, whereas my Prince Charming is hiding behind the couch stuffing his fingers into his ears, thinking of a happy place.
I wouldn't blame him. I suffered what we'll politely call a romantic setback some time ago, and I haven't really been acting like ideal girlfriend material since. I'll grow out of it. In the meantime though, my tales of drama, disaster and debauchery have made for good conversation when in the company of my female friends. I may not be able to compete with the shiny hair and the size 10 jeans, but I can tell a good story. It's great to sit and talk shite to people who have a genuine interest in what you're at and how life's going for you, and to make them laugh while you're at it.
I'm worried that I've taken self-effacement to a new level though and I find myself a little deflated sometimes, wondering if I'm turning into some kind of performing idiot. The trouble I get myself into is usually as a result of my own short short span of attention, but I'd want to watch out that it's not stemming from some unconscious desire to amuse everyone else. A comedienne I ain't, and it'll do me no good to behave like one.
So i'll go get a haircut. Wear some heels. Spend more time with these strong, clever and funny women and try to learn from my past mistakes. I'll tempt that fucker out from behind the couch yet.
And I had a great night. It was myself and three friends from school, that I don't see often enough but whose ability to pick up wherever we left off, no matter how long it's been, never ceases to amaze me. It's a wonderful quality, and I really appreciate these easy and happy relationships.
I did feel a little like a fish out of water at times though. It's rare that I'm out in the company of women. They scare me, truth be told, and a girls' night out for me would be a nightmare. I've never seen myself as a girly girl but abhor the idea of myself as some kind of tomboy, so it leaves me a bit stuck. I don't wear fake tan or have nice hair (I suppose I might -if I brushed it- but it's awful curly, you see) but I do wear pretty skirts and paint my toenails, so I'm not a complete lost cause. But groups of women intimidate me. We're disgustingly competitive, us females, and I worry that I just can't compete. The conversation inevitably boils down to men, and at the moment (who am I kidding? for fucking ages now) I find myself tragically and bafflingly single. Plenty of my friends are in the same boat, but I have this tendancy to overdramatise my own singledom and assume that their men are just around the corner, whereas my Prince Charming is hiding behind the couch stuffing his fingers into his ears, thinking of a happy place.
I wouldn't blame him. I suffered what we'll politely call a romantic setback some time ago, and I haven't really been acting like ideal girlfriend material since. I'll grow out of it. In the meantime though, my tales of drama, disaster and debauchery have made for good conversation when in the company of my female friends. I may not be able to compete with the shiny hair and the size 10 jeans, but I can tell a good story. It's great to sit and talk shite to people who have a genuine interest in what you're at and how life's going for you, and to make them laugh while you're at it.
I'm worried that I've taken self-effacement to a new level though and I find myself a little deflated sometimes, wondering if I'm turning into some kind of performing idiot. The trouble I get myself into is usually as a result of my own short short span of attention, but I'd want to watch out that it's not stemming from some unconscious desire to amuse everyone else. A comedienne I ain't, and it'll do me no good to behave like one.
So i'll go get a haircut. Wear some heels. Spend more time with these strong, clever and funny women and try to learn from my past mistakes. I'll tempt that fucker out from behind the couch yet.
