Love me, love my blog

Love me, love my blog. Who was I kidding? I can’t give this up. This blog is here to stay, bitches! There are things I can’t write about. And there are things I shouldn’t write about, but will anyway because I have no filter.

Part of my charm is my lack of a filter. When my boss in college, the Chair of the School, told me that he was going to light some incense the other day, I didn’t respond like a normal human being would and just smile politely. Instead I said “Just don’t go sacrificing any virgins!” I don’t have a glorious history with the man, regularly saying the wrong thing to him. All part of my charm.

I’ve had a mixed week. The PhD has been progressing like treacle up a hill. And I’ve been in a bit of a mood. Not all the time, but Tuesday and Wednesday were not my most glorious days. I slumped about grumpily. I lasted on my diet for twenty four hours. A new low? Thank God for running. Just 3 runs left on my Couch-to-5K.

The excitement of having a fancyman is fading. He is the worst person in the world at texting back. Sometimes I have to read my own post about The Kiss to remember why I’m bothering. But when I do read it I still emit little merps of joy.

Yesterday, we had a work function. We all got dolled up in our finest. I went to the free bar that had been set up in one of the classrooms. I saw lots of people drinking beer. But I didn’t see any at the bar. My social awkwardness overruled the idea that I might ask the barman for a beer. Instead, I grabbed a glass of red wine as it was just sitting there. I don’t like red wine. But somehow, magically, the glass kept getting re-filled. What could I do? I had approximately four hours of red wine, which I’m counting as seven glasses.

We moved on to a pub. And beer. There was a tab. This was madness. Eventually, they stopped serving us, but not till after I was souzled. I was very indiscreet. I have a recollection of lifting my shirt so the girls could see my nipples. It was that kind of night.

Which meant we were bound to go clubbing. We staggered out of the pub. The club was about a four-minute walk away. But a Brazilian boy with a bicycle rickshaw approached us. He insisted he could take us to the club. With a glint of devilment and an absence of compassion, we piled on. Five of us. Including all 24 stone of me. So basically six of us. The Brazilian huffed and puffed and tried his darnedest. Progress was slow. One of my colleagues, a man who I didn’t think had it in him, thwacked our driver on the ass to hurry him along. Eventually, feeling guilty, the same colleague jumped off and pushed. We started belting along and I clung onto one of my colleagues for dear life. When we got off the rickshaw we all hugged and overpaid the Brazilian.

We made it to the club and had more drink and a bit of a boogie. I stayed out much later than them, thinking I was going to pull. I was in no fit state for anything that active. I eventually got home at about 2:00.

I had to give speaking exams this morning at 9:00. I had quite substantial difficulty getting out of bed. I was clearly still drunk when I did, because I drove to the bus stop.

Yes, I drove to the bus stop. The bus stop is, at the very worst, a five-minute walk from my bedroom. But I got in my car, drove to the bus stop and left my car parked illegally for over five hours.

Amazingly, I returned to an unclamped car. I had a nap. I’m no longer drunk. Which is good, because I have to drive to Donegal now.

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