Ok so maybe you suspect the inevitable has finally happened, my ego has collapsed in on itself, sucking the rest of my personality with it, and there will be no more blogs. That’s not true, I am just so goddamn tired lately. I mean my work is awful, really it is a hideous job. Sometimes when I am on the bus home (it’s a 10 minute walk but my job is so wearying to the spirit, I get the bus…) I stand beside the people who smell like pee but at least don’t grope my ass, and I contemplate how bad it might actually be to work as a prostitute.
Would ALL the men be gross and weird and creepy or would there be some hot ones who are just shy or want me to sit in pies or shout at them while they clean my apartment? Would I wind up murdered? I might be murdered and then my mother would find out I was a prostitute and my dad would find out I was not a virgin and it would be so awful, I couldn’t live with myself, and also I would be dead.
But I do get a good 8 minutes of optimistic daydreaming out of the whole scenario. Damn Secret Diary of a Call Girl with Billie Piper, she makes it look so fun, sexy, and lucrative. I bet it is lucrative…. i would need to get in better shape though. But then I remember, the murdering… the family shame… no. Don’t go there.
So that gives you some idea of what kind of job I have. That’s how you know you have a shit job, if the only con you can think of about being a prozzie is the chance of being murdered and your family finding out. Other than that… I really, really wouldl prefer to be having sex with weird strangers instead. I mean I do that anyway, for free.. and no matter how hung over and regretful I feel afterwards, it’s never quite so fatiguing as a day on the job as a telemarketer.
I’m tired and depressed by my job, so that makes me too lazy to write…
So here… no posts, not right now… just… I came in last night after a post-work friday couple of pints that lasted from 4.30pm til 2.30am… same pub, lots and lots of jagerbombs and apparently “my drink” is now smithwicks. I actually think that is my drink now, it certainly didn’t come back up again and I drank A LOT. I spent 80 euro on drinks and I only bought drinks for myself, and I was also bought a few drinks. That’s a lot of drinks.
Anyway, I drank a lot but didn’t really make much of a tit of myself in front of my new work buddies. More on how little I embarassed myself later, I have a party to get to, so I will just leave you with what I wrote last night when I arrived home from the pub at 3am convinced I had “drank myself sober”.
No seriously, guys, I think there’s something wrong with me, guys I have drank so much but I’m actually not drunk at all. No seriously watch me run down these stairs, see look ok so maybe I tripped a little but then I am wearing heels so that’s just normal.
That’s what I kept saying to people. I kept insisting on running down the stairs to prove my sobriety, despite it being a constant reminder that I was of course drunk as a skunk’s uncle.
So anyway… I woke up remembering I wrote a greeat post and here it is in its entirety. I dedicate this to Brion, sorry I know you love drunk posts unfortunately I was too drunk this time to be very entertaining:
Buenos noches, motherfuckers.
Buenas noches IN FUCKING DEEd.
So I have been keping fairly shtum in the recent timecicles, I know, you know, we know, us knowest? But it’s not like I have forgotten my blog. I have thought of my blog, oftentimes an foondly. Fondly like fond, notlik fondle.
Fondling takes back seat.
Not that I bak seat fondle, just that…
fondle rides passenger these days. TJAT doesvbnt make sense
I’m on a geetox.
ITs not like I dnt want foreign penile objects in myspecal are, buuuuuuuuuut………
I jst am bored.
I havhad so mmuch of the casual an dnothingy…. WHERE are the men who will make me laugh and make
OH my basill planet is dead Again so thats s no peso tomomrosw. Psorry I cant now I ned sleip.
I think my workmates racists??