Hump day, stag dos and other nonsense.
Be happy, hump day is over. Only two days left til the weekend and Fridays don't really count. My hump day was one of the longest I've ever experienced - I had to be at work at 7:30am, coupled with a 20 mile drive each way. Yay for employment. A non sarcastic yay will be employed when I receive my first pay cheque. Then the twelve hour days may finally have some kind of reward, other than the prospect of getting home and zoning out in front of the TV.
It may have come to your attention that over the last three weeks or so, Channel 4 have been following up Big Brother with a documentary series called Sex in the 90s. This week is Stag and Hen Nights, which has, so far, featured a shaven headed man describing a typical stag night which included some handcuffs, binge drinking and sexual debauchery (stripper/hooker optional). So far, nothing new.
How many of us can honestly stand up and up and say that we have not been witness to at least one stag night or hen do? Staggering up the high street, under the additional weight of at least one member of the party who has already passed out drunk, the hens in fancy dress from claire's accessories and the men with specially printed t-shirts proclaiming Gav's Stag-Do! on the front and a number on the back, coupled with some witty name such as Sir Wanksalot.
When I lived in Brighton, the hordes of women staggering up West Street on a Friday or Saturday night dressed in hairband haloes or glittery stetsons reached critical proportions. We could no longer go to town without the cry 'Stace - I've lost my L plates. And my shoes.' echoing in our ears. We instead chose to stay in our local on weekends, avoiding the poking of miniature pitchforks and fairy wands.
However, you're never really safe. As the programme has moved on to point out, cheap flights mean you can now go and get drunk for a whole weekend and in a foreign country too so it doesn't even count and the chances of your partner finding out that you sneakily shagged someone else on the side is dramatically reduced. Unless of course your sneaky shag karma comes back to haunt you in the form of pubic crabs.
And then there's Amsterdam, a veritable mecca to the fun things in life such as getting stoned and paying strangers for sex. However, being legal there doesn't quite cut it when you have to explain your no-longer-sneaky shag. I would go on a bit of battering Prague but I fear it could take a little long and should probably left for a separate post on another day.
There is so much to rant about and so little energy left in my body that you'll have to forgive me if I go and collapse from exhaustion.
It may have come to your attention that over the last three weeks or so, Channel 4 have been following up Big Brother with a documentary series called Sex in the 90s. This week is Stag and Hen Nights, which has, so far, featured a shaven headed man describing a typical stag night which included some handcuffs, binge drinking and sexual debauchery (stripper/hooker optional). So far, nothing new.
How many of us can honestly stand up and up and say that we have not been witness to at least one stag night or hen do? Staggering up the high street, under the additional weight of at least one member of the party who has already passed out drunk, the hens in fancy dress from claire's accessories and the men with specially printed t-shirts proclaiming Gav's Stag-Do! on the front and a number on the back, coupled with some witty name such as Sir Wanksalot.
When I lived in Brighton, the hordes of women staggering up West Street on a Friday or Saturday night dressed in hairband haloes or glittery stetsons reached critical proportions. We could no longer go to town without the cry 'Stace - I've lost my L plates. And my shoes.' echoing in our ears. We instead chose to stay in our local on weekends, avoiding the poking of miniature pitchforks and fairy wands.
However, you're never really safe. As the programme has moved on to point out, cheap flights mean you can now go and get drunk for a whole weekend and in a foreign country too so it doesn't even count and the chances of your partner finding out that you sneakily shagged someone else on the side is dramatically reduced. Unless of course your sneaky shag karma comes back to haunt you in the form of pubic crabs.
And then there's Amsterdam, a veritable mecca to the fun things in life such as getting stoned and paying strangers for sex. However, being legal there doesn't quite cut it when you have to explain your no-longer-sneaky shag. I would go on a bit of battering Prague but I fear it could take a little long and should probably left for a separate post on another day.
There is so much to rant about and so little energy left in my body that you'll have to forgive me if I go and collapse from exhaustion.
posted by adulescent at 3:03 PM
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