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A brief insight into my farce of a weekend.

As it currently stands, I am so angry I could spit. A sudden surge of undiluted rage that has, to my knowledge, no known origin has swept over me, so I will apologise in advance for sounding like fucking c*nt during this post. I need to offload. And because screaming out my window at the plague of maggots currently infesting the streets next to my flat – due to this bloody festival – isn’t a sensible option I’ve had to settle for writing. Or a bottle of wine – I’ll see how I feel after this blurb.

It is payday weekend and on paper that means everything in my life should be hunky-dory, yet for some reason I am really pissed off. This feeling has been creeping up on me all week and there doesn’t appear to be catalyst for it. So I’m simply going to rant about everything and everyone that’s currently on my ever-growing hit list.

First up is this farce of a music festival that’s currently plaguing my existence. The Merchant City festival to be precise. I’ve had to endure a litany of off-key covers, weird country singers and what sounded like a flatulent warthog singing Dolly Parton. When I’m hungover, like I was yesterday, I like to rest. Rest requires peace and quiet; silence. Solitude. All of which I was unable to have because of this fucking festival. They even covered Meghan Trainer songs. Her songs are bad enough when she farts them out, let alone a mediocre x-factor wannabe having a bash at them. All I done yesterday was limp around my flat, sulking, trying not to hurl. If I were a Pokemon my name would be “I must not be sick” as that’s all I could say. So not only have I had to nurse a reeking hangover, but I had to endure it whilst accompanied by that ‘music.’

Eyes sunken, hair askew, feet aching…That has been my general appearance yesterday and today. Which has in turn made me annoyed at myself. After being papped by a club photography on Friday, I nervously stalked the club’s Facebook page hoping to find said photo and erase it from existence. Eventually I tracked it down and what I was confronted by was too hideous to comprehend. Luckily cropping and a filter alleviated some of the perpetual ugliness that haunts my daily existence, but the worst part of this photo was the way my t-shirt hung over me, making it seem that I have a beer belly – which I fucking don’t. So now I’m battling my weight issues and that wee voice in my head that’s screaming ‘lardy’ at me every time I stomp by a mirror.

I don’t even recall Friday night, that’s the alarming thing. How do I manage to get myself into these states in my twenties? For fuck sake I lost one shoe. Just one. I literally limped into my flat with one shoe; where did it go? Fuck knows. It went MIA somewhere on the barren streets of 3am Glasgow. Who loses a fucking shoe? Like, actually. What a pitiful lump of a human I regress into when I’m overly drunk. I keep being bombarded with flash backs of Friday; wee snippets of people I met or images of me preening and jigging around the dance floor like some sort of desperate animal. I can’t quite shake the feeling that someone has perhaps has made off with my shoe. Some sleekit rouge prowling the streets but only managed to wrestle one shoe off me before he slid away into the night #awfysleekit.

Last night I ventured out to see Latrice “muthafuckin” Royal. I would have enjoyed the show if not for the hordes of people crammed into the bar. It  was like someone hurriedly rammed an entire Pride festival back into the world’s tiniest closet.The sights, the sounds, the terrible fashion choices and collective odour from a room full of gays was just too much.  It was a concoction of stale aftershave and dry semen. There was one point where I couldn’t actually move; I was stuck in the same position, barely able to flex a muscle or get to the bathroom too pee. There were definitely some fire safety regulations being broken, that’s all I’m saying.

It’s just been one fucking thing after another. A lesbian told me I was handsome, bit of  backhanded compliment. All the music I’ve been forced to listen to has been terrible. I’m paranoid I look pregnant and someone on Grindr sent me a picture of him jerking someone off whilst simultaneously smelling his foot. These are the sort of offbeat events that occur in my daily life.  So all and all I was buzzing for this weekend, but when it actually touched down it was a bit of a let-down. The company was fine; it was just my mind-set and attitude that soured it I suspect. Anyway. Later.

 

 

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