Loving my new course at uni has turned weektime into joy and weekends into a sort of journey of anxiety and bad experiences. I’ve collected some things** over time that break me down to crippling frustration, so much so that I have nearly written exasperated facebook statuses about them. Yeah, pretty extreme. So far I have collected 6 things that make me want to shoot myself. In the order that I thought of them:
Talking to guys in bars
I don’t tend to talk to guys unless they approach me, and 99% of the time if a guy approaches you in a bar it’s not because he thinks you might be an interesting person. The result is a depressing conversation in which he assesses how easy it will be to take you home and then cringes at a weird word you use and wants to leave. One guy I spoke to, wearing a deep v-neck with some wispy chest hair poking out, just said “sex?” to me. That’s hilarious. I get it, you want sex and don't care about anything else. So genius. It’s really fun not existing in someone’s reality for anything more than the fact I have a vagina and a face.
People bitching about things they know nothing about
Some examples include feminism (bunch of dykes), fashion (shallow and talentless consumerism), drugs (evil things taken by evil people) and art (you could put shit on a plate and call it art these days). Well it goes on forever depending on your experience. I’m sure I’ve done it too because I can be a pompous dick sometimes which I hate. But when I hear people ranting and judging people without any knowledge or experience behind it I just want to scratch my face off. The phrase “I’m not being funny but ...” tends to be used a lot, along with glaring social stereotypes and things they read about in The Sun that definitely happened.
Nothing fits, I’m fat, I can’t believe I have to live through this day as such an obese pile of poo. How can I go out in public? My legs look like trees. I’m going to sit on the edge of my bed frowning and slouching in a pile of toddler misery. You get the idea.
Guys making a joke/comment about my outfit
Agh, you know NOTHING about clothes so shut the fuck up. Where does that get you, at all? It’s like correcting people’s spelling and grammar; I used to do it until I thought “why do I do that?” It's not funny. It doesn’t get me anywhere and it just annoys people.
It hits you a moment before you wake up. Your stomach sinks. It’s sort of like a realisation that you’re alive. I’m not sure what causes it but it must be the dream like state of being drunk, that sort of morphs into slumber and then you wake up sober all of a sudden. You feel sad about everything. It’s pretty fun to just go out and be adventurous, but there are nights when it’s shit and this is the product of that.
Realising how wrong you were about someone
Liking fashion has got me nowhere; most of the people that seemed cool to me have turned out to be the worst people I’ve ever met. I liken this to looking at your pores with a magnetic mirror at 8 in the morning; you just shouldn’t do it. You’re revealing the stark reality of something that you would much rather just keep at a distance. You think this guy is so cool and you love his hair and oh my good look how sexy he is with a cigarette, and then he tells you how much he loves Linkin’ Park and calls your friend a dick. Kind of a bummer. Let the pretty people be pretty; look, don’t touch.
All pictures from The Arab Parrot (really brilliant and brimming with puns).
**For people who actually read it: I only really wrote this to entertain myself on a vacant Saturday. So you may not identify with it at all. Sorry if I lost you. Love you.