So I had a very enjoyable night out with my closest gals; it was excellent to see them all and I think the birthday girl was suitably happy. I spilled copious amounts of fluorescing gin down my leg, got my pirate hat molested on a far too regular basis, and got approached by far too many morons attempting to make conversation by talking about piracy.

“Why are you wearing a pirate hat?”
“Why not?”
“Did you know that most pirates were of the, erm, male persuasion?”
“Actually, that was just one particular colony of pirates who lived off the coast of South America who lived without any women.”
“What’s a Pirate’s favourite number?”

Their face falls and I am victorious. Ha.

I hate it when drunks inititate conversation. I really don’t want to talk but I feel I have to so as to not offend, like if I don’t talk then i’ll get a punch in the face. I keep my answers short and curt hoping that they will get my drift and fuck off… but no, they lack social awareness and continue to pester and then get offended when I won’t reveal any details about myself. I have a surly look on my face most of the time anyway- hardly open to their advances. I find it hard not to laugh when they then go on to ask for my phone number, I mean why even bother?

Talking about bothering, I’m glad I have a break coming up. I’m getting that whistful feeling where I begin to miss certain intimate company, and the prospect of a few days close to both my blanket and Patrick is most welcome. I Totally Non-stop Actioned today so I will have to find something else to satisfy; a trip into town may be in order to get something to distract myself, if I can be arsed. So that’ll be me watching my Spongebob dvds then. Sigh.

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