Work hard play hard. One of mums favourite sayings, always seems to crop up when I'm getting bogged down with uni work or stressed about my exams. But when I'm playing hard, well, she likes to remind me I have my whole life for that. My life in the future, not my life now. Life now is for working and studying and working some more. So when I read on the work rota that I had the whole of Saturday off I knew I should start on my assignment due for the next week. And so, with that in mind, I proceeded to procrastinate in every way I knew how; I watched The O.C, tidied my room and the living room, washed a shit load of pots and glasses and did some laundry. Domestic goddess much? I figured it still counted as work, except maybe the part with the O.C marathon, but that was going to be my 'play hard' for the day. That was until my room mates came home at five with a bottle of vodka, bottle of rum and a wicked plan involving drinking games and drunken heart to hearts. Knowing full well the deal I'd made with myself involving no alcohol they relished my short lived internal argument before pouring me a drink at 10:30pm. By 2am we were all well on our way to declaring our undying love for each other whilst planning trips to Korea and Greece. Sounds like a brilliant night yes? I was starting to think that maybe I'd been wrong; maybe alcohol didn't always mean men? Maybe I could have a cheeky drink with friends without totally humiliating myself in public? The humiliation was kept to a Facebook minimum, with only 2 frapes that night, both about the size of my vagina and my need for, and I quote, "soft penis like a floppy, uncooked sausage". I have some very mature friends.
We proceeded to discuss Kevin and Perry go large, creating our own scouse version where we were the stars who went to Ibiza and made in big in the world of DJ's. We also discussed politics and concluded that Nick Clegg is in fact a total c*nt with the dignity and morals of a regurgitated fur ball. Talks of funerals, holidays, university work, landlords, laminate flooring and body piercing ensued. My room mate now has pierced ears courtesy of myself, some cheap ladybird earrings I got from Claire's Accessories 12 years ago, and my mad, never before used skills.
Everything was fine and dandy until about 5am when we ran out of alcohol. This meant only one thing to us; we needed reinforcements and we needed them soon. Bed time in Saturday Club isn't until 7am at the earliest. So I text the gingers boss. I should explain here that it wasn't totally out of the blue, as he'd been nagging to come back over since our first rendezvous, I just hadn't let him. I should also probably mention that he wasn't some weird creep who would get up in the middle of the night to deliver us alcohol; he works at a bar in town so would have been finishing at any moment anyway, with nowhere else to go but home to his bed, alone. As you can imagine my offer was definitely the best thing he had heard all night and replied instantly, saying he'd be over as soon as he could with some friends and a bottle of sambuca. They took their time.
While we were waiting we began talking about my man-ban again. It seemed I was doomed to fail in this as well, which really annoyed me because I didn't want to carry on sleazing around like I had been. When you come out of a long term relationship, often the only way of coping with the loneliness is to throw yourself at some unsuspecting, but willing victim. The only problem was I seemed to throw myself at victim after victim, with no end in sight. I just couldn't bare dealing with those break-up emotions yet. So I ignored them, masked them with sex and strange men. I had soon realised however that it wasn't helping, hence my man-ban, but now I was in a rut; a routine that I couldn't seem to get out of. My friend confessed that she had been through the same thing only a year ago, and had decided to make the same choice I had, to evade men. However she had committed to six months of abstinence. I wasn't sure I was ready to make such a bold statement. She agreed that maybe it had been a little extreme, but it hadn't been as difficult as she'd first imagined, once she got into it, and it really helped her sort herself out. Irregardless of what we say to guys, we women really are complex, even though we often don't realise it ourselves. This means that sometimes the best thing of us is, well, us. To be by ourselves, with our own thoughts and nothing conflicting or influencing. So as the gingers boss made his way to my house, I knew I was doing the wrong thing, but it was too late to say no now.
Besides, he was bringing sambuca.
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