The Tale of my First* Drunken Pash since being a Single Person (and yet further proof that everything I do in life is an EPIC FAIL)

A friend and I had decided on a night on the town. We headed out on Saturday and I immediately felt underdressed (why do all girls wear pretty party dresses now? I like shirts and jeans, goshdarnit), but consoled myself with cheap and nasty beer. It was super, super fun and we were having a very delightful time.

Got talking and drunkenly wobbling around near the bar with a very good looking chap. In fact, this guy was incredibly good looking (i.e. too good looking for me, but obviously his judgment was majorly impaired by beer), and he spoke like this guy** to boot. And after the Ugly Lights were turned on and we were booted out of the pub, he then leaned in and kissed me.

And it was absolutely horrific.

There was a flurried whirlwind of tongue in the "washing machine" style so popular amongst high schoolers. After a moment, he pulled away and I became aware that the bottom half of my face was COMPLETELY COVERED in his saliva. In my very drunken state, I wasn't sure what to do. I was pretty sure that it would be bad manners to hunt down the nearest towel and mop my face. So I just kind of stood there, feeling completely drenched and gasping the sweet, sweet oxygen.

You would think that after that terrifying experience, during which I almost drowned, that I would have learnt my lesson. Alas, no, he kissed me again, and it was equally disgusting. Afterwards I kind of dabbed at my mouth, and then fortunately our lift home arrived and I was able to run away.

And if this isn't bad enough, as I was running away the subject of age came up, and I learnt that this chap was 20 years old. TWENTY YEARS OLD. Which means that he was born in 1989, or there is even a slight possibility that he could've been born in 1990. Hold on, let me just point out how distressed I am by this:

1990!!!!!1!!@!OMGWTFFFF!!!!1!!!!

When I got home, I vigorously scrubbed my face.

I fail. I seriously, seriously fail.

*Actually, the second, but the first must stay pushed to the back of my mind forever more.
**The accent, that is. That was a random video I picked, I have no idea what it's about, so apologies if you spend six minutes watching it and it's rubbish.

Skimming over some old archives, it's amazing to think that there's almost six years worth of my drivel online. A couple of breaks along the way, but there's blog posts dating from 2004 to now. Three break-ups, three overseas trips, three different jobs... hmm, pattern much? I had a read through some of my stuff from the blog before this one and man, I really had my blog shit together back then. I was churning out crap like there was no tomorrow.

It really does make me wonder though, when I compare it to what I've written here, did I stop having fun at some point? Or stop seeing the funny side of everything? Or did I just get really slack? Did I hit an age where I just couldn't be arsed anymore? And then I think about maybe giving it another go, a proper go, but then balk at the thought of having to commit to multiple posts per week, and that it makes it seem a bit like a job, which makes it less fun.

I miss writing though. I think I'd even consider doing NaNoWriMo again, because five years have passed since I tried it last time and almost commit suicide from the complete and utter misery it caused me.

[insert hilarious and relevant segue here]

I had lunch with a co-worker today, who I don't know particularly well, but who told me that he possibly has feelings for a female friend of his, despite her being in a long-term relationship and him being married-with-child. And I tried to be a good listener and offer some thoughts but on the inside just sat there thinking "Gosh, I just came here to try this bizarre sushi with mango in it and now what! Is going! On!"

[second equally excellent segue]

Was offered a job today by my old Director, no interview required, no questions asked. It is a project manager role, which I am completely unqualified for, and which is now vacant due to the previous employee leaving in a stress-induced fit of rage. Extra cash, but alas, I feel like I'm finally finding my feet where I work now, and have been extended out until June (hoorah!). I acted very non-committal, but said I would at least look at the position description.

[insert heartwarming yet hysterical story, possibly featuring a pair of amusing pants]

Oh, HAHAHAHAHA, I agree wholeheartedly!

[spectacular closing paragraph goes here]

I am completely content with my spinsterhood, but can't help but notice:

Men who display interest in me:

• Men who are much, much older than I am
• Men who are married (worthy of its own blog post)
• Men with extreme emotional issues
• Men whose sexuality is questionable
• Men who I do not find attractive
• Men who look identical to one of my exes (no no no no no no)
• Men who I work with
• Men who I consider a buddy/brother-type, who then turn "weird"
  

Mainly a combination of several of the above.

Men who do not display interest in me:

• Colin Firth (in Pride & Prejudice (or any other) form)
• Ryan Reynolds (in bearded (or any other) form)
• Very tall geeks with beards (except for the ones who fall into the categories above)

Eh. As B*witched once said, c'est la vie. I'm going to go hang out with my cat now.