“Bored bored bored with a capital buh. When it’s the weekend when you’re working it’s THE WEEKEND! You look forward to it; you relish every drunken, hung over, illegally intoxicated moment of it and metaphorically sigh when it is over. The post-operative bird with the fat face on the other hand cringes for the entire 60 hrs of it (I go to the pub for Friday afternoon lunch). Make a massive error on Friday night. I log on to facebook. Jeeeeeeesus! Does every single bloody one of my friends have to change their status to either one of the following: “I am getting fucked tonight”, “Ive already started getting fucked for the night” or “I am getting fuucked tonight’ (extra ‘u’ = the getting laid type of fucked). Bastards. Consider changing my status to “I hate you all you fucking fucktards”, but remember the time I did this once before when I was battered and it did not go down well (0 comments). A few lovesome friends do not forget old twat chops and send me a few drunken texts. This is no good. I need something to focus on. So make plans for my first night back in York at the start of July with the darling Al. Now I have a night out planned which I am going on twat chops or not.
In addition to being bored family are becoming increasingly irritating. Main points of irritation are as follows:
Mum and Dad constant bickering. How can two people live their lives in such constant drama?! The ‘major issue’ ratio is greater than Hollyoaks but without the deaths or any one fit. Most ridiculous argument to date was over whether or not my brother should or should not be allowed to drive the car they bought him for his 18th which is fully insured and taxed in his name and has a private number plate with his initials. Bro and I argued he needs to practice. Mum and Dad argue he needs to pass his test first. Recall very clearly my main motivation for leaving home at 17. My parents are insane.
People looking at me when I attempt eating frustrates the hell out of me. Yes yes yes i know they are just checking to make sure I can cope ok. But seriously, I had an operation on my jaw not a lobotomy, I will be able to figure out if I can’t eat anything. Try to circumnavigate the problem by holding a napkin to my mouth. This causes an even greater furore as my Dad is concerned I have...ultimate drama.... stopped eating the barbeque. Explain my predicament angrily and manage to spit sausage everywhere in the process. No one speaks to me for the rest of the meal. Happy with this.
Finally what annoys me the most is my physical inability to shout. This becomes apparent on Saturday when, as everyone is out, I hook up the x box 360 to the ‘main tv’ to appreciate the awesome graphics on ‘Assasin’s Creed’. Am appreciating them so much I have to explain to a POT that I have no time to dirty text right now as they are pretty incredible; oh and P.S, does he not know that the game can have up to 60 different NPC´s on the screen at a time to create a more realistic atmosphere?!! Geese! N00b! Get blasted by me Ma when she comes back from town to realise what i’ve done. The source of her anger is the fact that my brother fucked up the Sky last time he hooked the 360 up to the tv. I try to give a practical demonstration how UN-fucked up the tv is, but she just continues to shout. She’s an only child, I think it’s an attention thing, and, like most mothers, has no interest in practical logical explanations. Further en-angered today when I find I am unable to partake temporarily in my all time favourite past time... shouting and swearing loudly at the TV whilst the Grand Prix is on. And today was such a good day for shouting. Reduced to sitting directly in front of the TV hoping that my face will cause enough offense as it is.
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