I've learnt about feelings the hard way. Not so long ago I posted a tweet about them on Twitter to my largely (spam based) collection of followers. If you think I'm exaggerating re: my spam followers I closed my eyes and picked one at random. Apparently she loves her job because she gets to fuck on film. Case and point. Anyway, so I am largely followed by robots/porn on Twitter and yet when I tweeted about feelings, they actually engaged with me! That is, they engaged enough to unfollow me. Gutted. It wasn't even that full of sodding feelings, to be accurate, all I said was: "Feelings, what are they all about?" and I got unfollowed by like 3 of my dedicated spam accounts. Bastards. Where is the loyalty?!
So lesson learnt: Never tweet about feelings. Even the spambots don't like it.
The point which I am - laboriously - attempting to get to, is that despite the title of this blog post, I am not going to bang on about I hate myself and I have so many feelings about all the hating. I'm not like this chick:
Nah mate. None of that. But regardless of this, sometimes I do hate me. To be specific, I hate past me. Past me is a pain in future me's arse. Present me is always being screwed over by past me and similarly usually about to reap brutal vengeance again on future me. As I type this, I am feeling sorry already for future me who will have to proof this bullshit, convince myself it's vaguely amusing and then face the crashing reality that actually it's a bit shit and rambly. Present me doesn't care, I'm just enjoying the sound of typing right now, I've gone rogue! I've got nothing to lose! Do you know why? Ah, because future me can deal with that. Ha ha ha! Gutted.
The inspiration behind this blog post came after my first wedding. If you know me you'll know that I have had a number of weddings this summer. All of which have been awesome. Sadly I haven't met or married Hugh Grant which is frankly, disappointing, as it was high on my agenda; but I have got to see some awesome people get married and bust some serious dance moves on various dance floors up and down the country. As far as I'm concerned, this summer I have achieved.
My first wedding was possibly the most drunken out of all of them so far. This is largely down to the fact that I droned on at a waitress for so long that she literally handed me a bottle of wine so that I would go away. I then bravely, heroically, you might even say, took it upon myself to drink this entire bottle myself. I made a pretty good dent and was therefore in a state appropriate for someone who has drunk most of a bottle of a wine after what had already been a pretty heavy evening.
I can remember very little about getting home, but I do remember finding a bed which wasn't mine and as I lay down in all my wedding finery (earrings, makeup etc), on top of the covers at the wrong end of this bed I distinctly remember thinking...
"shit I probably should go to my own bed and get changed"
AND THEN WHAT DID I THINK? Exactly this: "Fuck it, future me can deal with it"
And then I passed out, dribbled and generally looked hawt.
So Future me wakes up, with literally no idea where I am, wondering if I was in contention for breaking some kind of record for "longest time spent wearing the world's most uncomfortable strapless bra ever", feeling like I'd drunk enough red wine to fill a small ocean and feeling the effects.
Eventually, after I'd found my bearings and established that I was at least in my own house (thank GOD), I believe I spent the rest of the day, hiding my hangover from my parents (I failed) and, with the fiery passion of Mount Doom, hating past me.
And yet. Despite all of this hatred, I owe past me a lot for having an awesome time at all these weddings. And frankly, who has the time for hating? Not me. So despite everything, past me, you can be up there with Glen Coco. Four for you!
Heads up: my next post will probably be me drivelling on about how Mean Girls is just the best film ever.
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