Birthday blues

Yes, it's my birthday today. It will end in a few minutes. It's almost midnight now. And guess where I am right now.



Work.


That's right. I'm at work. On Saturday. My birthday. More than half of it spent right here.

And now, here I am, sitting in front of the only PC at office that doesn't have access blocked to half the world wide web (including the Proxy sites), writing this blog post, because I have nothing better to do.




Wait, it gets worse.

I've got two passes for the Lite FM Flashback party safely tucked away in my bag right now, each worth a whopping thousand bucks and probably wondering what the fuck they're still doing in there.

And my friend tells me the party is in full swing. She wants to know why I'm not there partying the night away.

And you know what really sucks, man?

It's MY fault that I'm not there right now having a ball as I know I fuckin' should be, and I'm here instead, whining and complaining and boring you with this rather tedious read.

See, I have no one but myself to blame for my current predicament. Here's why:

I'm not dressed for a party.

As shallow and superficial as that may sound, I can't be seen at a party wearing what I'm wearing right now.

It's common practice here at my work place for employees to dress down on Saturdays (and by down I mean way down). You could say it's an unwritten law of sorts. And I, assuming that I wasn't going for this party tonight because one of my friends who was supposed to join us had dropped out at the last minute, decided I wasn't going to break the rules today.

Now I don't give a flying fuck about what others think of me, but if only I had the sense to wear something nice or at the very least, to bring a change of clothes to work, I wouldn't be here right now writing this shit.

If I were in decent clothing today, I could've easily thrown my stock excuse of "family dinner" at my boss and he would've let me go, no questions asked, just like that.

Like I said, I couldn't care less about what others think of my appearance but a guy's gotta look socially acceptable at least on his birthday, yeah? I mean, I don't mean to sound gay or anything (no offence to anyone) but I'm just not properly attired for a party tonight. To be blunt, I just look plain shabby right now. I do realise that sounds incredibly shallow on my part, but you'd understand if the shit you were in was similar in depth to that of mine.

And, yes, I am in deep shit at the moment.

My ex girlfriend thinks I deserve what I got and is threatening to cut all ties with me. All because I went to watch Hamlet at Elsie's Bar yesterday with some friends that included someone she isn't particularly fond of.

I don't want her to hate me.

And apparently, I'm a liar, a fucker, a bastard, and a moron for doing what I did yesterday (in that order). Yeah, and she tells me all of this on MY BIRTHDAY! Yippee fuckin' ya ye, eh?

To be fair to her, though, I did keep the details rather vague. For instance, I didn't tell her that some people who were supposed to join us yesterday for Hamlet had told me a couple of days earlier that they wouldn't be able to make it. I didn't tell her this. With good reason; I didn't want another argument and, more importantly, I didn't want her to get unnecessarily worked up over nothing. But, as you may have guessed, she found out somehow (she forced it out of me).

She took the whole thing the wrong way and accused me of doing all sorts of horrible things and called me all of those names I have mentioned above (and more). Oh and she also added "and all the bad things in the world".

What a birthday, eh?

Oh well.

Hmm... It's 1 a.m. now. Apparently we're finishing early today. Time for me to bugger off.

Later.