I’m at home on a Friday night. Sober.
I am AT HOME. On a FRIDAY NIGHT!
And I’m (almost) SOBER!
What the hell is wrong with the world?
I am in the most almighty funk at the moment. It’s mainly to do with the fact that February is apparently the most evil month ever invented. Not only does it contain Valentine’s Day, my least favourite day of the year, but it also contains a MONDAY payday.
That’s right. I am about £100 away from my absolute overdraft limit (the safety figure I always keep in there in case some unexpected direct debit shows up to fuck me over) and there won’t be any more in there until Monday.
BREAKING NEWS – Irish just called, literally as I was in the middle of the word Monday – she’s supposed to be going on her second date with the Donkey (aptly named).
She was supposed to go out with him a few weeks ago, but he was stuck in a tech rehearsal until midnight and she ended up drinking far too much wine with a couple of her fellow actors in the Soho Theatre Bar until it was so late that she didn’t give a crap when he finally called.
The time before that, they ended up in bed together and she discovered that bigger is not always better.
She’s at the tube in Brixton. He just called and told her two of his friends had unexpectedly showed up to watch the play and were taking him out for dinner, and could he meet her for a drink a bit later?
I’m sorry? Did the Donkey seriously expect her to be waiting around for his call all night when it’s already 11 o’clock at night?
We got cut off, so I don’t know what the conclusion she came to was, but my advice was quite plainly; ‘Fuck him. If you meet him for a drink at midnight, all you’re going to get is a shag that splits you in two and ruins your weekend’. Instead, I suggested she come to join me on the sofa for vodka martinis and Mr Big.
And now we return to our original broadcast.
So where was I?
Oh, that’s right. Friday night. Penniless. In a funk.
You know, the funk has started since I started seeing The Ex again. We’re not dating exactly, just hanging out on a regular basis and occasionally exchanging mildly flirtatious texts (wait – isn’t that dating?). Most importantly, I’m definitely not shagging him. At the moment.
I’m not entirely sure what to do to get out of the funk. Save cutting him off and never seeing him again, which is just not possible as his theatre is over the road from my office and we have the same friends. And besides, I don’t want to.
But I don’t want to mope about alone on a Friday night either.
I’ll reassess the situation when I have some funds in the bank again on Monday.
In the meantime; *reaches for the cocktail shaker* bottom’s up!