This week has been pretty heavy in terms of my posts, my on going war with my former employers and all that. I’m fed up of talking about them now, they don’t deserve anymore of my time and I want to get back to doing what I do and that’s being pretty funny.
As we all know the weekend is currently upon us (although it’s nearly ended for some) and with the weekend brings a lot of drunken hijinks, usually I am apart of those drunken hijinks’ but with me losing my job and being in considerable debt (it seems I’m useless at saving money hah!) I’ve decided to stay in until at least the 23rd of December.
Friday I had a movie night at my brother’s pad where I rewatched Warrior which is easily one of my all time favourite films, Tom Hardy is a fucking beast! And Your Highness, a film I had no interest in watching until I actually went and watched it, safe to say I was impressed with that too.
I drank a fair bit at Tom’s, as did he and I passed out on his sofa around half 3 in the morning, he had work Saturday morning, so he got barely any sleep, I on the other hand… also got no sleep due to their damn cats fucking around at early hours, nevertheless I drove home extremely hung over about half 9 in the morning, treated myself to an after beer poo and collapsed in bed not having the energy to do much of anything.
It was about mid-day that I fell back to sleep until my dad woke me up with a greasy KFC at half four and from then I continued to do nothing, in fact… I’ve done fuck all but be in bed all weekend! I wish I was out, but I didn’t mind staying in bed, I watched Bones, Chuck and a few other shows.
Anyway Saturday night came and I was wide awake because I’ve been sleeping all day and I started getting drunk texts off of people, everyone has done it, some people do it every weekend, why they feel the need to text me however, I have no clue, it does entertain me non the less.
A guy named Tom Harrison was texting me, someone who I haven’t seen since April when I was fired from Dixons, randomly texts me out of the blue…
Tom: Where are you? xxx
Me: In bed, where are you?
Tom: It’s tom h
Me: …I know, I have your number stored in my phone.
Tom: in babylon u comin?
Me: Well no as I said, I’m in bed, in Chesterfield, plus it’s 2am.
Tom: okay baby see you then.
I don’t know if he knew he was reading his texts or just sending them to wrong people, he certainly has never called me “baby” before.
I text my mate Ray asking if there were any jobs going in the factory he worked at, he overuses the word “matey” quite a bit as you’ll see here:
Me: Mate any jobs at robbos? Shit went down n now I’m jobless 😦
Ray: Ayup matey, o no matey that’s rate unlucky, il have a word Monday matey they have been setting on recently so it’s probably a good time matey.
Me: Cheers matey, that’d be good matey, have to pop down sometime n tell you all about it matey.
Ray: Yeah matey fucking bastards matey talk about the season of good will.
Me: I know mate, I’d appreciate it if you do ask for us 😀 x
Ray: Will do matey b great if they do, got us working sum crazy hours at the mo mate, I’m at work now matey lol.
This was around midnight when these texts were exchanged, so obviously doing the night shifts, I’m sure his fiance is happy about that, in a new house in an area she barely knows, alone. Hah!
Back to Saturday night, this was about 3am:
Alex: Where you goin?
Alex: Yeah ignore that.
Me: Crazy slut.
Then my crazy mate Phil, who I’ve complained to before because he goes on about these awesome nights out he’s had yet he rarely invites me to tag along, so I got this, early hours this morning:
Phil: Fancy going 2 a gig with me n tic at Corp on thurs 8th? Zebrahead £12.50.
Me: …Are you taking the piss? It’s the 11th.
Phil: Shit sorry pal, had a heavy night last night with the boys. Nevermind, at least you can’t say I don’t invite you places 😛 xxx
Me: Well, thanks for that, you’re about as useful as your mum is with herpes.
So while it’s nice to get the occasional text every now and then, I just wish they weren’t a waste of time, not only that but I used to keep getting texts every Saturday night from some girl telling me how much she loved me and that she was sorry and whatnot, blatently drunk texts because most of them didn’t make sense, and that’d be all good except my name isn’t Jeff.
No matter how much convincing I tried to do, whenever she got drunk she’d forget that I’d told her I wasn’t this Jeff idiot and she’d text me again or leave me voice mails.
I’d like to meet Jeff and cave his face in for giving my number to some random tart.