And so, here it is: 2012.
I don't know about you, folks, but I didn't wake up as a new girl. Instead I woke up at 8am in an upright position on my friend's sofa and thought - "How long have I been awake? Why is there a bed on the floor? Where are Bethan and Louise?" Not a lot of time got spent on the thinking, I was pretty happy to climb into this makeshift bed for a few hours, because at 8am I was still drunk. My New Years Eve was spent in Northampton, with my friend's student house as base, and Northampton "clubs" as our destination.
I do not like clubs.
When I was 10 years old "clubs" had a different meaning to me (girl guides, swimming team, etc) and I still didn't like them. You may sit there and think "but you're a young, single girl who likes to drink and act in a completely obnoxious manner - why on earth would you not absolutely love clubs?"
Well for a start: the music, the girls, the guys, the prices... so everything. There are some things associated with clubs that I do like. I like getting ready (to an extent) and I like spending time with my friends.
Everyone you meet in a club is an absolute asshole. The girls all want free drinks, so they've dressed as much like a prospective rape victim as they possibly can. And the guys all want someone to fuck and it doesn't even matter who. Why would they waste breath on conversation when they can as easily say nothing and grope a woman? It's just as charming, right? Wrong. So wrong.
Last night some guy, who we'll call Dick, repeatedly pinched my bum. The first time I let it slide a bit, I probably politely told him to fuck off. He was less lucky the second time. I was drunk, but I'm pretty sure I slapped him, and I'm told that I then picked up a bottle and told him he really better leave me alone. I'd never have actually bottled the guy (I don't come from Brixton, for one) because even when I'm drunk I know it's best not to get a criminal record for GBH... even if it'd be totally justified.
Sometimes words are wasted on individuals like Dick. Instead of the vocal act of making small talk, he opted for the physical pinching act. And so, instead of the vocal act of explaining that women don't take too kindly to that kind of come-on, and "do you know that's harassment?" etc, I opted for the more physical act of slapping his big stupid face. Some people are too ignorant to understand words, but I'm hoping his sore face will teach him everything I could have explained.
Maybe I just shouldn't go to clubs, or maybe guys in clubs should stop being such complete freaks. I have never met a nice-seeming guy there, and if I have, I am pretty sure they were hiding some Rohypnol for later. The guys who I have met in clubs act like they're on night release from prison for rape-related-crimes. Please note, men, that there is NOTHING sexy about that.
And if I'm wrong about clubs - if these sex pests are actually the best boyfriend material I'll ever find, then I would rather die alone with several cats for company.
I believe that I can leave Jenna Marbles to wrap this up for me.
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