Having not too long ago publicly declared that I am 'not that into' the random thing, I am now discovering that I might actually be 'a bit partial' to the random thing. And as I enter this new phase, which may or may not be influenced by the combination of increased physical fitness and hormones, I am discovering a whole new world of social awkwardness.
Usually when I wake up after a rather boozy night I roll over and come to face-to-face with an illuminated lamp, an open laptop and some kind of food item sitting next to the laptop. Imagine my surprise when on Sunday morning I rolled over and realised that the boy I had half-heartedly bought home with me was a Ranga. I was quite taken aback. I know, I know, technically I too am a Ranga - but it is artificial . . . and different for girls.
Yes, I discovered the hard way that it is quite tricky to spot a Ranga in a darkened night club and while I had had my suspicions in the taxi line, I was too busy trying to decide if I actually wanted to take him home to pay proper attention to the colour of his hair. What was I thinking? I'll be learning from that mistake let me tell you. It is one thing to make an informed decision to get a little somethin' somethin' from a red headed man, but it is a completely different experience to be surprised by one the next morning.
And look, to be completely honest I think I ended up taking this one home because I was still feeling frustrated and hateful towards men after my previous Saturday night's debacle (and another slight during the week). I suspect that this may have been an instance of me using my 'womanly ways' to take my power back and get what I needed. I haven't yet decided if this was an okay thing to do. There is a part of me that feels bad for using someone, and then another part of me that feels grumpy at myself for feeling guilty for enjoying myself. Ack, the inner turmoil!
The bright side? Well, I think I've gotten it out of my system for a while and can now go back to another prolonged period of waking up alone with hangover-paranoia, reading my previous nights Tweets to ensure nothing too embarrassing popped up (particularly when confronted with an open laptop), while desperately sms-ing my friends to ensure that good times were had by all and I was not overly selfish or rude whilst intoxicated. You know, my standard Singly Lady Sunday routine.
Yay!
