Party Fucker

Tuesday, September 13, 2011


(That's a very apt image of someone portraying my state of mind)


There is something very wrong about coming home on your birthday after blowing up an obscene amount of cash, with people you're not particularly fond of. This was birthday eve summarised in short. Add to it, shots. Inspite of doing them, I still don't feel any iota of being drunk after a lot of months. It's a weird feeling when you get home, sober; after drinking and have all sane things to say. It doesn't happen too often but then the day it shouldn't happen, it does and that fucks everything up.

Birthday eve was morose. Birthday itself was fucked. With gig less than 24 hours away, temper's flying high in college and we've practically had no practice. Each day set list changes and when we're at Rehearsal, we chuck off a track and start from a random one. It's not going anywhere. To make matters worse, there's a cover charge. So, people will actually consider paying for all this and coming to watch us play when we're sucking so badly.

Coming back to birthday, it was a complete disaster. I think the less I talk about it, it'll be better for me. Few things I know that I'm carrying forward from here (in very simple terms):

Never call people who you're not terribly close to. People who give birthday gifts don't count.

The more I'm thinking about it, the more frustrated I'm getting to. Very sick of people who can't stay apart from their other friends and make them crash birthdays. Party poopers. Then, in general, this entire fortnight has been depressing. Don't know why but it just doesn't seem like birthday month, birthday anything. It seems horrible to actually look back and say, "I blew up 9k for fucking unhappy evening." Which is true. I despised every minute of the evening out. I'd have rather stayed at home with mother and grandfather, had a nice meal, cut few pastries that mother bought. On a slightly cheerful note, I don't know mum, if you're reading this or not. Incase you are, then thank you for your card. I love your handwriting, your words and you. I'm what I am because of you. Also, the cake baked by Sinner accompanied with a beautiful poem and a tshirt that I've been lusting for quite some time. That was the birthday.

Looking at it, this has been really a let down. Specially the party bit, the more I think about it, the more I'm raging with anger. It's one of the things I mentioned in the previous post. The kind of thing that'll haunt you forever. I'm not sure exactly how I'll continue to be with the "guests" or "friends" but fucking hell, it's my birthday, my party. The best you can do is keep your Gigolo and his ex out of it. I get it, your "bff's" and all but FUCKER, IT'S MY BIRTHDAY.

I think I'm done ranting. I've swelling, can't take medicine because I've drank more than enough to fuck my rash and am beyond pissed to write more about the bigfucking2o birthday. This just proves how brilliant my next decade's going to be.

As a 2o birthday gift, I'll dedicate myself this track for the night. We're most likely playing this tomorrow and it's been playing in my head for sometime now.






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