She was absolutely dumbfounded when I said I've kissed, count 'em, two guys. She absolutely couldn't believe I'd somehow gone through my teenage years without becoming some sort of casual sex diva. "Everyone has flings!" she exclaimed when I said no, and what's more, half my social circle are in the exact same boat as me.
Truthfully, I wasn't interested when I was a kid or a teenager. I had crushes, sure, but they were crushes on celebrities; the guys at school were all utterly hopeless and did absolutely nothing for me. Thing is, I've never had a problem being single. I've a great circle of friends, a healthy social life, loads of people around me to do things with. I've never been a Bridget Jones kinda gal, never hated Valentines Day, never been unable to watch Rom-Coms or Chickflicks while suffering with the affliction of being single. And I'm not just talking from the perspective of someone who currently has a wonderful boyfriend. When I was single I never once bemoaned it. I'd wonder, sometimes, when I'd find 'Mister Right', but I never cried and downed my weight in icecream over it. I wasn't in a rush to join the dating game, I guess.
I'm a firm believer in waiting until it's the right person. I personally don't believe in just randomly fooling around with guys, though I don't judge anyone who does. To me, I've always thought that I can hang out, hug, spend time with, talk to, laugh with and kiss anyone in the world, but that something should be reserved for somebody absolutely special, that you can't or won't share with anybody else. To me, the idea of getting intimate with a ton of guys just absolutely negates the true intimacy found when two people truly love each other and click. I don't think I could date a guy who's had a hundred sexual partners before me. In fact, I know me. I know I couldn't. Even if I loved him more than life itself, his past and the fact that it just downplays what we have, in my opinion, would never leave my mind. I'd never be settled or happy knowing he'd been intimate with so many girls he didn't love. If he could do it with those, why on earth would it be special or meaningful that he shared it with me, too?
I've no problem with people casually fooling around, I couldn't care less what other people do between adults. I'm just speaking from my own opinion, of course, and how it amazed me that somebody could be so shocked that I'd not had that moment during my teenage years. Hell, I wasn't any different as a teenager than I am now. In many ways, I'm more like a teenager now than I was, haha. I never understood the teen rebellion thing, never had those troubled years, never felt the need to prove my adulthood or how grown up and mature I was.
As for clubbing, I've never enjoyed it. I prefer a quiet pub where I can chat and actually enjoy the company I'm sharing. I don't like the music they play in the majority of clubs (the only club I ever enjoyed was a rock joint in Bath where everyone was clad in leather, and where the music was not dance music) and I don't like the idea of having to 'dress myself up' to somehow impress the faceless drunken plebs I'll be around.
Charlie Brooker put it perfectly in his article, and as such, I don't even have the energy to type my own opinion. Pretend, for now, that I wrote this. Only I'd probably write it a little nicer.
I'm convinced no one actually likes clubs. It's a conspiracy. We've been told they're cool and fun; that only "saddoes" dislike them. And no one in our pathetic little pre-apocalyptic timebubble wants to be labelled "sad" - it's like being officially declared worthless by the state. So we muster a grin and go out on the town in our millions.
Clubs are despicable. Cramped, overpriced furnaces with sticky walls and the latest idiot theme tunes thumping through the humid air so loud you can't hold a conversation, just bellow inanities at megaphone-level. And since the smoking ban, the masking aroma of cigarette smoke has been replaced by the overbearing stench of crotch sweat and hair wax.
Clubs are such insufferable dungeons of misery, the inmates have to take mood-altering substances to make their ordeal seem halfway tolerable. This leads them to believe they "enjoy" clubbing. They don't. No one does. They just enjoy drugs.
Drugs render location meaningless. Neck enough ketamine and you could have the best night of your life squatting in a shed rolling corks across the floor. And no one's going to search you on the way in. Why bother with clubs?
"Because you might get a shag," is the usual response. Really? If that's the only way you can find a partner - preening and jigging about like a desperate animal - you shouldn't be attempting to breed in the first place. What's your next trick? Inventing fire? People like you are going to spin civilisation into reverse. You're a moron, and so is that haircut you're trying to impress. Any offspring you eventually blast out should be drowned in a pan before they can do any harm. Or open any more nightclubs.
Even if you somehow avoid reproducing, isn't it a lot of hard work for very little reward? Seven hours hopping about in a hellish, reverberating bunker in exchange for sharing 64 febrile, panting pelvic thrusts with someone who'll snore and dribble into your pillow till 11 o'clock in the morning, before waking up beside you with their hair in a mess, blinking like a dizzy cat and smelling vaguely like a ham baguette? Really, why bother? Why not just stay at home punching yourself in the face? Invite a few friends round and make a night of it. It'll be more fun than a club.