There is a sort of serenity when you realise that you are considered an invariably boring person. You start to appreciate your apparent self deluded sense of sanity and absorb yourself in the wonderment of cynical boringness. I still get a little annoyed and depressed when people call me boring, just for being me, but I am starting to learn to embrace and be proud of it. Let me give you a few examples.
I hate drunk people. Absolutely despise them. I do, and have always considered drinking to excessive amounts, a weakness, and I have no time for it; and not just because when you drink and drive, you ALWAYS run over a horse, as shown in the photo above. I hate how different people become when they drink. I hate that I cannot have a conversation with a drunk person, because it becomes utterly absurd and if I say the wrong thing, that at any other time would not be considered the wrong thing, they suddenly hate me, in their pathetic drunken state, and then I feel guilty, as if i’m the one who is lingering in the wrong. When I finally come to terms with my utter hatred of drunk people, I start to think….. fuck them….. I will ignore them until they apologise for being shit whilst drunk. And if they try to blame their shitness, on alcohol, then I will ignore them further. And it’s absolutely every time I am out with drunk people, that it becomes inevitably negative. I have no positive experiences with alcohol. But, this makes me essentially boring. Being 24 and having an intense hatred of drunkenness does not bode well for my social life. When out surrounded by drunk people, I cannot control the fact that I feel wholly uncomfortable and anxious, as if i’m aware that something negative is going to occur in the very near future. Ironically, the uncomfortable anxious feeling objectifies the negativity that I am waiting to occur. And yet, I like being this way. I don’t want to be a drinker. It doesn’t suit my personality. I’d have to change much of my personality in order to squeeze a tolerance of drunkenness into my psyche. I don’t want to squeeze a tolerance of drunkenness into my psyche. That isn’t to say that I don’t accept that other people enjoy drinking. It’s their decision and if they enjoy it, great. I just don’t enjoy it, and I don’t enjoy being around people who excessively enjoy it. They just work to annoy me.
I do not begrudge people who genuinely love clubbing. Good on them! They have found what it is that makes them happy, that’s great. It just doesn’t make me happy, and certain types of clubbers make me hate it more and more every time I go out. “Omg just enjoy yourself!!“……. no!! I genuinely do not enjoy it. Constantly telling me to lighten up and enjoy something that I don’t enjoy, is so futile, I would rather tell you to be quiet and spend that time banging my face on a nail. It’s like me handing a copy of Camus’ ‘The Outsider’ to a drunk in a nightclub and saying, “here, sit in the corner and just enjoy yourself…. lighten up“. I can’t imagine they’d enjoy it.
Clubbing makes me want to vomit. I enjoy clubbing less than I enjoy being wee’d on by a tramp. You queue up, you pay a fortune, you get threatened by a drunken cunt, you stand in a room that stinks, you go to a urinal that has piss all over the floor, you watch a few people dance for a few hours, you see a fight, you stink, you see a drunk girl with at least an inch of make up on crying because her friend is snogging the chav she wants, you go out into the street to be confronted by an idiot wanting a fight standing next to a slightly overweight girl being sick in the gutter with her minge on show, at the tax stand you walk past two cavemen fighting because one looked at the other “funny”, you pay extortionate rates to get the taxi back to the hotel, you go back to a hotel, you don’t sleep for the next four hours because people are running up and down past the door, you wake up an hour after you fell asleep and for the next 24 hours you feel like your brain has been raped. I find no redeeming feature in clubbing. It is like genocide. I am supposed to, apparently, acknowledge that Saturday night was created specifically for clubbing and enjoyment. Yet, in my land of boringness, the words “clubbing” and “enjoyment” are antonyms. They are completely incompatible, which means for me, Saturday nights being made for clubbing and drunkenness means I either embrace it, and feel like I’ve wasted my weekend watching the enjoyment of other people whilst myself edging ever so closely toward wanting to top myself, or enjoy it my own way, on my own terms, and actually be happy with myself. But to be happy with myself, and what I enjoy, means accepting that I am, infact, fucking boring. I now fully accept that.
The crock of shit they refer to as “dance music” doesn’t help the situation for me. It is awful. It is a constant banging noise. When my neighbours put up shelves, I don’t suddenly stand up and dance to it, and yet it sounds EXACTLY the same as absolutely every dance track ever written. Every now and again, they have a special guest to come and do a live set!!!! How exciting!! “Ziggy from Big Brother is live this week at Oceania!!! Do you want to come?” No, as I am spending that evening poking myself in the eye.
It is probably all down to the fact that I don’t particularly like people. I am cynical when it comes to humanity. We’re bastards. My apparent sense of misanthropy drives my feelings on clubbing and drunks. I can only stand to be around people for a small amount of time on any occasion, unless they’re asleep. I like my own company and my own space. I like being on my own. I like the sound of my thoughts which is rendered impossible by the sound of god-awful club music. I do not dance. I take myself too seriously. I have to be in control at all times. And I fucking like it that way, until people start to question it, as if being me, and not being them, is a problem for me. It isn’t. I quite like it. “You must be 60“…… fuck right off, i’m just not you….. I don’t have to succumb to your narrow vision of what constitutes fun, to enjoy myself.
I do not like the idea that the only enjoyable way for anyone to spend a Saturday night is to be slaughtered to the point of excessive vomiting for the early hours of Sunday morning. It doesn’t appeal to me in the slightest. I quite like to read books and essays and I quite like to sit in bars and talk and I quite like to watch a film or play football. To people who enjoy drinking and clubbing on every Saturday night, my feeling of utter boredom and anxiousness in a club, would be equivalent of making those people sit and watch me read a book for a few hours on a Saturday night.
Clubbing, whilst making me sad, also provides people with something to talk about on Monday morning. “What did you do at the weekend?” …. “I went out!!”. It provides people, who we have already established I do not like, with the opportunity to smile vacantly whilst telling me exactly how many drinks they had, and how drunk they were. As if I care. There is nothing in life I have ever experienced caring less about, than someone telling me how many drinks them consumed at the weekend. I have sat just now and tried to think of something less interesting, and I genuinely can’t. Someone could say to me “Either I am going to spend the next hour talking to you about coastal erosion in East Anglia since 1900, or telling you how many Smirnoffs I drank on Saturday night”, the history of coastal erosion would suddenly appeal to me like being told how to turn poo into gold. And yet I’m supposed to care. I smile and act like downing three thousands sambucas and puking over the taxi-driver’s face is in some odd way, heroic. It bores me to listen to them. I want to cry at how bored I am by their incessant need to talk about how drunk they were at the weekend, I literally want to sob.
I am starting to feel proud, when people consider me boring and 24 going on 50. They are attempting to sound superior as if they are privy to some sort of fun that I am not. In this attempt to seem superior, it makes me feel superior that I am not a sheep when it comes to this.
Do not even get me started on the type of drunk person who thinks everyone will find it fucking hilarious if they start to sing karaoke as badly as possibly whilst drunkenly laughing uncontrollably. I hate these people more than anyone else, including serial killers.
It is a social norm, and a sign of social status, in the collective mind of my generation, that the only way any normal, sane, exciting 24 year old could possibly enjoy them selves on a weekend, is to get horrendously drunk and wake up on Sunday intent on posting the Facebook status…. “….is never going to drink again“. I cannot think of a bigger waste of a weekend, than to go to a club and get drunk. I would disappoint and in fact, bore myself if I were to acquiesce to this terrible social norm.
Futile Democracy 
Futile,
Really???
I think your yardstick is broken.
Your social life seems to be pretty robust – you have (what appears in blog-world) a stunning girlfriend – you have more friends than you have fingers and toes – and I’m sure you hold a room’s attention when you begin to story-tell history from a point of view of a minor player in that event….
Do not measure yourself from the average or mundane – select a better yard stick for yourself.
I concur.
I went out on a night last week with the wrestling lads in Soho – where I am glad I was paid in, as £8 and £12 in for two clubs which I despise is a joke, and unfunny one at that.
I too can’t dance for poo (that I plan to also turn into gold). However my lack of dancing ability caused one of my friends to comment on my inability to dance and then proved the catalyst for an angry tirade. I informed him that aside from professional dancers or those who are naturally talented, the vast proportion of society cannot dance. Indeed, what is considered “good dancing” by ‘socialite’ sluts is doing the bus driver dance for 5 minutes very badly and then forcing oneself on them.
They often complain that this happens, yet return to the same clubs with the same types of people and same problems week in, week out. I have a ‘friend’ who always complains about her arse being squeezed at some shitty scene kid bar Satan’s Hollow (well it’s what I’d imagine hell to be if I weren’t an atheist and the place/people are rather hollow so I suppose the name fits) and yet goes to the same places every weekend.
If I were to go to a restaurant that gave me shit on a plate, and when I complained they grabbed me and smeared shit on my face and force fed it to me, I wouldn’t go again and I’d call the police.
Yet people like that metaphorically eat shit each week, and quite literally “take shit” as the phrase goes.
It baffles me that this is seen as ‘normal’ behaviour. Your tattoo is quite right my friend absurdity can strike a man in the face at any time.
Current society is caught in the “cult of the extrovert”; I suspect that like a minority of us you are an introvert – which is different from being boring!
very good writing man, great wisdom put in to literature
I really enjoyed this, and that picture is possibly the greatest image ever committed to mankind.
Thank you.
I really enjoyed this post even though I have to admit I am one of these people. By nature I am intoverted but feel pressured to be extroverted. And nowadays you get diagnosed with social anxiety disorder if you are an introvert. It is socialy unacceptable to be a non-drinker. It will be great if I can just be my boring self!
This must be one of the funniest pieces of writing i ever heard, because it so true! esp about a typical night out with people fighting and puking etc
Im a introverted, extrovert if that makes sense (been tested!) and i quite like going out getting shit faced..but only every now and then. once a month. or even 2 months will do me fine! i hate doing it every weekend, because it does just feel like im joining the cattle going to market, some perv will touch me up..again..ill have drink split down me..again..ill get to pissed..again and feel like dirt all over again. I think as a source of release sometimes its good, which i think is what it is SUPPOSED to be all about, but these people seem to need it every weekend, which would suggest to me that these people infact find themselves, and their lives rather boring! im 23, and like yourself i am starting to come to terms with the fact that i am rather boring 9 times out of 10, but whilst beinf boring, im quite happy! Im single as well, and theres no way i would be spending any time with the kind of men i talk to on a night out, they about as deep as a pint glass. i like actual things in this world, not just peoples ‘banter’, which 9 times outa 10 is quite crud anyways. i think the main reason why im single is i pretend to be this ‘good time girl’ and intitally attract those people, but i think they see actualy im a fake, then i wounder to myself what im doign wrong. duh. if i actualy start to accept i am a reserved, laid back girl, then i will attract people into my life that fits with that. its all rather simple really.
anyways. nice post i really enjoyed reading it, and it gave me some good food for though. Nice to know there are other like minded people around! xx
I’m reading your article on St. Paddy’s Day whilst sitting on my couch and regurgitating on my anger for drunk people (a specific person really but I’m pretty much including all drunks at this point) and it is like you took the words right out of my mouth and wrote it in a way I never could. I was suppose to go to a parade since I’m going out with an irish guy but like you and clubbing, I despise parades, especially parades with a bunch of drunk people around me. I couldn’t care less about a leprechaun or 5th grade marching band. I would rather spend my time staring at nothing than watch a parade and make small talk with a bunch of drunk irish folks. I’m an introvert and I know it. But having people label me as boring just doesn’t sit well with me. I don’t find me or what I do boring. But i guess it does go both ways that I do find parades and small talks and drunk people boring as well. The difference is that boring is almost always equated to introverts by people who are extroverts whom are the majority.
But you don’t think you are boring – do you? It’s a massive case of false modesty. It’s an artistic affectation. You are vain and you have even called yourself a “genius”… If you truly think you are boring, then it’s strange that you have written so much about yourself… What you really are is an egoist. You calling yourself “boring” is your way of saying that you’re NOT boring. It a way of distinguishing yourself from the masses who see themselves as not-boring – even as a “left winger”…
No. I absolutely don’t think I’m boring. Your reading of this article is very one dimensional (actually, it’s very manipulative…. but you’re on the Far Right…. manipulation is the key to your beliefs), and you’ve apparently completely invented what I said, to suit an argument you already clearly wanted to make, which was, to insult me. Another trait of the Far Right.
My interests quite obviously keep me entertained, and so it would be absurd to think of myself as boring, or be bored with myself. It is the perception of what makes someone ‘boring’, that I spoke of, not an inner sense that I bore myself. I don’t. I note, at the end of the article, that I would bore myself if I were to be acquiesced to what others, at the age of writing this, consider to be “not boring”. I note in the article that it is the perception of ‘boring’ that I felt uncomfortable with (this article is over two years old) at the time. There is no attempt to appear ‘modest’, It is quite the opposite of modesty. Modesty would not require an article to vent. only a commentary on how I felt at that specific time. I have always said, that my personal writings, surrounding my life, on here, are just a way to express myself. It is a creative outlet to word how I feel at that specific moment. It is flawed, it is immodest, it is blinded at times by emotional responses rather that rational thought that I try to employ with my political/religious articles. The personal articles, are a reflection of self, at a specific moment; like a release valve for tension that otherwise, festers. Just an outlet. That is all.
I have never referred to myself as a ‘genius’ in a serious tone. Sometimes, when I make a stupid mistake, I will say “such a genius” in a joking fashion. But I have never sincerely referred to myself as a ‘genius’. You are attempting at every point, to mischaracterise everything I say. It is what I expect from the Far Right.
If you make moronic presumptions about my life, and insist on vicious rhetoric, about my life, then yes, I am going to respond with my life story. And please note, I am not going to ‘approve’ any more of your comments, because you have come here, purely to pick a fight, and insult me. You carried it on with this new round of attacks, attacks I wont be approving.
I certainly wont be ‘approving’ the “are you schizophrenic” comment.
I found this article to be hilarious . Can we be facebook frendz plz
This might as well have been written by me! I feel the exact same way, and have felt that way since I turned 21 and was crowned “the boring one”. Now I’m 29, still dealing with the same shit. Living in a small mountain community with no nightlife other than bars does not help my situation. Fortunately I’ll be moving to Houston, TX in October, where I hope to find more people like myself.
This made me laugh so much! I get it. Thanks.
I really don’t want to be around drunks, they don’t make sense. I don’t drink anymore because it makes me feel really bad. I personally consider it poison for my body. You suddenly feel like a complete outsider though. I do get why people do it because I did once too. Ultimately, for me, feeling good wins over less social opportunities.
Previous party person who now likes to stay home and read books, ride my bike, watch a good film, cook, go to Pilates, enjoy my comfy bed and read some more. Enjoy your ‘boring’ life 😉