Here's another diary part:
"Last Friday, Nellen and I were rather bored so we decided to go out. An acquaintant of ours owns two bars; the smaller one is situated in the centre of the city and it definitely has its charm. We practically spent the entire high school and the bigger part of our college years there. With certainty, I can claim that we have successfully become part of the inventory. The bigger bar isn't that close to the centre and since we're all lazy bastards, we rarely go there. This time was an exception because the smaller bar was being renovated.
Now, the bigger bar has couple of rooms. The biggest one has two bars and a pole. That room was absolutely full so we were forced to sit down in the first room, popularly known as the "penioners' room" since nobody interesting ever sits there. We looked pitiful. We were alone; I was tightly grasping a bottle of Sprite and Nellen was drinking her liquid courage in case her fancy was there. On a scale of pity from 1 to 10, we were a solid 7. Deciding to change that, we chose to dig our way into the second room.
We managed to get a place on the dance floor, next to couple of people we knew, thank God for that. However, we never moved from a 7. It was Sodom and Gomorrah in there. People were squeezing us (not in a desirable way), most of the guests were old and looked as if they would barf on us at any given moment (even though they hadn't even touched alcohol; they just looked that way) and the music was awful. Just to exemplify, the crowd went wild when a song about villagers who sold their cows to get some drugs was played. On top of that, they released some kind of artificial smoke that melted my brain. God forbid someone opened the door to let some oxygen in. It's not as if we need it to live. After that adventure we went home, swearing we'd never return."
I'm often accused of being a stalker. And indeed I am. The moment I hear strange rustling in the hallway in front of our apartment, I immediately jump up and glue myself to the peephole. Few days ago, I saw four of our neighbors entering their apartment, one of them holding a huge dog in his arms. The animal was strangely held so that its legs were in the air. I even thought that it was only a toy, but its legs were flailing about rather naturally, so I concluded it was alive. Strange incident, really.
My stalker abilities ascended the moment I got Facebook. It was like a plague. I would sit in front of my computer for hours, my eyes glued to the monitor till they literally started to bleed, just scanning all sorts of profiles; friends and strangers alike. Years later, I discovered Google Earth which brought my stalking to a completely new level. I was unstoppable, more dangerous than ever. I became a stalker with a satellite. Facebook is to be blamed for all of this, especially the new version containing a whole bunch of new privacy rules no one ever bothers reading. Thanks to that general lethargy, people belonging to the stalking community are able to view almost every profile, read anyone's personal information and study their pictures. Before, if anyone wanted to stalk somebody, they would have to sit in a car under the cloak of darkness, remain unnoticed and pay attention to anyone who might pass by and blow their cover (not speaking from personal experience, thank you very much). Now, stalking is possible in the comforts of your own home, while drinking coffee or within studying breaks (commercial material). Nellen has only recently begun nourishing this newly discovered addiction to Facebook and she's even worse than I am. I actually started working on getting a life. I'm not saying I'm very successful at it, but at least I'm trying.
No comments:
Post a Comment