Sunday night, and I have, quite unintentionally, managed to get a bit tipsy. I say unintentionally as 1) I hadn’t planned to drink, and 2) I didn’t plan to drink this much, even if I did have a drink. However, there we go.
On Thursday I met J after work. We went to the Monarch for some drinks, and then went back to his. He really is amazingly lovely. We didn’t end up going to sleep until pretty late, which was a bit silly really as I had work the next day. In the morning, I felt really shitty so decided not to go to work. J is quite phenomenally ill and gave me some more germs to help prolong my cold. Much appreciated. I’m sure drinking beer and doing coke didn’t help, but I don’t normally feel that rough when I wake up- its not like we drank a lot- so I’m pretty sure it was some sort of mutant cold. Everyone at work is ill- about a third of the staff (or so it seems) have been ill this last week. One of the press officers had blown his nose so much that it was bright red. Anyway, I called in sick and lay on the sofa at J’s house, feeling pretty sorry for myself. He cooked some food, as he was having massive cravings for pork chops (so much so that he got the Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall meat book and brought it to bed to help him decide what exact part of a pig he wanted to get. Although I wasn’t really all that hungry, I appreciated the food (obviously not meat for me!), and proceeded to spend the entire afternoon safely ensconced on the sofa, like a lazy bastard.
We decided to watch a film, and after some pretty idiotic behaviour on J’s part (not putting the sound on on the dvd player), we watched ’28 Days Later’. I’d watched this ages ago… I think it was back when I lived in Wood Green, so it really must have been quite a while ago (why I remember that I watched it there, I don’t know- you would have thought I would have tried to erase that horrible house from my memory). Anyway, I remembered that I’d enjoyed it. Especially the shots of a deserted London at the beginning. I know it’s quite sad, but I’m fascinated by this city. It really is more like home to me than anywhere else I’ve lived (admittedly that list is not huge- the fens and Cambridge). Going back to the film: it was far better than I remembered. I had completely forgotten about the middle. It was, in parts, quite gory, but it was fabulous- though in a gratuitously violent way. I’ve watched quite a few zombie films (it was pretty much the staple diet of things to watch when I was with G), and this is one of my favourites. Having said that, I don’t know whether my taste in films is all that great. I don’t think I’ll ever be a movie critic anyway. For what it’s worth, I would highly recommend ’28 Days Later’ to those who haven’t already seen it.
On my way back from J’s, I decided to pop in at B’s house. I’d completely forgotten that they live on the same road- only about 100 metres from each other in fact. The light was on in B’s room, so I called, and went round for a cup of tea. B is a friend from sixth form who I had a strange encounter with months and months ago (that’s detailed way, way back in this blog). It was nice to see him, though he was very stressed. He’s always quite stressed. He’s been a dj for about as long as I can remember, and it seems to be going pretty well for him. He plays at all sorts of venues across London. It’s not really my type of music, but it’s still pretty impressive, especially as he’s also doing his degree.
On Friday night I somehow managed to get pretty slaughtered on wine, by myself. At some point I tried to do the guardian crossword, and I actually managed about half of it. Clearly that’s the way to do it- although if I could find a way to make my eyes stay in focus, that would really help. At about 2, my housemate and one of her Geordie friends got back, and I went to her room to drink beer and laugh hysterically. We were being pretty loud, and one of my other housemates was obviously pissed off as she kept getting up to slam doors. It was fun though, despite the fact I couldn’t understand some of what they were saying. Sometimes, with strong accents, it really is like a different language. They invited me to sleep in their bed, but I recalled how cramped it was the last time I shared a bed with two other people, and went back to my own room.
In the morning I was woken up by a steam train. At first I thought I was hearing things, but no. it was a steam train. I have no idea why a steam train was going through Herne Hill station on a Saturday morning. I decided to head into Soho for the afternoon, just for a wander, so after a very long shower, I set off. It wasn’t all that great. I browsed some bookshops and saw a tourist fall over and nearly get trampled. I then came back home and attempted to understand my housemate’s boyfriend’s explanation of the offside rule. He’s a Spurs fan, like J, so I took the piss out of the game last weekend (which constitutes my entire knowledge of football). My ex rang and asked if I wanted to go out for dinner on Tuesday. I told him I had no money, but he said he’d pay. I don’t really want to see him, but he’s going away for a year or something so I suppose I should, seeing as he wants to see me. He kept calling me ‘sweetheart’, which I was getting a bit narked about. He said that the meal would be ‘no strings’ and that I shouldn’t think he was being ‘too forward’. I told him fat bloody chance. How can you be too forward with someone you lived with for three years? And ‘no strings’- for him to even think that I would think it was anything more is stupid. I don’t want to be his friend, let alone anything more. I don’t think he is a nice person, and he certainly isn’t one that I want in my life. Which begs the question- why meet him for dinner? Well, I will get a great deal of satisfaction out of showing him that I’m far happier without him and that although he shat on me for years, I’m not that little girl anymore.
Then I cracked open some more wine and watched ‘Final Destination’. I’d seen the sequel, but not the first one, and I reckon the second is better. The deaths were all funny though. Blood and guts galore. Gosh, I’m pretty weird like that…
After the film, I started to mope around, feeling sorry for myself. I was getting super paranoid. I was also trying to decide if I was crazy and whether I should start taking my medication again. I really have no idea what I’m doing with my life and it’s getting me down. In the end, I decided that I would apply for my masters, try for funding, try and sort out China, apply for jobs, and various other things (none of which I’ve actually done today). I decided not to take my medication again as I have spent the last month and a half trying to come off the stuff, and although I don’t like feeling like crap, I hate the withdrawal of the drugs even more. With the SSRI’s, you have to choose whether to take them properly or not at all. I’m not getting back in that cycle of taking them again, as it will take me a month to get used to them again, and however long to come off them eventually. As long as I’m not killing myself, it’s okay. If I do start feeling really bad, I will just ask for some diazepam or something. No more bastard SSRI’s. My other decision was that I really wanted to watch ‘East is East’, which I remembered I had on dvd. ‘East is East’ is possibly my favourite film. I’ve seen it about twenty times and know the lines well before they’re said, but I love it and I still find it hilarious. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t find it so funny if I hadn’t have been with my ex (a British Pakistani, with the family to match) or if I didn’t have a pretty dysfunctional family of my own (though of course, nothing like the Khan family). Then I fell off the bed (I’m not sure how) and fell asleep while on the phone.
Today has been quite a lazy day. We all went to Escape, a pub in Herne Hill, as it has wireless internet, but we couldn’t get it to work. My housemate told me that her friend had said that she would never wear what I wear, but that it looked good on me. I then started to worry that I look like a tramp. I don’t think that was helped particularly by the fact that I was wearing a nightdress over jeans in the pub. I did a bit of reading for the masters that I may or may not ever do. I cooked a pretty fabulous curry and ate far more than I should have. My housemate laughed at my bedroom so I spent an hour or so tidying and cleaning it. I also had a nice chat with J on the phone, who might be coming round tomorrow (I suppose would be lying if I didn’t admit that part of the reason I was making my room less skank was because of that). Having spent most of Saturday night convincing myself that J didn’t like me (I’m paranoid like that), it was really cool to talk to him and think to myself that- oh my god, maybe he does like me? Which’d be good as I like him. It feels good just going with it actually- although it’s not something that I do naturally as I worry too much about everything. I think that as long as I don’t let myself get overtaken by paranoia, then I will really enjoy whatever this is with J. oh, and if he learns to mumble less on the phone as he is damn near incomprehensible when he mumbles!!
This evening, as I already mentioned, I got pissed. My housemate suggested having some vodka as she was pretty wound up and wanted to chill out before going to sleep. Instead, we ended up behaving like silly girls and we drank lots of vodka, sang stupid songs and tried to decide whether we could get away with putting the plug that had fallen into a pint glass of water into the mains ever again. I didn’t really see a problem with it, but she pointed out that the danger of death was quite high. And I think that’s my weekend covered. I still have a cold and I’m horribly congested still. I continually feel like I’m going to sneeze, and my nose just will not stop running. The earache and swollen glands have gone though, so I suppose that’s some improvement. I think I have acquired a drinking problem. However, that is not something I am willing to deal with, now or in the immediate future, as at the moment, I’m having fun. Right, now bed, as I need to try NOT to sleep in in the morning. Good night!!
Monday, February 20, 2006
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Appreciate this, as it's my entire day's work!
I had one of those really horrible dreams last night, the type where you feel like you’re walking through treacle. I have variations on this dream quite a lot, though the setting is usually different. Last night, I was back in Cambridge, and I was walking to my old work, but it was taking me so long as I could hardly move through the treacle, and no one would help me. I often wonder why on earth I have these dreams. I think that this time, it was because yesterday I was walking up Coldharbour Lane, against the wind, with the sun in my eyes, and I was thinking about how much easier it would have been to be walking the other day. Talking of Coldharbour Lane, I was unpleasantly surprised at how long it is. I was in Camberwell, and wanted to go to Brixton (or, more specifically, to the book shop, the art shop and the bank). I’d always thought that it was a short road, but it was a fifteen-minute walk. To be honest, it probably would have taken less time had it not been so windy.
Anyway, Brixton was quite a success. I got everything I’d planned to get and paid off another instalment to the debt recovery people. I’m certainly far further on with that than I thought I would be, at this point. I’ve spent two years avoiding their calls, so to have paid off one-third of what I owe is a real achievement. Obviously if anyone else would like to pay the rest off, I would be more than happy to send my payment book to you for you to deal with! Likewise, I wouldn’t mind someone paying my rent for me too. I don’t know how I’m ever going to save up enough money for travelling. For my birthday I have asked for individual components of my travels, in a similar vein to the scheme run by the government during the 2nd World War (for building spitfires- basically the government set a price for all the different parts, so you could donate money and say it was for a wing, and then you’d know what you’d done for your country… except I reckon they lied, and just bought what they could- the prices in no way reflected the cost of the planes, for a start- and I am not going to do that… anyway, hope that rambling explanation has made some sense as I am too lazy to go back and read it again). So far I have an Interail ticket and one years travel insurance, both from previous birthdays. This year, on my list I have: some immunisations (I have already spent shitloads and if no one buys me any more, I will probably die of some nasty tropical diseases); malaria tablets (though possibly not, I’m sure I’m hardcore enough to deal with something stupid like malaria- also I have been slightly put off after seeing someone puke in their bin after taking these tablets!); train ticket from Helsinki to St Petersburg; ticket from St Petersburg to Moscow; loads of other assorted train tickets; Russian visa; Mongolian visa; other stuff that I can’t remember but I’m sure I’ll need.
More about my plans for travelling another time- I have far more pressing issues to write about at the moment!
Yesterday, as everyone knows, was Valentines Day. I didn’t get a card, not even from my mum! I was a bit disappointed, as I’d sort of assumed that when I got home, there’d be one waiting for me from her. Perhaps she thinks I’m too old for that now? Or even worse, perhaps she thinks that I’m too bitter to want any romance. Last time she came to London I was ranting on a bit, though that wasn’t directed at men (much), it was more because I was pissed off with my job. However, I was mighty pleased to get home just as Neighbours was starting. I haven’t watched Neighbours in bloody ages, and it was just as good/bad as I remembered. Ah, the good old student days when I could watch Neighbours, Doctors, The Daily Politics… Life was good.
Going back to Valentines Day, the Camp Mansions Valentines Singles Night was a great success. I baked some of my special biscuits (which I cut in the shape of hearts, ahhh- though not having a heart shaped cutter was a bit of a pain, as I had to use a knife and the hearts looked a bit jagged!). Other food we had included cheese and pineapple on sticks, vegetarian sausages, garlic bread, dips, marshmallows, Angel Delight and a whole host of other full-on party foods. I drank some vodka and ate far too much, and ended up feeling sick.
While lying on the living room floor (floorboards are not very comfortable, but it was the only way that I could feel marginally less sick!), we watched ‘Holiday Showdown’. I don’t normally watch crappy programmes like this. I know my enthusing about Neighbours et al above would indicate otherwise, but I really don’t. This programme was funny though, really really funny. The premise is that two very opposite families go on each other’s holidays… Family #1: bisexual, anti-gun couple with their kids, who planned to go to San Francisco to film a video art project. Family #2: gun-mad, misogynistic, red-blooded homophobic family, who were looking forward to going to Texas and shooting things. You can imagine how that went down. The most disturbing character was not the dad in family #2 (ex-RAF, handlebar moustache, kept the wife at home, called gay people “wufters”), but his son, who looked like he was about to cum in his pants at the thought of firing some of the guns, and was rubbing his hands in glee at the thought of shooting a pig. He’s got to be fairly high up on the list of potential future prisoner abuse scandals, surely. The other funny bit was when the woman in family #1 was saying how guns were bad, and the woman in family #2 said, "guns don't kill people"... of course, we all shouted out "RAPPER'S DO!"
I am finally feeling a bit better from my cold- although I don’t sound it! So I will finally write about my weekend, as it really is something I should write about. I’m still a bit cautious about writing about one particular thing (namely, the person I fancy), as I’m still worried he doesn’t like me. I’m less worried than I was, as we texted each other a couple of times last night, and he seemed (as much as you can seem in a text message) to be interested in seeing me again. So what the heck- I’m not used to writing my blog any way other than being brutally frank and describing my life in what is quite possibly mind-numbingly boring detail.
On Friday, I went to the Southwark Tavern with two girls from work, R and C. We talk every day as we’re all smokers, and hang out in the smoking room together, but normally we don’t really go to the pub together. For those who’ve been reading this in the long term, you’ll remember that most of my drinking antics with work people has been with T and K. Anyway, me, R and C booked a booth- or, in the case of the Southwark Tavern, a cell, it being an old prison- and headed down there as early as we could. We each had so many things we needed to get off our chests, so we decided that we would have to have it like a proper meeting, with each person taking it in turns to have a rant about something, and then moving on. I went first as I only had a couple of things to rant about (incidentally, one of them was T’s ex, who is being a complete bitch to a woman that I work with for no reason other than the fact I suspect she is a sociopath). After a couple of bottles of wine, we had completely forgotten what on earth we were meant to be talking about. C kept falling on top of R, and then decided to go home. She looked pretty hammered, but I thought she would be able to get home okay… however, on Monday she told us that she’d not only fallen asleep on the train and gone to the wrong place, she’d been sick at her station, cried, been carried home by her boyfriend, thrown the crumpets he’d made her at him. Quality.
Anyway, I was horrifically late to meet S in Camden, so when R suggested getting a minicab, I jumped at the idea. Never mind that she wasn’t really going in that direction… We somehow convinced the driver that detouring to Camden would only cost an extra fiver, though I suspect they only agreed to shut us up. I apparently managed to get in an argument with the cab driver, but I don’t really remember that. I’d drunk nearly two full bottles of wine by this point, so I suspect I did try and start what I probably thought at the time was a debate, but was far more likely to be a full-on argument. I also remember thinking, while in the cab, that the driver was a tosser, which I’d say is proof that I was having an argument with the man.
When I finally got to the Lock Tavern, S seemed quite pissed off with me. I could kind of understand, as I was very late, but she wasn’t by herself, and her bad mood with me lasted all evening (and beyond). With her were two guys I knew from my first year at uni, who’d been in the year above me. It was so cool to see them again. I’m terrible at keeping in touch, so I really appreciate being thrust into contact with people again- whether they feel the same is another issue altogether. They’re both really sound guys, and I feel bad for not keeping in touch. We went on to the Barfly, where I danced around like a fool, completely disregarding the fact that my ankle is not cut out for this kind of thing. I lost S several times, only really finding her by the bar, where we did shots. Despite declaring I would only do shots of sambuca, I somehow ended up doing a shot of Archers, which I wasn’t pleased. It’s such a chav drink. Much as the taste of sambuca makes me feel queasy, it’s better than bloody sickly sweet Archers. I used to do lots of shots with my friend M, but I can’t for the life of me remember what they were. Probably just as well really, as I remember getting pissed out of my skull in Walthamstow on them (and I certainly do not want to be repeating that night any time soon- the vague memories I have of the evening are not altogether pleasant).
And the most important- or exciting, or I don’t know what adjective- event was meeting J. I don’t remember how we started talking, and I certainly don’t know why on earth he wanted to talk to me, as I was being a horrible drunk. And I wasn’t particularly nice to him, which was stupid, as by the time we left the Barfly, I realised I really liked him, and that I thought he was lovely. He’d taken my number and I was insisting that he wouldn’t call me, but actually, I think I might be wrong on that one.
Anyway, by the time we left, S had found herself some random boy who seemed to have learning difficulties. I don’t know what on earth was wrong with him, but he didn’t seem able to speak properly. Me and S had a minor skirmish, and now she isn’t returning my texts. I don’t think I was that out of order to her, but I do recall her saying that I was over reacting, and then she walked off and didn’t say goodbye. I don’t know what to make of that one, to be honest. J invited me and my other two friends (who’d been getting on really well, which was really sound) back to his, but they decided that they would make sure S got home okay. So it was just me.
I really wish I hadn’t been so pissed and that I had a larger vocabulary. Not so pissed, because then I wouldn’t have done silly things like be a drunken fool, be really argumentative (who can see a recurring pattern?), kiss J’s housemates girlfriend… And a larger vocabulary because I had a fantastic time at J’s all weekend. We stayed awake until about midday on Saturday, and then I slept until about 10 in the evening. On Sunday we watched football (not really my thing) and he cooked the most amazing curry. In between that pretty poor description of the weekend, we had (in my eyes, at least – can you see my paranoia??) a great time. I like J. I’m not going to write any more about him, or what I think of him, as I am getting all bashful, which is a sure sign that I like someone. Most people think it’s very unlike me to get bashful or shy, as they- for some reason- seem to think that I’m a loud mouthed cocky fucker. I’m not though, or at least, I don’t think I am.
I have been writing this entry over the course of the whole day, and it really shows. It’s quite obvious that this morning I was far more awake. Right now I can feel my eyelids drooping, and I would really like a nap. It’s actually really annoying, as I wanted to write about J. But maybe it’s a good thing that I can’t. I’m looking forward to work finishing so I can have a little sleep on the bus on the way to ballet. That’s quite a sad existence really. I’m so shattered though. One of our windows broke in the wind last night, and the wind and rain was really noisy. I’m still not feeling completely better, anyway. I have earache, as I always do when I get ill. It’s always in my right ear, which is a bit odd. I'm really annoyed that I'm not feeling 100%, to be honest. I took lots of coke at the weekend, and I always like to think that these things have no effect on me (cos I'm so fucking hardcore, or something). Being ill is not making me feel very cool, even though I know it's a cold- unless, of course, everyone in the office has been snorting coke all weekend too? It's just a cold, you stupid lamb, it's just a cold...
Instead of moping and feeling sorry for myself any longer, I am going to publish this blog (finally!) and then maybe make some lemsip. Oh yeah, and I have a backlog of emails to write as well, as all I have done today is write this blog and look things up on wikipedia. Not all that productive.
Anyway, Brixton was quite a success. I got everything I’d planned to get and paid off another instalment to the debt recovery people. I’m certainly far further on with that than I thought I would be, at this point. I’ve spent two years avoiding their calls, so to have paid off one-third of what I owe is a real achievement. Obviously if anyone else would like to pay the rest off, I would be more than happy to send my payment book to you for you to deal with! Likewise, I wouldn’t mind someone paying my rent for me too. I don’t know how I’m ever going to save up enough money for travelling. For my birthday I have asked for individual components of my travels, in a similar vein to the scheme run by the government during the 2nd World War (for building spitfires- basically the government set a price for all the different parts, so you could donate money and say it was for a wing, and then you’d know what you’d done for your country… except I reckon they lied, and just bought what they could- the prices in no way reflected the cost of the planes, for a start- and I am not going to do that… anyway, hope that rambling explanation has made some sense as I am too lazy to go back and read it again). So far I have an Interail ticket and one years travel insurance, both from previous birthdays. This year, on my list I have: some immunisations (I have already spent shitloads and if no one buys me any more, I will probably die of some nasty tropical diseases); malaria tablets (though possibly not, I’m sure I’m hardcore enough to deal with something stupid like malaria- also I have been slightly put off after seeing someone puke in their bin after taking these tablets!); train ticket from Helsinki to St Petersburg; ticket from St Petersburg to Moscow; loads of other assorted train tickets; Russian visa; Mongolian visa; other stuff that I can’t remember but I’m sure I’ll need.
More about my plans for travelling another time- I have far more pressing issues to write about at the moment!
Yesterday, as everyone knows, was Valentines Day. I didn’t get a card, not even from my mum! I was a bit disappointed, as I’d sort of assumed that when I got home, there’d be one waiting for me from her. Perhaps she thinks I’m too old for that now? Or even worse, perhaps she thinks that I’m too bitter to want any romance. Last time she came to London I was ranting on a bit, though that wasn’t directed at men (much), it was more because I was pissed off with my job. However, I was mighty pleased to get home just as Neighbours was starting. I haven’t watched Neighbours in bloody ages, and it was just as good/bad as I remembered. Ah, the good old student days when I could watch Neighbours, Doctors, The Daily Politics… Life was good.
Going back to Valentines Day, the Camp Mansions Valentines Singles Night was a great success. I baked some of my special biscuits (which I cut in the shape of hearts, ahhh- though not having a heart shaped cutter was a bit of a pain, as I had to use a knife and the hearts looked a bit jagged!). Other food we had included cheese and pineapple on sticks, vegetarian sausages, garlic bread, dips, marshmallows, Angel Delight and a whole host of other full-on party foods. I drank some vodka and ate far too much, and ended up feeling sick.
While lying on the living room floor (floorboards are not very comfortable, but it was the only way that I could feel marginally less sick!), we watched ‘Holiday Showdown’. I don’t normally watch crappy programmes like this. I know my enthusing about Neighbours et al above would indicate otherwise, but I really don’t. This programme was funny though, really really funny. The premise is that two very opposite families go on each other’s holidays… Family #1: bisexual, anti-gun couple with their kids, who planned to go to San Francisco to film a video art project. Family #2: gun-mad, misogynistic, red-blooded homophobic family, who were looking forward to going to Texas and shooting things. You can imagine how that went down. The most disturbing character was not the dad in family #2 (ex-RAF, handlebar moustache, kept the wife at home, called gay people “wufters”), but his son, who looked like he was about to cum in his pants at the thought of firing some of the guns, and was rubbing his hands in glee at the thought of shooting a pig. He’s got to be fairly high up on the list of potential future prisoner abuse scandals, surely. The other funny bit was when the woman in family #1 was saying how guns were bad, and the woman in family #2 said, "guns don't kill people"... of course, we all shouted out "RAPPER'S DO!"
I am finally feeling a bit better from my cold- although I don’t sound it! So I will finally write about my weekend, as it really is something I should write about. I’m still a bit cautious about writing about one particular thing (namely, the person I fancy), as I’m still worried he doesn’t like me. I’m less worried than I was, as we texted each other a couple of times last night, and he seemed (as much as you can seem in a text message) to be interested in seeing me again. So what the heck- I’m not used to writing my blog any way other than being brutally frank and describing my life in what is quite possibly mind-numbingly boring detail.
On Friday, I went to the Southwark Tavern with two girls from work, R and C. We talk every day as we’re all smokers, and hang out in the smoking room together, but normally we don’t really go to the pub together. For those who’ve been reading this in the long term, you’ll remember that most of my drinking antics with work people has been with T and K. Anyway, me, R and C booked a booth- or, in the case of the Southwark Tavern, a cell, it being an old prison- and headed down there as early as we could. We each had so many things we needed to get off our chests, so we decided that we would have to have it like a proper meeting, with each person taking it in turns to have a rant about something, and then moving on. I went first as I only had a couple of things to rant about (incidentally, one of them was T’s ex, who is being a complete bitch to a woman that I work with for no reason other than the fact I suspect she is a sociopath). After a couple of bottles of wine, we had completely forgotten what on earth we were meant to be talking about. C kept falling on top of R, and then decided to go home. She looked pretty hammered, but I thought she would be able to get home okay… however, on Monday she told us that she’d not only fallen asleep on the train and gone to the wrong place, she’d been sick at her station, cried, been carried home by her boyfriend, thrown the crumpets he’d made her at him. Quality.
Anyway, I was horrifically late to meet S in Camden, so when R suggested getting a minicab, I jumped at the idea. Never mind that she wasn’t really going in that direction… We somehow convinced the driver that detouring to Camden would only cost an extra fiver, though I suspect they only agreed to shut us up. I apparently managed to get in an argument with the cab driver, but I don’t really remember that. I’d drunk nearly two full bottles of wine by this point, so I suspect I did try and start what I probably thought at the time was a debate, but was far more likely to be a full-on argument. I also remember thinking, while in the cab, that the driver was a tosser, which I’d say is proof that I was having an argument with the man.
When I finally got to the Lock Tavern, S seemed quite pissed off with me. I could kind of understand, as I was very late, but she wasn’t by herself, and her bad mood with me lasted all evening (and beyond). With her were two guys I knew from my first year at uni, who’d been in the year above me. It was so cool to see them again. I’m terrible at keeping in touch, so I really appreciate being thrust into contact with people again- whether they feel the same is another issue altogether. They’re both really sound guys, and I feel bad for not keeping in touch. We went on to the Barfly, where I danced around like a fool, completely disregarding the fact that my ankle is not cut out for this kind of thing. I lost S several times, only really finding her by the bar, where we did shots. Despite declaring I would only do shots of sambuca, I somehow ended up doing a shot of Archers, which I wasn’t pleased. It’s such a chav drink. Much as the taste of sambuca makes me feel queasy, it’s better than bloody sickly sweet Archers. I used to do lots of shots with my friend M, but I can’t for the life of me remember what they were. Probably just as well really, as I remember getting pissed out of my skull in Walthamstow on them (and I certainly do not want to be repeating that night any time soon- the vague memories I have of the evening are not altogether pleasant).
And the most important- or exciting, or I don’t know what adjective- event was meeting J. I don’t remember how we started talking, and I certainly don’t know why on earth he wanted to talk to me, as I was being a horrible drunk. And I wasn’t particularly nice to him, which was stupid, as by the time we left the Barfly, I realised I really liked him, and that I thought he was lovely. He’d taken my number and I was insisting that he wouldn’t call me, but actually, I think I might be wrong on that one.
Anyway, by the time we left, S had found herself some random boy who seemed to have learning difficulties. I don’t know what on earth was wrong with him, but he didn’t seem able to speak properly. Me and S had a minor skirmish, and now she isn’t returning my texts. I don’t think I was that out of order to her, but I do recall her saying that I was over reacting, and then she walked off and didn’t say goodbye. I don’t know what to make of that one, to be honest. J invited me and my other two friends (who’d been getting on really well, which was really sound) back to his, but they decided that they would make sure S got home okay. So it was just me.
I really wish I hadn’t been so pissed and that I had a larger vocabulary. Not so pissed, because then I wouldn’t have done silly things like be a drunken fool, be really argumentative (who can see a recurring pattern?), kiss J’s housemates girlfriend… And a larger vocabulary because I had a fantastic time at J’s all weekend. We stayed awake until about midday on Saturday, and then I slept until about 10 in the evening. On Sunday we watched football (not really my thing) and he cooked the most amazing curry. In between that pretty poor description of the weekend, we had (in my eyes, at least – can you see my paranoia??) a great time. I like J. I’m not going to write any more about him, or what I think of him, as I am getting all bashful, which is a sure sign that I like someone. Most people think it’s very unlike me to get bashful or shy, as they- for some reason- seem to think that I’m a loud mouthed cocky fucker. I’m not though, or at least, I don’t think I am.
I have been writing this entry over the course of the whole day, and it really shows. It’s quite obvious that this morning I was far more awake. Right now I can feel my eyelids drooping, and I would really like a nap. It’s actually really annoying, as I wanted to write about J. But maybe it’s a good thing that I can’t. I’m looking forward to work finishing so I can have a little sleep on the bus on the way to ballet. That’s quite a sad existence really. I’m so shattered though. One of our windows broke in the wind last night, and the wind and rain was really noisy. I’m still not feeling completely better, anyway. I have earache, as I always do when I get ill. It’s always in my right ear, which is a bit odd. I'm really annoyed that I'm not feeling 100%, to be honest. I took lots of coke at the weekend, and I always like to think that these things have no effect on me (cos I'm so fucking hardcore, or something). Being ill is not making me feel very cool, even though I know it's a cold- unless, of course, everyone in the office has been snorting coke all weekend too? It's just a cold, you stupid lamb, it's just a cold...
Instead of moping and feeling sorry for myself any longer, I am going to publish this blog (finally!) and then maybe make some lemsip. Oh yeah, and I have a backlog of emails to write as well, as all I have done today is write this blog and look things up on wikipedia. Not all that productive.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Happy Valentines Day, everyone!
Arriving at work this morning, we were each given a plastic bag with a mug, mouse mat and some chocolates. I’m not convinced about the mouse mat, but I suppose the mug is useful and the chocolates were much appreciated. Though my friend got more than me, which I don’t think is very fair- especially as we’re working in equality!
So far this week I have managed to write a couple of entries without actually getting to the main point. I had such a great weekend and I am almost letting myself be optimistic, but I don’t want to, because that’s the best way of having your hopes blow up in your face. Wow, that’s pretty cryptic… I shall try to summarise: I met a boy this weekend and I really like him, and I think he likes me too, but I’m so paranoid that even if he called me right now and said he liked me, I still would worry. So I don’t want to say anything more about him (other than that I think he’s brilliant, and I would really like him to call) as I don’t want to jinx it, or however it works.
Other reasons for not writing anything coherently in my blog of late include: my brain being completely saturated by lemsip; not being able to type as half the morning I had my fingers crossed for my housemates theory test (it worked- she passed!); constant sneezing; worrying that I have actually had a big falling out with S on Friday night (she now isn’t returning my texts); and bizarre work-related drama every five minutes.
Anyway, must dash. I have a physio appointment and then we’re having the First Inaugural Camp Mansions Valentines Singles Night (ie. eating vol au vents and cheese on sticks, while drinking wine out of ‘boys are stupid’ mugs). Adios, and much valentines love from this minted lamb.
So far this week I have managed to write a couple of entries without actually getting to the main point. I had such a great weekend and I am almost letting myself be optimistic, but I don’t want to, because that’s the best way of having your hopes blow up in your face. Wow, that’s pretty cryptic… I shall try to summarise: I met a boy this weekend and I really like him, and I think he likes me too, but I’m so paranoid that even if he called me right now and said he liked me, I still would worry. So I don’t want to say anything more about him (other than that I think he’s brilliant, and I would really like him to call) as I don’t want to jinx it, or however it works.
Other reasons for not writing anything coherently in my blog of late include: my brain being completely saturated by lemsip; not being able to type as half the morning I had my fingers crossed for my housemates theory test (it worked- she passed!); constant sneezing; worrying that I have actually had a big falling out with S on Friday night (she now isn’t returning my texts); and bizarre work-related drama every five minutes.
Anyway, must dash. I have a physio appointment and then we’re having the First Inaugural Camp Mansions Valentines Singles Night (ie. eating vol au vents and cheese on sticks, while drinking wine out of ‘boys are stupid’ mugs). Adios, and much valentines love from this minted lamb.
Monday, February 13, 2006
Wallowing in self-pity
Hours and hours on from my previous post, I am still feeling ill and still can’t face writing anything of note in my blog. I have drunk so much lemsip I think I might be sick, and I have had a horrible day at work, with loads of moronic people calling up and being mean to me. One man even called me stupid. I have since discovered that he is a serial pest and should be ignored. Still, he pissed me off.
I can’t wait til I can get in bed with my pyjamas on and watch dvd’s. I have a little stockpile of films reserved for when I’m feeling ill, though they’re always too highbrow for me when I’m not well, and I end up watching stuff like ‘Shrek’ or (for the millionth time) ‘Peep Show’. Actually, the ‘Peep Show’ dvd isn’t even mine, I borrowed it from Legend ages ago. I really should return it, not least so I can justify borrowing series 2. Incidentally, despite living in a shared house, I still haven’t fully utilised my housemates cd and dvd collections, which I really should do, as they have pretty good taste (and I am rapidly running out of music). Maybe that’s a plan for the evening.
Other things I have to do tonight (‘have to’ is perhaps not right, but my lemsip addled brain can’t be arsed to think of the right word):
- cook a large pot of food (probably chana masala as it’s cheap and simple, plus I’m sure curry is good for a cold, or something like that)
- do some washing as amazingly, I am running out of clothes, or at least, I’m running out of clothes I actually like
- buy some milk so I don’t have to steal my housemates every time I want a cup of tea (I hope they don’t read this- it’s only been a few cups, honest!)
- try and sort out my new phone, as I got it nearly a week ago now and I still don’t know how to even switch it on and I have to use the old one
- fill in job applications so I don’t have to stay in this horrible job for the rest of my life
- laugh to myself about the really good reference I just got for my masters
- obsessively check my phone every ten seconds to see if a certain someone has called.
There’s other stuff I should probably do as well, actually, but it’s all sensible stuff like cleaning my room, retrieving my ash tray (it fell off my window ledge and is lying in the garden… it’s probably been nicked by now actually), calling my mum, etc etc.
Pretty fucking amazingly, I have actually been able to write quite a lot. The two possible options are that I am either feeling okay (unlikely as I feel like I’ve been trampled by bulls) or I am desperately trying to pass the time until home time. I wonder which.
I can’t wait til I can get in bed with my pyjamas on and watch dvd’s. I have a little stockpile of films reserved for when I’m feeling ill, though they’re always too highbrow for me when I’m not well, and I end up watching stuff like ‘Shrek’ or (for the millionth time) ‘Peep Show’. Actually, the ‘Peep Show’ dvd isn’t even mine, I borrowed it from Legend ages ago. I really should return it, not least so I can justify borrowing series 2. Incidentally, despite living in a shared house, I still haven’t fully utilised my housemates cd and dvd collections, which I really should do, as they have pretty good taste (and I am rapidly running out of music). Maybe that’s a plan for the evening.
Other things I have to do tonight (‘have to’ is perhaps not right, but my lemsip addled brain can’t be arsed to think of the right word):
- cook a large pot of food (probably chana masala as it’s cheap and simple, plus I’m sure curry is good for a cold, or something like that)
- do some washing as amazingly, I am running out of clothes, or at least, I’m running out of clothes I actually like
- buy some milk so I don’t have to steal my housemates every time I want a cup of tea (I hope they don’t read this- it’s only been a few cups, honest!)
- try and sort out my new phone, as I got it nearly a week ago now and I still don’t know how to even switch it on and I have to use the old one
- fill in job applications so I don’t have to stay in this horrible job for the rest of my life
- laugh to myself about the really good reference I just got for my masters
- obsessively check my phone every ten seconds to see if a certain someone has called.
There’s other stuff I should probably do as well, actually, but it’s all sensible stuff like cleaning my room, retrieving my ash tray (it fell off my window ledge and is lying in the garden… it’s probably been nicked by now actually), calling my mum, etc etc.
Pretty fucking amazingly, I have actually been able to write quite a lot. The two possible options are that I am either feeling okay (unlikely as I feel like I’ve been trampled by bulls) or I am desperately trying to pass the time until home time. I wonder which.
I have a horrible cold
If I didn't feel really grim, I would write more about my weekend. As it is, I don't feel tremendously well and I am stuffed full of lemsip. I want to have a nap under my desk. But I can't, so I will have to write more later and try not to make everyone else ill.
To be honest, the office is like the Marie Celeste today as about a third of the staff are off. Looks like HN51 has finally come and got us. And there was me thinking I would be immune to mutant flu.
To be honest, the office is like the Marie Celeste today as about a third of the staff are off. Looks like HN51 has finally come and got us. And there was me thinking I would be immune to mutant flu.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Hee hee, look what just came through on the email:
Dear all,
I ordered lunches from M&S for a whole-day meeting which is taking place in the Boardroom today. These were delivered earlier than expected and was left unattended in the breakout area on the second floor for a short time before I was able to collect them to put in a safe place until I was ready to lay these out.
When I eventually collected the lunches, I was extremely surprised to find that someone had the audacity to open one of the sandwich platters and helped themselves to a sandwich or two. This is not only rude but it's also called stealing.
I hope this will alert you that in future when your order lunches there are people around who will help themselves without permission.
It's official. I work with thieves.
Dear all,
I ordered lunches from M&S for a whole-day meeting which is taking place in the Boardroom today. These were delivered earlier than expected and was left unattended in the breakout area on the second floor for a short time before I was able to collect them to put in a safe place until I was ready to lay these out.
When I eventually collected the lunches, I was extremely surprised to find that someone had the audacity to open one of the sandwich platters and helped themselves to a sandwich or two. This is not only rude but it's also called stealing.
I hope this will alert you that in future when your order lunches there are people around who will help themselves without permission.
It's official. I work with thieves.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Why does everyone keep biting me?
I just wanted to ask the question: why do I keep being bitten? As if it's not bad enough that I'm always being bitten by insects, people like biting me too. Which I think is quite funny, as I'm always being told that I have very soft skin. Why would anyone want to hurt me?! C always tries to bite me, and once left proper teeth imprints on my back. I didn't realise until my housemate pointed it out.
Oh- on the plus side, there is a photo of my neck on Friday night in existence. I'm trying to get hold of it and I will post it up here. I vaguely remember seeing it on Friday and thinking how gross it was. As I'm such a caring individual, I will let you all see it. I wouldn't want you to go without, now, would I?
Oh- on the plus side, there is a photo of my neck on Friday night in existence. I'm trying to get hold of it and I will post it up here. I vaguely remember seeing it on Friday and thinking how gross it was. As I'm such a caring individual, I will let you all see it. I wouldn't want you to go without, now, would I?
Monday, February 06, 2006
My normal monday rambles
My god, that was a bit of a fucked up weekend, which I suppose is how I like it. I left work right after writing my last post about the thick Irish sausages (incidentally, no one believes me when I tell them about it. I’ve started taking the letter to the smoking room with me as it’s become something of a legend) and took the bus over to LSE for a friends leaving drinks. It was really cool as there were lots of people I hadn’t seen in ages. I couldn’t stay for long as I’d promised S that I would come round to hers before going to Camden. Still, it was nice to chat with people, especially the ones I hadn’t seen in a long time. It turns out the guy I kissed last weekend had been reading my blog and he- fairly inexplicably- said sorry to me. Not for reading it, though, I'm not really sure why.
At S’s, we attempted to drink the wine in the bar but it was so empty and soulless that we couldn’t face it, so we went upstairs. In the end, we sat in the common room, where a bunch of first years were playing computer games (on a Friday night!!). Our other friend SH was there, and she very kindly went to find us a corkscrew, as we hadn’t really thought of that- though she tried to convince us she’d taken the cork out with her teeth. I’m pretty gullible and so nearly believed her. In the end we managed to convince another girl to come out with us, and we headed to Camden.
We took the bus as I’m a cheapo and don’t live buying tickets for things when I could just get on a bendy bus and not pay. There were some fucking morons on the bus- these boys aged about 18 or so, who thought they were amazing. They were really geeky and probably liked wanky guitar music and games like warhammer. They laughed a bit like this: “snarf, snarf”
We went to the Wetherspoons I always end up going to when I go to Camden, and then on to the Barfly. At first glances, I couldn’t see any pretty indie boys, just lots of really pretentious boys with asymmetrical fringes. S made me go up to a boy at the bar and find out his name, as we suspected he was the drummer in Bloc Party (it was him, but I made a bit of a fool of myself). I wasn’t really that into the whole thing to begin with, but gradually I started enjoying myself a bit more. I had an argument with a stupid Austrian boy, who said something to his friend (in German) along the lines of “why are you talking to this stupid girl?” His friend told him that I was really nice and spoke good German, but he carried on being an arsehole so I called him a war criminal and a fascist (which, to be fair, is a fairly good description of many Austrian politicians, so I thought it would do for him). I pointed out a boy that I like to S, who went up to him and did the whole “my mate fancies you” thing. He was very cute. I don’t remember his name and S is convinced he was Jewish because of his hair (though she thinks everyone is Jewish, she has a bit of fetish for it). He came over and we chatted while listening to the band. Then the Bloc Party boy got up on stage and started dj’ing, which was so cool. He played a mix of Banquet and the Pussycat Dolls “Don’cha” (which I find a hilarious song after me, K and T once practiced pole dancing too in an attempt to woo the guy in my office- needless to say, I never actually showed him my pole dancing skills as I didn’t have THAT much of a desire to make an arse of myself). Anyway, it was just the coolest thing. My beautiful Jewish boy went off and I didn’t think he’d come back, but he did and we kissed. I’ve never kissed anyone like that before. It was like being in Sarajevo, it was so violent. He bit my neck so hard it was bleeding. I’m not actually joking. Even today you can still see the teeth marks. I look like Dracula’s illegitimate love child.
S kissed the boy from Bloc Party. Afterwards, he said, “Can I tell you something?”
“No,” she said. “I know what you’re going to say!”
“No you ddon’t, how can you?”
“I just do. Say it anyway if you like!”
“Okay,” he said. “Did you know you’re the first ethnic girl I’ve ever kissed?”
“I knew you were going to say that!”
I managed to lose all my friends and the beautiful boy came with me to find them, but I figured they’d left. The boy wanted to come back with me but I didn’t want to be eaten alive so I did a runner. That kinda sums me up though. I meet a very very cute boy, kiss him, do pretty dirty things with him on the dance floor (how teenage), let him BITE ME and then the moment I think he likes me, I do a runner.
I found the others in a noodle bar halfway down Camden High Street and we started walking back to halls. S was so pissed, and told me that she didn’t want me to stay round hers, which was a bit annoying as I’d planned to stay and really couldn’t face the long trek to south London. We got back and I went to get my stuff from S’s room. When I came downstairs, me and S started kissing again, and that delayed me for a good half hour or so. I think S is pretty much like me: she gets drunk and kisses people. I like kissing S, especially as she doesn’t bite me. She was ridiculously drunk, which is always quite funny. In the end, SH and I left and walked down to Oxford Street. She very kindly offered to let me stay at hers, but by this point I just wanted to go home. SH is convinced that I’m selling myself short (she may well be right) and told me so. She’s so adorable.
I had a date on Saturday night with C, the short Irish guy. I managed to be so disorganised that I didn’t have time to have a shower. My housemate and I came to the realisation that there was no way I was going to be able to disguise the vampire marks on my neck, even wearing a rollneck top. I was fashionably late, though luckily C was even more late. We met in Brixton, as he had a surprise planned for me. We ended up going to the theatre, which was really cool, as it was nothing like the theatre. Here’s a link to the company’s website:
http://www.shunt.co.uk/
The audience gets split up, so I wasn’t with C for most of the performance. My group was all girls, and we all bonded, as girls do. There was the most beautiful girl there, and we kept looking at each other in a kind of lustful-but-I’m-on-a-date-with-someone-else kind of way. Afterwards, C and I had a drink with two of the girls from my group, and I took one of the girls email address. C offered to cook me dinner, so we went back to his. His housemate has loads of really nice red wine, so we (I lie, it was mainly me) drank lots of it. I didn’t’ plan to stay the night, but I did, in the end, as I was a bit too drunk and we’d got talking about emotional kind of stuff. I quite like sleeping at his house anyway, as he has the best pillows in the world (John Lewis, £40, if anyone feels like being generous to an impoverished lamb!), and I was exausted anyway, having only had 4 hours sleep the night before.
Last night, I went out to this free night being held near Warren Street. I'd been texting R, someone I knew from uni, since Friday when I'd seen him for the first time in ages. We arranged to meet in Covent Garden, and went for some drinks. It was very strange- in a good way. He seemed quite spangled, having been in the pub all day, so when he kissed me, I didn't think anything would come of it. Not that anything really did come of it- if that makes sense. We went over to Warren Street (though we didn't make particularly good time, as we kept stopping to grope each other), and met the friends I'd arranged to meet. Obviously I was no lady, and we went back to mine (after a blow job on the tube, which I THINK no one saw...). I really let lust get the better of me- but I'm glad I did. I know that he would shag literally anything, but I really enjoyed myself, and even if I knew that all the things he was saying (eg. "I really like you", "You're really beautiful") were a crock of shit, it was nice to hear them.
This morning we woke up and had some excellent sex, as I'd told work I'd be in later. He left about midday (he said he'd call- we'll see) and I left a little later as I had to go to physiotherapy. My friend at work asked me how I felt about all the people I've slept with over the last week, and to be honest, I don't really know. Obviously, with G it's easy, as we know each other really well, and I know for sure that he's fairly useless. I did go out with him for a year, after all. C is more tricky, as I think he likes me more than I like him. And R, well, who knows. I'm pretty sure I just got played (not that I mind!), but you never know.
The same friend and I just had a really unintentioanlly loud conversation about oral sex in the smoking room, which I'm pretty sure the whole corridor heard. She told me the worst chat up line she'd ever had was: "Would you like to go to the bathroom with me?" Out of context it sounds so wrong; in context it still sounds pretty terrible.
Right now I'm in my old university library, which is a very odd experience. I had a suitably frustrating time trying to find any of the books I was looking for, and have only managed to find one. Better than none I suppose though. Now all I need to do is read it!!
At S’s, we attempted to drink the wine in the bar but it was so empty and soulless that we couldn’t face it, so we went upstairs. In the end, we sat in the common room, where a bunch of first years were playing computer games (on a Friday night!!). Our other friend SH was there, and she very kindly went to find us a corkscrew, as we hadn’t really thought of that- though she tried to convince us she’d taken the cork out with her teeth. I’m pretty gullible and so nearly believed her. In the end we managed to convince another girl to come out with us, and we headed to Camden.
We took the bus as I’m a cheapo and don’t live buying tickets for things when I could just get on a bendy bus and not pay. There were some fucking morons on the bus- these boys aged about 18 or so, who thought they were amazing. They were really geeky and probably liked wanky guitar music and games like warhammer. They laughed a bit like this: “snarf, snarf”
We went to the Wetherspoons I always end up going to when I go to Camden, and then on to the Barfly. At first glances, I couldn’t see any pretty indie boys, just lots of really pretentious boys with asymmetrical fringes. S made me go up to a boy at the bar and find out his name, as we suspected he was the drummer in Bloc Party (it was him, but I made a bit of a fool of myself). I wasn’t really that into the whole thing to begin with, but gradually I started enjoying myself a bit more. I had an argument with a stupid Austrian boy, who said something to his friend (in German) along the lines of “why are you talking to this stupid girl?” His friend told him that I was really nice and spoke good German, but he carried on being an arsehole so I called him a war criminal and a fascist (which, to be fair, is a fairly good description of many Austrian politicians, so I thought it would do for him). I pointed out a boy that I like to S, who went up to him and did the whole “my mate fancies you” thing. He was very cute. I don’t remember his name and S is convinced he was Jewish because of his hair (though she thinks everyone is Jewish, she has a bit of fetish for it). He came over and we chatted while listening to the band. Then the Bloc Party boy got up on stage and started dj’ing, which was so cool. He played a mix of Banquet and the Pussycat Dolls “Don’cha” (which I find a hilarious song after me, K and T once practiced pole dancing too in an attempt to woo the guy in my office- needless to say, I never actually showed him my pole dancing skills as I didn’t have THAT much of a desire to make an arse of myself). Anyway, it was just the coolest thing. My beautiful Jewish boy went off and I didn’t think he’d come back, but he did and we kissed. I’ve never kissed anyone like that before. It was like being in Sarajevo, it was so violent. He bit my neck so hard it was bleeding. I’m not actually joking. Even today you can still see the teeth marks. I look like Dracula’s illegitimate love child.
S kissed the boy from Bloc Party. Afterwards, he said, “Can I tell you something?”
“No,” she said. “I know what you’re going to say!”
“No you ddon’t, how can you?”
“I just do. Say it anyway if you like!”
“Okay,” he said. “Did you know you’re the first ethnic girl I’ve ever kissed?”
“I knew you were going to say that!”
I managed to lose all my friends and the beautiful boy came with me to find them, but I figured they’d left. The boy wanted to come back with me but I didn’t want to be eaten alive so I did a runner. That kinda sums me up though. I meet a very very cute boy, kiss him, do pretty dirty things with him on the dance floor (how teenage), let him BITE ME and then the moment I think he likes me, I do a runner.
I found the others in a noodle bar halfway down Camden High Street and we started walking back to halls. S was so pissed, and told me that she didn’t want me to stay round hers, which was a bit annoying as I’d planned to stay and really couldn’t face the long trek to south London. We got back and I went to get my stuff from S’s room. When I came downstairs, me and S started kissing again, and that delayed me for a good half hour or so. I think S is pretty much like me: she gets drunk and kisses people. I like kissing S, especially as she doesn’t bite me. She was ridiculously drunk, which is always quite funny. In the end, SH and I left and walked down to Oxford Street. She very kindly offered to let me stay at hers, but by this point I just wanted to go home. SH is convinced that I’m selling myself short (she may well be right) and told me so. She’s so adorable.
I had a date on Saturday night with C, the short Irish guy. I managed to be so disorganised that I didn’t have time to have a shower. My housemate and I came to the realisation that there was no way I was going to be able to disguise the vampire marks on my neck, even wearing a rollneck top. I was fashionably late, though luckily C was even more late. We met in Brixton, as he had a surprise planned for me. We ended up going to the theatre, which was really cool, as it was nothing like the theatre. Here’s a link to the company’s website:
http://www.shunt.co.uk/
The audience gets split up, so I wasn’t with C for most of the performance. My group was all girls, and we all bonded, as girls do. There was the most beautiful girl there, and we kept looking at each other in a kind of lustful-but-I’m-on-a-date-with-someone-else kind of way. Afterwards, C and I had a drink with two of the girls from my group, and I took one of the girls email address. C offered to cook me dinner, so we went back to his. His housemate has loads of really nice red wine, so we (I lie, it was mainly me) drank lots of it. I didn’t’ plan to stay the night, but I did, in the end, as I was a bit too drunk and we’d got talking about emotional kind of stuff. I quite like sleeping at his house anyway, as he has the best pillows in the world (John Lewis, £40, if anyone feels like being generous to an impoverished lamb!), and I was exausted anyway, having only had 4 hours sleep the night before.
Last night, I went out to this free night being held near Warren Street. I'd been texting R, someone I knew from uni, since Friday when I'd seen him for the first time in ages. We arranged to meet in Covent Garden, and went for some drinks. It was very strange- in a good way. He seemed quite spangled, having been in the pub all day, so when he kissed me, I didn't think anything would come of it. Not that anything really did come of it- if that makes sense. We went over to Warren Street (though we didn't make particularly good time, as we kept stopping to grope each other), and met the friends I'd arranged to meet. Obviously I was no lady, and we went back to mine (after a blow job on the tube, which I THINK no one saw...). I really let lust get the better of me- but I'm glad I did. I know that he would shag literally anything, but I really enjoyed myself, and even if I knew that all the things he was saying (eg. "I really like you", "You're really beautiful") were a crock of shit, it was nice to hear them.
This morning we woke up and had some excellent sex, as I'd told work I'd be in later. He left about midday (he said he'd call- we'll see) and I left a little later as I had to go to physiotherapy. My friend at work asked me how I felt about all the people I've slept with over the last week, and to be honest, I don't really know. Obviously, with G it's easy, as we know each other really well, and I know for sure that he's fairly useless. I did go out with him for a year, after all. C is more tricky, as I think he likes me more than I like him. And R, well, who knows. I'm pretty sure I just got played (not that I mind!), but you never know.
The same friend and I just had a really unintentioanlly loud conversation about oral sex in the smoking room, which I'm pretty sure the whole corridor heard. She told me the worst chat up line she'd ever had was: "Would you like to go to the bathroom with me?" Out of context it sounds so wrong; in context it still sounds pretty terrible.
Right now I'm in my old university library, which is a very odd experience. I had a suitably frustrating time trying to find any of the books I was looking for, and have only managed to find one. Better than none I suppose though. Now all I need to do is read it!!
Friday, February 03, 2006
This is the kind of stuff I have to deal with every day!!
This is an example of the types of letters I receive at work:
To whom it may concern,
Why do you not say thick Muslim sausages, or thick English, or thick black, or any other racist remarks, but it’s ok to do so about the Irish.
How quality is that? Now I’m off down the pub.
To whom it may concern,
Why do you not say thick Muslim sausages, or thick English, or thick black, or any other racist remarks, but it’s ok to do so about the Irish.
How quality is that? Now I’m off down the pub.
Monkey see monkey do
As I was leaving work, I got a message from someone questioning why I write my blog, and pointing out that anyone reading it will think I’m at best, quite flakey, and at worst, a complete fuck up, and that I’d better hope to hell that no one I fancy ever reads it. Apparently it’s not what I do, it’s that I write it all for the world to read.
My initial reaction was “fuck off”.
Then I thought, “Blimey, life must be so much more complicated if you have some semblance of dignity!”
Then I thought, “hmmm, hang on a sec…. Complete strangers thinking I’m a weirdo does not bode well.”
The more I thought about it, the clearer it seemed that I do actually take a perverse pleasure out of putting myself in this sort of situation. The only explanation I could think of was that I was quite an angry person. To be honest, anyone could have told me that. I was walking to Elephant wearing a hoodie, for god’s sake, listening to some angry music and thinking about kicking things (the ankle situation means I can’t actually do anything about it- though I did accidentally kick G in the head when I was fixing my lampshade!!). Because I was in such a foul mood, I managed to convince myself that I had anger management issues, when in reality, I’d say I’m a pretty normal person. I reasoned that “fuck off” was not the normal response to every situation, and I shouldn’t be so defensive. Added to that, I have really fucked up my ankle from kicking a door, which is probably not a good sign. I also managed to convince myself that I didn’t have any friends and that no one liked me.
However, later on I completely changed my mind. I spoke to some of my friends about it and they said that I wasn’t an angry person, and that they loved me. My housemate pointed out that being annoyed at someone for what they’ve said doesn’t mean that you have anger problems. ‘Anger issues’ are when you start shouting at random strangers in the street. Fair point.
I nearly cried in ballet last night. Having been to physio that morning, and with a bandage round my ankle, I thought that I would be fine. Within about three seconds, I realised that I wasn’t. I was wearing some really skanky old shoes (they’re horrifically dirty, with holes, and the elastics are almost falling off… serves me right for doing such a rush job of it, with black thread, at that!) so my bandaged foot would fit in the shoe. Actually, I prefer those shoes as they have a full sole and so work my metatarsals more than my split sole shoes (though not as much as the hard shoes, obviously). I’m never buying split soled shoes again. Yes, they make the arch of your foot look nice (essential for my flat feet!) but your foot gets really lazy. Anyway, mine don’t fit very nicely and sometimes it feels like I have a plastic bag on my foot, rather than a shoe.
Back to what I was saying. Warming up, I did some echappées, which wasn’t very clever as I then got a shooting pain through my ankle. Even barre work was painful, tendues were a killer and pliés. In the centre, I tried to do pirouettes, but my ankle gave way and I fell off my relevé (I’m sure this makes no sense to non-dancers!!). As I landed I heard a loud CRUNCH going through my ankle, and I had to hobble off to the side. What’s more worrying is that as well as having pain in my anterior ligament, I now have it in other parts of my ankle. I’m not really all that hot on anatomy, but it feels more like a skeletal pain than a muscular one, on the top of my foot- though not on the inside, it’s more on the outer half. Anyway, it’s bloody painful and I can’t do my theraband exercises. I’ve been trying to walk lots but I think the whole thing will seize up soon and I will be a proper cripple.
I said that I nearly cried in class- not just because it fucking hurt, but because I was so miserable that I won’t be able to dance properly for ages. This has been going on for so long. I wouldn’t mind not being able to walk (I am, after all, quite a lazy person!) but if I can’t dance, I will go mad. That’s nuts, as it’s not like I’m very good. I’m just crazy about it!! I’m going to have to start taking much more care of my ankle if I ever want to get back to dancing properly, instead of hobbling around the studio.
I don’t know how I’m finding the time to write this blog today. There’s only me in the office at the moment and I’m rushing around like a Tasmanian devil, answering four different phones, using two computers and writing snippets of this blog whenever I get a second. Thank god I can type fast! I’m also talking to myself, but I do that even when there are other people in the office, though I try and do it a bit more quietly.
I think I have given up on the idea of going to watch the rugby tomorrow. I don’t really like rugby all that much. I think I might try and do something cultural tomorrow during the day, like go to an art gallery or something. Having said that, I’m going to the theatre in the evening, so I shouldn’t expose myself to too much culture- my head might explode!
My initial reaction was “fuck off”.
Then I thought, “Blimey, life must be so much more complicated if you have some semblance of dignity!”
Then I thought, “hmmm, hang on a sec…. Complete strangers thinking I’m a weirdo does not bode well.”
The more I thought about it, the clearer it seemed that I do actually take a perverse pleasure out of putting myself in this sort of situation. The only explanation I could think of was that I was quite an angry person. To be honest, anyone could have told me that. I was walking to Elephant wearing a hoodie, for god’s sake, listening to some angry music and thinking about kicking things (the ankle situation means I can’t actually do anything about it- though I did accidentally kick G in the head when I was fixing my lampshade!!). Because I was in such a foul mood, I managed to convince myself that I had anger management issues, when in reality, I’d say I’m a pretty normal person. I reasoned that “fuck off” was not the normal response to every situation, and I shouldn’t be so defensive. Added to that, I have really fucked up my ankle from kicking a door, which is probably not a good sign. I also managed to convince myself that I didn’t have any friends and that no one liked me.
However, later on I completely changed my mind. I spoke to some of my friends about it and they said that I wasn’t an angry person, and that they loved me. My housemate pointed out that being annoyed at someone for what they’ve said doesn’t mean that you have anger problems. ‘Anger issues’ are when you start shouting at random strangers in the street. Fair point.
I nearly cried in ballet last night. Having been to physio that morning, and with a bandage round my ankle, I thought that I would be fine. Within about three seconds, I realised that I wasn’t. I was wearing some really skanky old shoes (they’re horrifically dirty, with holes, and the elastics are almost falling off… serves me right for doing such a rush job of it, with black thread, at that!) so my bandaged foot would fit in the shoe. Actually, I prefer those shoes as they have a full sole and so work my metatarsals more than my split sole shoes (though not as much as the hard shoes, obviously). I’m never buying split soled shoes again. Yes, they make the arch of your foot look nice (essential for my flat feet!) but your foot gets really lazy. Anyway, mine don’t fit very nicely and sometimes it feels like I have a plastic bag on my foot, rather than a shoe.
Back to what I was saying. Warming up, I did some echappées, which wasn’t very clever as I then got a shooting pain through my ankle. Even barre work was painful, tendues were a killer and pliés. In the centre, I tried to do pirouettes, but my ankle gave way and I fell off my relevé (I’m sure this makes no sense to non-dancers!!). As I landed I heard a loud CRUNCH going through my ankle, and I had to hobble off to the side. What’s more worrying is that as well as having pain in my anterior ligament, I now have it in other parts of my ankle. I’m not really all that hot on anatomy, but it feels more like a skeletal pain than a muscular one, on the top of my foot- though not on the inside, it’s more on the outer half. Anyway, it’s bloody painful and I can’t do my theraband exercises. I’ve been trying to walk lots but I think the whole thing will seize up soon and I will be a proper cripple.
I said that I nearly cried in class- not just because it fucking hurt, but because I was so miserable that I won’t be able to dance properly for ages. This has been going on for so long. I wouldn’t mind not being able to walk (I am, after all, quite a lazy person!) but if I can’t dance, I will go mad. That’s nuts, as it’s not like I’m very good. I’m just crazy about it!! I’m going to have to start taking much more care of my ankle if I ever want to get back to dancing properly, instead of hobbling around the studio.
I don’t know how I’m finding the time to write this blog today. There’s only me in the office at the moment and I’m rushing around like a Tasmanian devil, answering four different phones, using two computers and writing snippets of this blog whenever I get a second. Thank god I can type fast! I’m also talking to myself, but I do that even when there are other people in the office, though I try and do it a bit more quietly.
I think I have given up on the idea of going to watch the rugby tomorrow. I don’t really like rugby all that much. I think I might try and do something cultural tomorrow during the day, like go to an art gallery or something. Having said that, I’m going to the theatre in the evening, so I shouldn’t expose myself to too much culture- my head might explode!
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Sex with an Ex
Regular readers will have noticed that my mood has been quite up and down lately. On Monday I cried for about two hours, though not for any reason that I can really pinpoint- other than still being a bit fucked up about the end of my last relationship.
So anyway, on Tuesday, I cheered myself up the way I know best: get really, really steaming drunk and have sex. As I mentioned in my last post, G was coming to stay. We went out for nearly a year, back in 2002. We haven’t really kept in touch, but then when I was out with a friend in Camden a few months or two ago, we decided to call him. Since then we’ve been texting each other quite a lot, but we hadn’t really had a chance to meet up as he works as an air steward (or ‘cabin crew’, as they’re now apparently known as).
I met G after work and we walked down to the Elephant to get the train. It was quite funny, as I’d been a bit worried that we might run out of things to say to each other, but we didn’t. In fact we were chattering away pretty much non-stop. Back at the Mansions, I cracked open the Zubrowka. Recently I’ve been seriously contemplating whether I might in fact have a drinking problem. I knocked back a couple of drinks (G drank a lot slower). He charmed my housemate, and then we went to drink in my room so we could smoke. It was lots of fun, just chatting away and drinking. There were so many things to talk about- there’s no point me writing any of it here as only the people from back home would know what on earth I was talking about.
G told me about ‘The Game’ (some sort of pulling technique that is apparently almost completely foolproof). I’d read a little about it, though not the actual book. G, of course, has read it. Apparently, the aim is to strike up a conversation- and then turn it round to sex. So, for example, you start talking to a girl and you ask her something like whether she thinks having sex with your cousin is right. She’ll say no. Then you say, kinda jokingly, “You’re not very adventurous!” She should then say something like, “yes I am, this one time….” blah blah blah. Personally I can’t see it working, but then again I always had a higher opinion of my intelligence than is really justified. I’m quite a sucker really, so no doubt in the real world (rather than in my opinionated state of mind while sat at my desk and not really facing any reality).
After quite a few vodkas, we went to get some food at the Mexican restaurant round the corner from mine. I’d heard from quite a few people that it was really good, but I’d never been. It’s known either as “the Mexican place under the railway bridge”, or “don’t siesta, come fiesta”, which is the big sign they have hanging up. It’s actually called Bandidos or something, but I will continue to call it “don’t siesta”. The food there was pretty good, and the cocktails are lovely. For the two of us, with drinks, was about £20, which is reasonable, even though it’s not very central or anything. In contrast, the Spanish place I went to with my mum was £25, without drinks. I reckon Don’t Siesta would be really fun with a big group of people, even though they were playing really dodgy Hindi-pop.
We went back to mine to drink more Zubrowka. We went through some of my old photo albums, and laughed at the pictures of G looking really mashed, and of loads of random nights out and so on.
At about 1 am, we were lying on my bed, smoking yet more cigarettes, and G leant in to kiss me.
“Woah!” I said, needing to clarify something. “I hope you don’t think that your whole ‘game’ thing is working on me!”
“No, no, it’s not that.”
“Good… so why are you kissing me?”
“I’ve not kissed you yet, stupid.”
“Yes, I know. But I just wanted to clarify that it’s not ‘the game’.”
“It’s not. It’s just something we both want to do.”
It was very nice to kiss him, very soft and just so more-ish. Not to mention nostalgic. He took off his tshirt and I was pleased to see that he’s no longer as skinny as he used to be.
I’m not very good at writing about sex. I’d clearly never be able to write pornography. Suffice to say, the sex was excellent. I’d not had sex in that bed before (and I’ve lived there for nearly four months!) but my housemate, who used to have that room, told me that the bed is really squeaky. And sure enough, when I was on top, it started squeaking away. I was worried that it might wake up the house (though my housemate once told me that if she heard the bed making that noise, she’d know what was going on and would just be pleased I was getting some action- pretty considerate, really), and I was also worried I would start laughing. A change of position stopped the squeaking, anyway, so problem solved. The other amusing thing that happened was that I realised that we'd been lying on my mobile, and it had rung girl S. It said 3 mins on the display, and I was hoping that that meant voicemail, and she hadn't just been listening to us. Either way, I know that some pretty hardcore stuff had been said in that three minutes, so I was hoping she didn't listen to the message. I rang her the next day and it turns out she hadn't (or didn't admit to it anyway). I apologised profusely. I'm sure (actually, I know for a fact) that people have heard me shagging before, but I've never accidentally called anyone before. I'm normally so good at locking the key pad. Clearly I got a bit too carried away!!
We had sex a few times in pretty rapid succession, and then decided we should probably get some sleep, it being quite late at this point.
I fell asleep really quickly, but poor G couldn’t get to sleep as he’s still jet lagged, and had a splitting headache. He asked me whether I had any paracetamol, but because I was asleep, I said no. I have a very long history of talking in my sleep, and can understand enough to always say no if someone is asking me for something. Pretty bad, really, as I had a box of paracetamol at the end of the bed. I’d forgotten to switch my alarm clock off, so at 7 am there was an almighty racket. I didn’t hear it, but I’m very good at sleeping through my alarm clock, hence why I have three alarm clocks (thankfully, only one of them went off- however, it’s a digital one, and goes off six times at ten minute intervals). G tried to wake me up to get me to switch if off, but I tried to switch the wrong one off- one of the ones I hadn’t set. He wasn’t particularly impressed with me. Once all the alarms were off, we went back to sleep, hugging each other, with him stroking my hair.
In the morning- well, midday- I was woken up by one of my housemates and her friend. I stumbled out of the room and they laughed at me. I called work to tell them I was sorry for not coming in, but that it really wasn’t an option, and then in a vague attempt to make myself feel like a human being, I brushed my teeth and had a wash. My housemate was teaching her friend a dance (they’re both dancers), so I watched them for a while. Then I went back to bed, and had more really hot sex.
We decided to get some food as we were both feeling pretty rough, though getting out of bed was difficult as G wouldn’t stop grabbing me and touching me (I wasn’t really complaining). Eventually though, we did get up and have some lunch, and then G left to go and meet a friend. I went home to get my hat (essential item of clothing when you’re out and about, I’ve found, especially as my hat has a little visor that I can pull down over my eyes) and sunglasses. I was feeling quite rough and needed all the protection from the world that I could get. I walked up to Brixton and sorted out some bits and bobs- paid the gas bill, went to Tesco. I felt really rough in Tesco’s and had to have a bit of a sit down. Damn hangover. Back home, my room was freezing as I was trying to air it (it stank of cigarettes, not very pleasant), and I had a five-minute power nap under my duvet. I woke up when my housemate called to tell me to look out of the window. There was a tramp going through our bins, and we shouted at him to stop. He claimed he was just recycling, but my housemate got her credit card cloned the other day, so we’re understandably a little sceptical about his claims of environmentalism!
I was still feeling rough as a dog, so I made a big vegetable stew. I could almost feel the vitamins and minerals fixing me! I watched a really weird programme about breast-feeding. There was a woman who breast-fed her daughter until she was nearly eight. That is so fucked up. I can understand doing it for a year or so, but by then babies should be getting some solid food too. When I have kids, the cut off point is going to be when they grow teeth. The only time I want my nipples bitten is when I say so, thanks! The weirdest thing was that the woman said her husband sometimes joined in. He looked so smug about it, and said that it was “quite common in breast feeding families”. Yuk. I’d rather be a single mother than have a weirdo husband who thought he was a baby. Actually, recently I’ve been thinking quite a lot about having a baby. I think it would be quite cool (pregnancy and childbirth aside- I think I should just adopt). I could carry it around in a sling and get people to coo over how cute it was. That’s quite a bizarre daydream to have, isn’t it- “I would like to be a single mother”. I’m a bit odd.
I texted G, telling him that I’d had fun etc. We’d left it with just a kiss and a goodbye, and that’s cool with me. Mainly. There’s a part of me, though, that wants to be loved and have someone to stroke my hair when I’m falling asleep, who I can have hot sex with. I don’t know. I always think that I would like to have someone like that, but the moment someone likes me, I run a mile. Not that there are people queuing round the block to get a bit of me. But theoretically, I would run away. That’s so counter productive. Anyway, G texted me back fairly sharpish, saying that he’d had fun too and hoped to see me soon and so on, so that’s quite… nice? I don’t know, what is it? Ah, it’s good. Of course it is.
I was meant to up early this morning, but I couldn’t get to sleep all that easily. I felt like I’d been electrocuted when I woke up (of course, it took all three alarm clocks!).
I’m sure I’ve already described why I have to go to physiotherapy (the whole kicking a door and tearing a ligament). Today was my first appointment. The physiotherapist said that I had managed to tear a ligament on the inside of my ankle, which is much harder to do than on the outside, and said I must have a strong kick! She gave me some theraband exercises and I'm going back on Monday when I'll get deep tissue massage and ultrasound treatment- which sounds quite cool. She also picked up on something else: I have very flat feet and the toes on my right foot really grip into the floor, especially when I'm trying to balance (usually fairly unsuccessfully). So we're going to work on that too. On the plus side, she said I had very nice feet and that they were very flexible and strong- so it's not all bad!
That’s pretty much me up to date. Work is boring today though I mustered up a slight laugh during the press meeting. There are only two of us in the office today, which is a bit of a pain, as I can’t go for as many cigarette breaks as I would like.
Just a few minutes ago, I got a text from my ex (not G, the other one). He’s going travelling to India and Thailand in a couple of weeks and says he wants to meet up before he goes. I don’t know why. Last time I saw him he told me that I was a mess and that he didn’t want to see me until 2007. Having said that, I had just thrown him out of my house for being rude to me, and he probably wanted revenge. I’m unsure of what to do. I will ponder it over lunch.
Actually, that’s a lie. What I’ll do over lunch is read the new copy of F1 Racing. Boys are stupid. Cars are good. Nice bit of philosophy there!!
So anyway, on Tuesday, I cheered myself up the way I know best: get really, really steaming drunk and have sex. As I mentioned in my last post, G was coming to stay. We went out for nearly a year, back in 2002. We haven’t really kept in touch, but then when I was out with a friend in Camden a few months or two ago, we decided to call him. Since then we’ve been texting each other quite a lot, but we hadn’t really had a chance to meet up as he works as an air steward (or ‘cabin crew’, as they’re now apparently known as).
I met G after work and we walked down to the Elephant to get the train. It was quite funny, as I’d been a bit worried that we might run out of things to say to each other, but we didn’t. In fact we were chattering away pretty much non-stop. Back at the Mansions, I cracked open the Zubrowka. Recently I’ve been seriously contemplating whether I might in fact have a drinking problem. I knocked back a couple of drinks (G drank a lot slower). He charmed my housemate, and then we went to drink in my room so we could smoke. It was lots of fun, just chatting away and drinking. There were so many things to talk about- there’s no point me writing any of it here as only the people from back home would know what on earth I was talking about.
G told me about ‘The Game’ (some sort of pulling technique that is apparently almost completely foolproof). I’d read a little about it, though not the actual book. G, of course, has read it. Apparently, the aim is to strike up a conversation- and then turn it round to sex. So, for example, you start talking to a girl and you ask her something like whether she thinks having sex with your cousin is right. She’ll say no. Then you say, kinda jokingly, “You’re not very adventurous!” She should then say something like, “yes I am, this one time….” blah blah blah. Personally I can’t see it working, but then again I always had a higher opinion of my intelligence than is really justified. I’m quite a sucker really, so no doubt in the real world (rather than in my opinionated state of mind while sat at my desk and not really facing any reality).
After quite a few vodkas, we went to get some food at the Mexican restaurant round the corner from mine. I’d heard from quite a few people that it was really good, but I’d never been. It’s known either as “the Mexican place under the railway bridge”, or “don’t siesta, come fiesta”, which is the big sign they have hanging up. It’s actually called Bandidos or something, but I will continue to call it “don’t siesta”. The food there was pretty good, and the cocktails are lovely. For the two of us, with drinks, was about £20, which is reasonable, even though it’s not very central or anything. In contrast, the Spanish place I went to with my mum was £25, without drinks. I reckon Don’t Siesta would be really fun with a big group of people, even though they were playing really dodgy Hindi-pop.
We went back to mine to drink more Zubrowka. We went through some of my old photo albums, and laughed at the pictures of G looking really mashed, and of loads of random nights out and so on.
At about 1 am, we were lying on my bed, smoking yet more cigarettes, and G leant in to kiss me.
“Woah!” I said, needing to clarify something. “I hope you don’t think that your whole ‘game’ thing is working on me!”
“No, no, it’s not that.”
“Good… so why are you kissing me?”
“I’ve not kissed you yet, stupid.”
“Yes, I know. But I just wanted to clarify that it’s not ‘the game’.”
“It’s not. It’s just something we both want to do.”
It was very nice to kiss him, very soft and just so more-ish. Not to mention nostalgic. He took off his tshirt and I was pleased to see that he’s no longer as skinny as he used to be.
I’m not very good at writing about sex. I’d clearly never be able to write pornography. Suffice to say, the sex was excellent. I’d not had sex in that bed before (and I’ve lived there for nearly four months!) but my housemate, who used to have that room, told me that the bed is really squeaky. And sure enough, when I was on top, it started squeaking away. I was worried that it might wake up the house (though my housemate once told me that if she heard the bed making that noise, she’d know what was going on and would just be pleased I was getting some action- pretty considerate, really), and I was also worried I would start laughing. A change of position stopped the squeaking, anyway, so problem solved. The other amusing thing that happened was that I realised that we'd been lying on my mobile, and it had rung girl S. It said 3 mins on the display, and I was hoping that that meant voicemail, and she hadn't just been listening to us. Either way, I know that some pretty hardcore stuff had been said in that three minutes, so I was hoping she didn't listen to the message. I rang her the next day and it turns out she hadn't (or didn't admit to it anyway). I apologised profusely. I'm sure (actually, I know for a fact) that people have heard me shagging before, but I've never accidentally called anyone before. I'm normally so good at locking the key pad. Clearly I got a bit too carried away!!
We had sex a few times in pretty rapid succession, and then decided we should probably get some sleep, it being quite late at this point.
I fell asleep really quickly, but poor G couldn’t get to sleep as he’s still jet lagged, and had a splitting headache. He asked me whether I had any paracetamol, but because I was asleep, I said no. I have a very long history of talking in my sleep, and can understand enough to always say no if someone is asking me for something. Pretty bad, really, as I had a box of paracetamol at the end of the bed. I’d forgotten to switch my alarm clock off, so at 7 am there was an almighty racket. I didn’t hear it, but I’m very good at sleeping through my alarm clock, hence why I have three alarm clocks (thankfully, only one of them went off- however, it’s a digital one, and goes off six times at ten minute intervals). G tried to wake me up to get me to switch if off, but I tried to switch the wrong one off- one of the ones I hadn’t set. He wasn’t particularly impressed with me. Once all the alarms were off, we went back to sleep, hugging each other, with him stroking my hair.
In the morning- well, midday- I was woken up by one of my housemates and her friend. I stumbled out of the room and they laughed at me. I called work to tell them I was sorry for not coming in, but that it really wasn’t an option, and then in a vague attempt to make myself feel like a human being, I brushed my teeth and had a wash. My housemate was teaching her friend a dance (they’re both dancers), so I watched them for a while. Then I went back to bed, and had more really hot sex.
We decided to get some food as we were both feeling pretty rough, though getting out of bed was difficult as G wouldn’t stop grabbing me and touching me (I wasn’t really complaining). Eventually though, we did get up and have some lunch, and then G left to go and meet a friend. I went home to get my hat (essential item of clothing when you’re out and about, I’ve found, especially as my hat has a little visor that I can pull down over my eyes) and sunglasses. I was feeling quite rough and needed all the protection from the world that I could get. I walked up to Brixton and sorted out some bits and bobs- paid the gas bill, went to Tesco. I felt really rough in Tesco’s and had to have a bit of a sit down. Damn hangover. Back home, my room was freezing as I was trying to air it (it stank of cigarettes, not very pleasant), and I had a five-minute power nap under my duvet. I woke up when my housemate called to tell me to look out of the window. There was a tramp going through our bins, and we shouted at him to stop. He claimed he was just recycling, but my housemate got her credit card cloned the other day, so we’re understandably a little sceptical about his claims of environmentalism!
I was still feeling rough as a dog, so I made a big vegetable stew. I could almost feel the vitamins and minerals fixing me! I watched a really weird programme about breast-feeding. There was a woman who breast-fed her daughter until she was nearly eight. That is so fucked up. I can understand doing it for a year or so, but by then babies should be getting some solid food too. When I have kids, the cut off point is going to be when they grow teeth. The only time I want my nipples bitten is when I say so, thanks! The weirdest thing was that the woman said her husband sometimes joined in. He looked so smug about it, and said that it was “quite common in breast feeding families”. Yuk. I’d rather be a single mother than have a weirdo husband who thought he was a baby. Actually, recently I’ve been thinking quite a lot about having a baby. I think it would be quite cool (pregnancy and childbirth aside- I think I should just adopt). I could carry it around in a sling and get people to coo over how cute it was. That’s quite a bizarre daydream to have, isn’t it- “I would like to be a single mother”. I’m a bit odd.
I texted G, telling him that I’d had fun etc. We’d left it with just a kiss and a goodbye, and that’s cool with me. Mainly. There’s a part of me, though, that wants to be loved and have someone to stroke my hair when I’m falling asleep, who I can have hot sex with. I don’t know. I always think that I would like to have someone like that, but the moment someone likes me, I run a mile. Not that there are people queuing round the block to get a bit of me. But theoretically, I would run away. That’s so counter productive. Anyway, G texted me back fairly sharpish, saying that he’d had fun too and hoped to see me soon and so on, so that’s quite… nice? I don’t know, what is it? Ah, it’s good. Of course it is.
I was meant to up early this morning, but I couldn’t get to sleep all that easily. I felt like I’d been electrocuted when I woke up (of course, it took all three alarm clocks!).
I’m sure I’ve already described why I have to go to physiotherapy (the whole kicking a door and tearing a ligament). Today was my first appointment. The physiotherapist said that I had managed to tear a ligament on the inside of my ankle, which is much harder to do than on the outside, and said I must have a strong kick! She gave me some theraband exercises and I'm going back on Monday when I'll get deep tissue massage and ultrasound treatment- which sounds quite cool. She also picked up on something else: I have very flat feet and the toes on my right foot really grip into the floor, especially when I'm trying to balance (usually fairly unsuccessfully). So we're going to work on that too. On the plus side, she said I had very nice feet and that they were very flexible and strong- so it's not all bad!
That’s pretty much me up to date. Work is boring today though I mustered up a slight laugh during the press meeting. There are only two of us in the office today, which is a bit of a pain, as I can’t go for as many cigarette breaks as I would like.
Just a few minutes ago, I got a text from my ex (not G, the other one). He’s going travelling to India and Thailand in a couple of weeks and says he wants to meet up before he goes. I don’t know why. Last time I saw him he told me that I was a mess and that he didn’t want to see me until 2007. Having said that, I had just thrown him out of my house for being rude to me, and he probably wanted revenge. I’m unsure of what to do. I will ponder it over lunch.
Actually, that’s a lie. What I’ll do over lunch is read the new copy of F1 Racing. Boys are stupid. Cars are good. Nice bit of philosophy there!!
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Wahey, it's pay day!
I had a really rubbish evening yesterday. When I left work, I was in a foul mood and I literally stomped down the road to Elephant with my music on as loud as it could go. At the station, I noticed that I was crying. I suppose that explains why people were giving me odd looks. I managed to cheer up enough to get home in one piece, and I then sat around aimlessly in my kitchen, trying to think of things to do. I debated whether or not to have any dinner, as it would mean I wouldn’t be able to have any lunch today. In the end I decided to have a small portion for both dinner and lunch, making it thoroughly unsatisfying.
I hate thinking about my ex boyfriend. That’s why I was so upset. He just makes me really angry, and I hate the fact that he’s still around, and can find out things really easily about me. I don’t want him to know anything about me. I don’t see why he should know anything. After all, he decided that he didn’t like me (his words were “I’ve really grown to hate you… and it gets worse every day”) so I don’t see why now he should be able to find out anything. I mean, it’s not like I think he’ll even ask anyone about me. I just don’t want him to have the opportunity.
After watching some thoroughly unsatisfying television, I went to my room to waste some more time. It feels like I tidy my room every day, yet it’s always quite a mess. Probably because I accumulate so much stuff and can’t throw anything away, and because I’m always in the middle of doing a million different things at once, most of which don’t get completed and just end up being “filed” (ie. put on the floor or piled on top of my speakers). I have broken my really awful habit of keeping mugs in my room. It looked a bit too much like this guy I used to knows room. He was disgusting. He was best friends with one of my exes, and everyone used to go to his house to smoke bongs. He lived just up the road from my sixth form, which was quite a convenient location if you were in that way inclined. His room was the basement of his parents house (his dad was never there; I think he was a polar explorer or something) and because he wasn’t allowed to smoke cigarettes or spliffs in there, he used to smoke bongs. Not only did it STINK, with no natural light, but there was no carpet, the floor was covered with tobacco and other skank, there were a million cups and spoons and it was generally really gross. I was going through my diary from back then and I’d commented that there were so many cups and spoons that I was sure there was a third world country without any. My friend H said yes, the whole of Africa. Smarmy git.
Anyway, I digress.
I had a very miserable conversation on the phone, and then a satisfying cigarette out of my bedroom window.
This morning I woke up with a huge smile on my face- it’s pay day!
I’m just about to head out on the piss (on a school night- I know, I know!) with G. He’s coming up from Brighton for the evening, and we’re going to get pissed. Nice.
I hate thinking about my ex boyfriend. That’s why I was so upset. He just makes me really angry, and I hate the fact that he’s still around, and can find out things really easily about me. I don’t want him to know anything about me. I don’t see why he should know anything. After all, he decided that he didn’t like me (his words were “I’ve really grown to hate you… and it gets worse every day”) so I don’t see why now he should be able to find out anything. I mean, it’s not like I think he’ll even ask anyone about me. I just don’t want him to have the opportunity.
After watching some thoroughly unsatisfying television, I went to my room to waste some more time. It feels like I tidy my room every day, yet it’s always quite a mess. Probably because I accumulate so much stuff and can’t throw anything away, and because I’m always in the middle of doing a million different things at once, most of which don’t get completed and just end up being “filed” (ie. put on the floor or piled on top of my speakers). I have broken my really awful habit of keeping mugs in my room. It looked a bit too much like this guy I used to knows room. He was disgusting. He was best friends with one of my exes, and everyone used to go to his house to smoke bongs. He lived just up the road from my sixth form, which was quite a convenient location if you were in that way inclined. His room was the basement of his parents house (his dad was never there; I think he was a polar explorer or something) and because he wasn’t allowed to smoke cigarettes or spliffs in there, he used to smoke bongs. Not only did it STINK, with no natural light, but there was no carpet, the floor was covered with tobacco and other skank, there were a million cups and spoons and it was generally really gross. I was going through my diary from back then and I’d commented that there were so many cups and spoons that I was sure there was a third world country without any. My friend H said yes, the whole of Africa. Smarmy git.
Anyway, I digress.
I had a very miserable conversation on the phone, and then a satisfying cigarette out of my bedroom window.
This morning I woke up with a huge smile on my face- it’s pay day!
I’m just about to head out on the piss (on a school night- I know, I know!) with G. He’s coming up from Brighton for the evening, and we’re going to get pissed. Nice.
Monday, January 30, 2006
My poor liver has taken quite a kicking
Wow, what an incredibly fucked up weekend. I don't really know how I feel about any of it. I'm in a bit of a funny mood right now. Sometimes I feel great. Yesterday I was on the bus, sitting right at the front, and the sun was shining on my face. I hadn't bothered putting my contact lenses in and I had my hat pulled down almost over my eyes (I figured it didn't really make much difference, I'm so blind without my contacts). I'd caught a glimpse of myself reflected off a bus, and I looked like a bit of a thug, to be honest, which I thought was pretty cool. Mainly because I never normally look like a thug, I generally look like quite a respectable human being. Or do I? Apparently I look like Katherine Hepburn. There's a programme on the Internet where you can match your face to a database of celebrities, and that's who mine came out with. Her and Ava Gardner, which I suppose is pretty cool, as they're both beautiful.
Anyway, to get back to the point. I finally got my mp3 player back in the most roundabout way ever. I'd left it at T's, and then what seems to have happened is he took it to the pub, left it there but somehow told his old boss that it was mine; he then brought it to my office but I wasn't there so he gave it to the press office. T hasn't been returning my calls or texts, perhaps because I wouldn't kiss him? I don't know. Part of my new policy is that I don't stress so much about people who don't call (I'm sure everyone reading this is sick of me banging on about that!). I only have a little bit of obsessing to do today, but more of that later.
The funny thing is, my weird mood has passed. Clearly writing a blog is therapeutic!
I trekked over to the Legend's house (hereafter known as the Caves, for reasons I can't be bothered to go into, though be assured that it's stroke of genius on my behalf). It took me ages as I have no money and had to make sure I took bendy buses the whole way. I didn't like those bendy buses when they were first introduced, but now I think they're fucking excellent as you don't have to pay. I am the ultimate skank. I had to walk part of the way- and the mp3 player had run out battery. I ask you. T steals it (ish), leaves it in a pub, and runs out the batteries! It started snowing, which was quite pretty. Bloody cold though, especially as I can't wear my big coat until I get it dry cleaned. At the Caves the boys were watching 'Peep Show' and drinking some abysmal wine. S (new year boy) wasn't there, so it was just me, Legend and Wolf. We set off for the union, hoping to get in for cheap (which we managed to miss, thanks to getting lost and walking down a dead end- thanks Wolf!!). We got ourselves some beers and a seat. The boys were discussing an exhibition they'd been to at the Imperial War Museum, 'Women at War'. I thought that it sounded perfect, as it combines their two favourite things. They told me I was completely wrong.
"That's not war! They were knitting socks and turning yellow in munitions factories. They weren't shooting anyone or killing people. What a con."
I sighed and blamed only myself for consensually going for a night out with a pair of misogynists.
"And anyway," one of them continued (it really doesn't matter which one, in this aspect they are indistinguishable), "the worst thing about the Second World War was that women thought they deserved rights after that. If the Germans had won, then fair enough, we might have all been a bit subjugated, but at least women would still be officially inferior."
"What about me?" I asked, rising to the bait, as always. "Are you saying that I'm inferior to you fat bastards because I'm female?"
"Well, yeah," they said, "but you don't really count. You're not really a girlie girl, are you? You're more like a man. You're like us."
As I was contemplating whether that was the worst compliment I had ever received, Wolf piped up with the following choice comment.
"You're like us. With great tits," he said, trying to peer down my top. "I've always thought, I'd love to make a latex model of your tits, and put it on my bedroom wall at face level."
The mental image of Wolf wanking with his face buried in a latex model of my breasts is just too appalling.
I spotted D, a guy I've slept with a couple of times working behind the bar, but I was too chicken to say anything to him. Just like on Thursday. No doubt he thinks I am the biggest loser. After a little while I decided to stop being such a weirdo and say hello to him. He seemed pleased to see me. I think I'm starting to fancy him. This is exactly what I didn't want to happen. He is a really nice guy, very funny, clever etc. But I don't want to fancy anyone. Particularly not someone who I'm almost 100 % sure doesn't fancy me. We had a little chat. He asked me why I hadn't replied to his text message, and I asked him why he hadn't sent one. Apparently he had replied to me, but I never received it. We arranged that from now on we would call each other. I don't know how things stand. I tried calling him earlier to say hello and apologise for being a hideous drunk (more details of that below) but it went to voicemail. I have ruined any chance of it being okay anyway...
This is what I did: I kissed his housemate. Who is also his best friend. Who is seeing someone.
What a real idiot. We were chatting- I've known him for years. We were trying to think up ways of cheering up some of our friends, who'd just been dumped. He asked me to come with him, and we went out of the pub, just inside the entrance of the building.
"I need to say something to you," he said. "I've kind of told this girl that I like her, and we're seeing each other. But I'm so tempted to kiss you. And if I do, I'll feel bad that I've lead you both on."
Me being me, I'd had quite a lot to drink, and I said something along the lines of, "Look, I know you don't fancy me. If you don't mind cheating on your girlfriend then do what you like. I'm not going to feel bad, or lied to or anything. It's not my problem."
"So if I kiss you, you won't hate me?"
"We're always friends, no matter what."
So we kissed.
Afterwards, he asked if I was okay.
I said, "I'm cool. I'm not sorry, if that's what you mean, and I won't say I am."
"Hang on a second..." he said. "Who's that man standing behind you, glaring at me?"
I turned round. Sure enough, there was Wolf, looking like a surly bouncer.
"Oh, that's my friend," I said, in one of the lamest explanations ever.
"Your boyfriend?"
"Hell no!" I protested.
"So why does he look like a jealous husband then?"
I appeased Wolf by going for a wander with him. He had a huge go at me, telling me I should have more self-respect. I tried telling him that I knew this guy and he wasn't just some stranger, but he wouldn't believe me. Wolf hates every man I've ever been out with, as a matter of principle. He says that I've been out with a bunch of weirdos. When I was with my ex he asked me when I would start liking 'real men'. I don't think he minded G, although he was perpetually confused as to why I would find such skinny man attractive. Wolf then started lecturing me about sleeping with people too easily, and said that that was why these men had no respect for me. I have pointed out to him many a time that he has slept with just as many people as me (it's not a huge number, by any means), but he said it's not the same for girls. He went on at me for so long that I was eventually nearly in tears and he had to buy me a drink.
Girl S had said that she would come along, but she didn't. I tried calling her but her phone is quite temperamental (or that's the excuse she uses anyway). However, another girl I kind of know came along, and Wolf started hitting on her. She didn't seem very pleased. In fact, when he said, "Can I put my arm around you?" she replied with, "I'm going to go for a walk." Legend had already decided that she was a Vanessa Feltz look-alike, which I thought was a bit mean.
Legend and his girlfriend W had a row (like every time they go drinking) and went home, leaving me alone with Wolf. We decided to drink some shots and I was talked into drinking Aftershock. Aftershock is possibly my least favourite drink in the whole world, and is almost guaranteed to make me vomit. Sure enough, I was sick. We then went around stealing other people's drinks, which was probably not the most mature thing to do. Still, we didn't get caught, so nae problem.
By this point, I was half blind. I found myself face to face with my old manager. We used to get on really really well, but then we went out one time and he's not spoken to me since (I thought we were just going out to the pub as a group, but he'd obviously thought that it was just going to be me and him, so he wasn't best pleased to see my ex (who wasn't at that point my ex) with me. Especially as my ex was in the worst mood ever). I tried to have a bit of a chat but he was quite cold towards me and told me he hadn't forgiven me for that night. I decided to give up, and had a chat to his friend, who was decidedly friendlier.
Wolf and I decided to leave. I said goodbye to D (might as well try and salvage what I can). On the way out, we saw loads of people we were in halls with, so we had a little chat with them. About a hundred metres from the pub there was a fight going on. I noticed that there was a guy lying on the floor, passed out, with blood pouring from his head. As I tend to do when I'm drunk, I waded right in there. His mates were trying to drag him to his feet, so I made them put him down. Then I got them to give me their jackets (he was very cold, and only wearing a t-shirt) and call an ambulance, while I put him in the recovery position. They were all milling about, so I got them to give him a bit of space and talk to him, to try and get him to wake up. Sometimes I think that I should be a doctor. I don't actually mind blood or anything. Obviously I wouldn't want to poke around with people's internal organs, but blood is okay. Maybe I should just be a paramedic? It would solve my current work related issues.
We finally got back to the Caves, woke up boy S with our drunken shouting, and ate some noodles. Legend had gone to W's, so Wolf went to sleep in his room, and I slept on the sofa.
In the morning, I was woken up by S brewing some coffee, which was very much appreciated. I felt a little bit awkward as I was just in my underwear (I hadn't been pissed enough to forget that I hate sleeping in my clothes), but then I thought that that was a bit silly as we'd both seen each other naked. It was nice to hang out with S for a bit. We were both horrifically hung over, so we drank lots of coffee and smoked lots of cigarettes. Then I read Legend's copy of 'Arena' (which mentioned my company!!) and S satisfied his craving for Solitaire on the computer. He told me that sometimes he even dreams of Solitaire. I reckon that's a real sign of addiction.
I tried to wake Wolf up but he looked like death so I let him sleep a bit more. I didn't want to spend too much time near him as he absolutely stinks when he's asleep. He finally got up, and Legend returned from W's. The boys spent an hour or two looking at porn on the Internet until I kicked up a fuss and demanded that we go out. We wandered down to Soho, and went to the pub for a pub lunch. Legend announced that he felt happier than he had in a long time.
Wolf told the following joke:
A nose goes into a pub and orders a pint. The barman says, "I'm not serving you! You're off your face!!"
Walking back from Soho, we popped into another pub near where we used to live. I asked the boys what they wanted to do with their lives.
Wolf declared, "All I want in life is a bird, a car, an alright house, and the chance to go fishing as much as I like."
I pointed out that I meant career wise.
"A business, blatantly," he said. "Something not too challenging. I don't want to work in the public sector or anything though. You know, I don't actually care about people. I love my friends and my family, but the average man on the street... I don't give a toss about him."
He went on to try and justify why he liked war so much. "Basically, you go to someone else's country and you plunder and pillage all their natural resources. If you want to have a car and electricity and stuff, you have to have oil and gas, and sometimes to get that, you've got to kill some people. At least I'm honest! I want a car! Let's bomb Iran!"
We went back to the Caves and drank some beer, while partaking in some of our favourite pastimes- slagging off exes and watching 'Peep Show'. In the evening we went to have a curry on Drummond Street. There's a great restaurant called Zamzama. Wolf and Legend have been there about fifty times between them, and I've been once, but S hadn't been before. All the boys had vast quantities of meat, and I had to keep reminding Wolf not to use the same spoon for his meat and for the rice we were sharing. The food was a lot better than the last time I had been.
The last time we went to Zamzama, we had a big discussion about the afterlife. Wolf thinks that we are all really miserable as we think that you just die. He likes to think that there is something afterwards, as he says that if this is all there is, then he's pissed off. The same argument started up again. In the end, andy said that when we all died, he would come and find us to say "Ha!! Told you so!" When asked about what he thought heaven would look like, he said that he thought it would be like Fabric but with a carp lake in the middle of the dance floor.
The conversation moved on to science.
"I don't think science is really all that great," said Legend, who plans to become a doctor. "If it was, then surely they would have invented a device that fits up your arse with a pencil sharpener and a bottle opener."
"Yeah!" added Wolf. "And maybe a strobe light so if you're in a club, you can show your appreciation."
Legend started warming to the subject. "It could have different settings. You could make it so that you could do spaghetti shit. And you could have a setting that made it into a vagina, so if I was really desperate, I would be able to shag Wolf."
After the meal, we went to meet Legend's friends from back home. They were incredibly boring. We had a big debate about racism. Wolf kept saying the most stupid stuff to me:
"If discrimination is illegal, how come you're allowed to do positive discrimination?"
"You're not."
"Yes you are."
"No you're not. Discrimination is illegal."
"Then why are you allowed to do positive discrimination?"
"You're not."
And so on. Eventually we got so bored that we went back to the Caves.
Sunday was generally quite a boring day. I watched the OC, called my mum (who asked whether she could have the address of my blog!), cooked some food, read the papers, tidied my room. Legend and I were going to check out the Chinese New Year celebrations in town but by the time I got home (and watched the OC- got to get your priorities right!), I couldn't really be bothered, and he had lots of work to do anyway. I did make a stir fry though, as a concession to the seasonal festivities. Xin nian hao anyway to you all.
Not long til pay day now. And not a moment too soon, really!!
Anyway, to get back to the point. I finally got my mp3 player back in the most roundabout way ever. I'd left it at T's, and then what seems to have happened is he took it to the pub, left it there but somehow told his old boss that it was mine; he then brought it to my office but I wasn't there so he gave it to the press office. T hasn't been returning my calls or texts, perhaps because I wouldn't kiss him? I don't know. Part of my new policy is that I don't stress so much about people who don't call (I'm sure everyone reading this is sick of me banging on about that!). I only have a little bit of obsessing to do today, but more of that later.
The funny thing is, my weird mood has passed. Clearly writing a blog is therapeutic!
I trekked over to the Legend's house (hereafter known as the Caves, for reasons I can't be bothered to go into, though be assured that it's stroke of genius on my behalf). It took me ages as I have no money and had to make sure I took bendy buses the whole way. I didn't like those bendy buses when they were first introduced, but now I think they're fucking excellent as you don't have to pay. I am the ultimate skank. I had to walk part of the way- and the mp3 player had run out battery. I ask you. T steals it (ish), leaves it in a pub, and runs out the batteries! It started snowing, which was quite pretty. Bloody cold though, especially as I can't wear my big coat until I get it dry cleaned. At the Caves the boys were watching 'Peep Show' and drinking some abysmal wine. S (new year boy) wasn't there, so it was just me, Legend and Wolf. We set off for the union, hoping to get in for cheap (which we managed to miss, thanks to getting lost and walking down a dead end- thanks Wolf!!). We got ourselves some beers and a seat. The boys were discussing an exhibition they'd been to at the Imperial War Museum, 'Women at War'. I thought that it sounded perfect, as it combines their two favourite things. They told me I was completely wrong.
"That's not war! They were knitting socks and turning yellow in munitions factories. They weren't shooting anyone or killing people. What a con."
I sighed and blamed only myself for consensually going for a night out with a pair of misogynists.
"And anyway," one of them continued (it really doesn't matter which one, in this aspect they are indistinguishable), "the worst thing about the Second World War was that women thought they deserved rights after that. If the Germans had won, then fair enough, we might have all been a bit subjugated, but at least women would still be officially inferior."
"What about me?" I asked, rising to the bait, as always. "Are you saying that I'm inferior to you fat bastards because I'm female?"
"Well, yeah," they said, "but you don't really count. You're not really a girlie girl, are you? You're more like a man. You're like us."
As I was contemplating whether that was the worst compliment I had ever received, Wolf piped up with the following choice comment.
"You're like us. With great tits," he said, trying to peer down my top. "I've always thought, I'd love to make a latex model of your tits, and put it on my bedroom wall at face level."
The mental image of Wolf wanking with his face buried in a latex model of my breasts is just too appalling.
I spotted D, a guy I've slept with a couple of times working behind the bar, but I was too chicken to say anything to him. Just like on Thursday. No doubt he thinks I am the biggest loser. After a little while I decided to stop being such a weirdo and say hello to him. He seemed pleased to see me. I think I'm starting to fancy him. This is exactly what I didn't want to happen. He is a really nice guy, very funny, clever etc. But I don't want to fancy anyone. Particularly not someone who I'm almost 100 % sure doesn't fancy me. We had a little chat. He asked me why I hadn't replied to his text message, and I asked him why he hadn't sent one. Apparently he had replied to me, but I never received it. We arranged that from now on we would call each other. I don't know how things stand. I tried calling him earlier to say hello and apologise for being a hideous drunk (more details of that below) but it went to voicemail. I have ruined any chance of it being okay anyway...
This is what I did: I kissed his housemate. Who is also his best friend. Who is seeing someone.
What a real idiot. We were chatting- I've known him for years. We were trying to think up ways of cheering up some of our friends, who'd just been dumped. He asked me to come with him, and we went out of the pub, just inside the entrance of the building.
"I need to say something to you," he said. "I've kind of told this girl that I like her, and we're seeing each other. But I'm so tempted to kiss you. And if I do, I'll feel bad that I've lead you both on."
Me being me, I'd had quite a lot to drink, and I said something along the lines of, "Look, I know you don't fancy me. If you don't mind cheating on your girlfriend then do what you like. I'm not going to feel bad, or lied to or anything. It's not my problem."
"So if I kiss you, you won't hate me?"
"We're always friends, no matter what."
So we kissed.
Afterwards, he asked if I was okay.
I said, "I'm cool. I'm not sorry, if that's what you mean, and I won't say I am."
"Hang on a second..." he said. "Who's that man standing behind you, glaring at me?"
I turned round. Sure enough, there was Wolf, looking like a surly bouncer.
"Oh, that's my friend," I said, in one of the lamest explanations ever.
"Your boyfriend?"
"Hell no!" I protested.
"So why does he look like a jealous husband then?"
I appeased Wolf by going for a wander with him. He had a huge go at me, telling me I should have more self-respect. I tried telling him that I knew this guy and he wasn't just some stranger, but he wouldn't believe me. Wolf hates every man I've ever been out with, as a matter of principle. He says that I've been out with a bunch of weirdos. When I was with my ex he asked me when I would start liking 'real men'. I don't think he minded G, although he was perpetually confused as to why I would find such skinny man attractive. Wolf then started lecturing me about sleeping with people too easily, and said that that was why these men had no respect for me. I have pointed out to him many a time that he has slept with just as many people as me (it's not a huge number, by any means), but he said it's not the same for girls. He went on at me for so long that I was eventually nearly in tears and he had to buy me a drink.
Girl S had said that she would come along, but she didn't. I tried calling her but her phone is quite temperamental (or that's the excuse she uses anyway). However, another girl I kind of know came along, and Wolf started hitting on her. She didn't seem very pleased. In fact, when he said, "Can I put my arm around you?" she replied with, "I'm going to go for a walk." Legend had already decided that she was a Vanessa Feltz look-alike, which I thought was a bit mean.
Legend and his girlfriend W had a row (like every time they go drinking) and went home, leaving me alone with Wolf. We decided to drink some shots and I was talked into drinking Aftershock. Aftershock is possibly my least favourite drink in the whole world, and is almost guaranteed to make me vomit. Sure enough, I was sick. We then went around stealing other people's drinks, which was probably not the most mature thing to do. Still, we didn't get caught, so nae problem.
By this point, I was half blind. I found myself face to face with my old manager. We used to get on really really well, but then we went out one time and he's not spoken to me since (I thought we were just going out to the pub as a group, but he'd obviously thought that it was just going to be me and him, so he wasn't best pleased to see my ex (who wasn't at that point my ex) with me. Especially as my ex was in the worst mood ever). I tried to have a bit of a chat but he was quite cold towards me and told me he hadn't forgiven me for that night. I decided to give up, and had a chat to his friend, who was decidedly friendlier.
Wolf and I decided to leave. I said goodbye to D (might as well try and salvage what I can). On the way out, we saw loads of people we were in halls with, so we had a little chat with them. About a hundred metres from the pub there was a fight going on. I noticed that there was a guy lying on the floor, passed out, with blood pouring from his head. As I tend to do when I'm drunk, I waded right in there. His mates were trying to drag him to his feet, so I made them put him down. Then I got them to give me their jackets (he was very cold, and only wearing a t-shirt) and call an ambulance, while I put him in the recovery position. They were all milling about, so I got them to give him a bit of space and talk to him, to try and get him to wake up. Sometimes I think that I should be a doctor. I don't actually mind blood or anything. Obviously I wouldn't want to poke around with people's internal organs, but blood is okay. Maybe I should just be a paramedic? It would solve my current work related issues.
We finally got back to the Caves, woke up boy S with our drunken shouting, and ate some noodles. Legend had gone to W's, so Wolf went to sleep in his room, and I slept on the sofa.
In the morning, I was woken up by S brewing some coffee, which was very much appreciated. I felt a little bit awkward as I was just in my underwear (I hadn't been pissed enough to forget that I hate sleeping in my clothes), but then I thought that that was a bit silly as we'd both seen each other naked. It was nice to hang out with S for a bit. We were both horrifically hung over, so we drank lots of coffee and smoked lots of cigarettes. Then I read Legend's copy of 'Arena' (which mentioned my company!!) and S satisfied his craving for Solitaire on the computer. He told me that sometimes he even dreams of Solitaire. I reckon that's a real sign of addiction.
I tried to wake Wolf up but he looked like death so I let him sleep a bit more. I didn't want to spend too much time near him as he absolutely stinks when he's asleep. He finally got up, and Legend returned from W's. The boys spent an hour or two looking at porn on the Internet until I kicked up a fuss and demanded that we go out. We wandered down to Soho, and went to the pub for a pub lunch. Legend announced that he felt happier than he had in a long time.
Wolf told the following joke:
A nose goes into a pub and orders a pint. The barman says, "I'm not serving you! You're off your face!!"
Walking back from Soho, we popped into another pub near where we used to live. I asked the boys what they wanted to do with their lives.
Wolf declared, "All I want in life is a bird, a car, an alright house, and the chance to go fishing as much as I like."
I pointed out that I meant career wise.
"A business, blatantly," he said. "Something not too challenging. I don't want to work in the public sector or anything though. You know, I don't actually care about people. I love my friends and my family, but the average man on the street... I don't give a toss about him."
He went on to try and justify why he liked war so much. "Basically, you go to someone else's country and you plunder and pillage all their natural resources. If you want to have a car and electricity and stuff, you have to have oil and gas, and sometimes to get that, you've got to kill some people. At least I'm honest! I want a car! Let's bomb Iran!"
We went back to the Caves and drank some beer, while partaking in some of our favourite pastimes- slagging off exes and watching 'Peep Show'. In the evening we went to have a curry on Drummond Street. There's a great restaurant called Zamzama. Wolf and Legend have been there about fifty times between them, and I've been once, but S hadn't been before. All the boys had vast quantities of meat, and I had to keep reminding Wolf not to use the same spoon for his meat and for the rice we were sharing. The food was a lot better than the last time I had been.
The last time we went to Zamzama, we had a big discussion about the afterlife. Wolf thinks that we are all really miserable as we think that you just die. He likes to think that there is something afterwards, as he says that if this is all there is, then he's pissed off. The same argument started up again. In the end, andy said that when we all died, he would come and find us to say "Ha!! Told you so!" When asked about what he thought heaven would look like, he said that he thought it would be like Fabric but with a carp lake in the middle of the dance floor.
The conversation moved on to science.
"I don't think science is really all that great," said Legend, who plans to become a doctor. "If it was, then surely they would have invented a device that fits up your arse with a pencil sharpener and a bottle opener."
"Yeah!" added Wolf. "And maybe a strobe light so if you're in a club, you can show your appreciation."
Legend started warming to the subject. "It could have different settings. You could make it so that you could do spaghetti shit. And you could have a setting that made it into a vagina, so if I was really desperate, I would be able to shag Wolf."
After the meal, we went to meet Legend's friends from back home. They were incredibly boring. We had a big debate about racism. Wolf kept saying the most stupid stuff to me:
"If discrimination is illegal, how come you're allowed to do positive discrimination?"
"You're not."
"Yes you are."
"No you're not. Discrimination is illegal."
"Then why are you allowed to do positive discrimination?"
"You're not."
And so on. Eventually we got so bored that we went back to the Caves.
Sunday was generally quite a boring day. I watched the OC, called my mum (who asked whether she could have the address of my blog!), cooked some food, read the papers, tidied my room. Legend and I were going to check out the Chinese New Year celebrations in town but by the time I got home (and watched the OC- got to get your priorities right!), I couldn't really be bothered, and he had lots of work to do anyway. I did make a stir fry though, as a concession to the seasonal festivities. Xin nian hao anyway to you all.
Not long til pay day now. And not a moment too soon, really!!
Friday, January 27, 2006
A box of condoms and a packet of cheesy wotsits
I just love having a day off work. I feel so refreshed and happy. Yesterday evening I literally bounced up Battersea High Street. Not walked, but bounced. Fantabulous.
When I got home I watched Question Time, which soured the day somewhat. I simply cannot believe how bigoted some people living in this country are. So Simon Hughes is gay. So what? Does it really matter? Can gay people make decisions about education, foreign policy, health care… I’d say they can. However, some people don’t seem to agree. Some members of the audience were really having a go. A woman with overly large jowls said that Mark Oaten should quit as an MP. Then a man- aged about sixty- announced that he thought it was a disgrace that a homosexual would try and lead the country, and that he thought politicians should have some morals, as we live in a Christian country.
Well, I have a bone to pick on almost every single one of those points, thank you very much. Firstly, this may be a Christian country, but how many people are actually practicing Christians? Sure, I’ve been christened, but how often do I go to church? I go on Christmas day. I would go to wedding’s and stuff, but no one I know has got married for a couple of years, and even then I can’t remember if that was in a church. There are probably more practicing Muslim’s than there are Christian’s in this country. I’ll leave aside the issue of someone telling me that I live in a religious state, when I fully believed I was living in a secular society. I don’t understand why having a gay leader is a big problem. Well, actually, being technical, Simon Hughes isn’t gay- he’s bisexual. But obviously that’s an equally heinous crime in the eyes of these bigots. Why on earth does it matter if a politician is gay? Does having gay sex make you incapable of thinking about foreign policy? Does fancying someone of the same sex as you make you lose all knowledge of economic growth? No. So why on earth is it a problem? And finally, since when did people look to politicians for a ‘moral standard’? I certainly do not model myself on cheating, conniving, manipulative megalomaniacs. If I did, I’m sure I would have succumbed to a fatal wanking accident long before now.
I’m just so incensed about the blatant homophobia that I didn’t realise was so rife in this country. Tonight I’m going to take some steps to sorting that out, by forming a big gay mafia. If you- or anyone else- would like to join, send your application forms to me and I’ll sort you out with a gay card.
Equally worrying, the other day, was the news that Google have decided to move into China. This, of course, means operating a streamed system. Not only does that go against everything that Google was meant to stand for, but it is a real blow for the internet as a whole. Google- like those other favourites, Yahoo! and Hotmail- will help the Chinese government to monitor its’ people by monitoring sensitive words. Words not allowed include ‘democracy’ and ‘freedom’. Even more worrying was Google’s failure to deny that it would like to move into North Korea and Burma. I suppose the moral of the story for anti-capitalist internet whiz kids everywhere is “the grass is always greener on the other side”. Bah humbug.
The other big political story is Hamas’ election in Palestine. In some ways I’m pleased. I have a hell of a lot of sympathy for Hamas, and can fully understand why they would use suicide bombers as a means of defence (and let’s face it, the Palestinians are not attacking, the Israelis are. The Palestinians are attempting to defend their homeland). However, there has been (at least muted) condemnation of Hamas from the international community following the elections. Tony Blair made a statement so bland I can’t recall a single word of it. George Dubya cocked up his speech (you’d think autocue would be easy!). Netanyahu announced that Israel would not deal with terrorist organisations. Clearly he is slightly misguided. Hamas is not a terrorist organisation. Hamas is a political party with an armed wing. The middle east is now in a real mess. No doubt the wall will continue to be built, and yet more Palestinians will be cut off from their schools, family, workplaces, clean water… The USA will use this as an excuse to go lumbering in with that oh-so-deft touch they’re renowned for. The UK will do nothing, conveniently forgetting that it’s pretty much Britain’s fault that this whole mess was created in the first place. In a way, I’m glad I’m not in charge of trying to sort out the region. However, I worry, with the choice of people entrusted with the task.
Enough of me whining about the news of the day.
Here are some conversations I’ve had or heard lately…
Girl: I got Repetitive Strain Injury from picking up the phone too much.
Me: Yeah, I’ve had RSI too, from playing the violin.
Girl: You got RSI from wanking??!
Boy: I find the concept of having sex outdoors stupid. Why not just use your house?
Me: I dunno, I guess it’s okay if you’re a child.
Boy: I think you had a misspent youth.
Me: I meant teenager…
Guy at work: Why are so many Indian women flying to India to abort baby foetus’s? Can’t they do it in the UK?
Me: Female infanticide is not actually legal in this country, that’s probably the reason.
Me: I’ll have a tea.
Pretensious man at scummy student café: Can I have a large, fairtrade, skinny latte please?
Me (turning away in an attempt to be subtle): What a wanker!
Man: What?
Me: Sorry. I have tourettes.
Journalist: Okay, the place we need to go to is near Hyde Road, then it’s one block east from there.
Editor: I can’t find One Block East in the A-Z.
On that note, I bid you all farewell. I am off to form my big gay mafia and then tomorrow we’re going dogging.
By the way, I may or may not be quitting my job. Suggestions on a post card please!
When I got home I watched Question Time, which soured the day somewhat. I simply cannot believe how bigoted some people living in this country are. So Simon Hughes is gay. So what? Does it really matter? Can gay people make decisions about education, foreign policy, health care… I’d say they can. However, some people don’t seem to agree. Some members of the audience were really having a go. A woman with overly large jowls said that Mark Oaten should quit as an MP. Then a man- aged about sixty- announced that he thought it was a disgrace that a homosexual would try and lead the country, and that he thought politicians should have some morals, as we live in a Christian country.
Well, I have a bone to pick on almost every single one of those points, thank you very much. Firstly, this may be a Christian country, but how many people are actually practicing Christians? Sure, I’ve been christened, but how often do I go to church? I go on Christmas day. I would go to wedding’s and stuff, but no one I know has got married for a couple of years, and even then I can’t remember if that was in a church. There are probably more practicing Muslim’s than there are Christian’s in this country. I’ll leave aside the issue of someone telling me that I live in a religious state, when I fully believed I was living in a secular society. I don’t understand why having a gay leader is a big problem. Well, actually, being technical, Simon Hughes isn’t gay- he’s bisexual. But obviously that’s an equally heinous crime in the eyes of these bigots. Why on earth does it matter if a politician is gay? Does having gay sex make you incapable of thinking about foreign policy? Does fancying someone of the same sex as you make you lose all knowledge of economic growth? No. So why on earth is it a problem? And finally, since when did people look to politicians for a ‘moral standard’? I certainly do not model myself on cheating, conniving, manipulative megalomaniacs. If I did, I’m sure I would have succumbed to a fatal wanking accident long before now.
I’m just so incensed about the blatant homophobia that I didn’t realise was so rife in this country. Tonight I’m going to take some steps to sorting that out, by forming a big gay mafia. If you- or anyone else- would like to join, send your application forms to me and I’ll sort you out with a gay card.
Equally worrying, the other day, was the news that Google have decided to move into China. This, of course, means operating a streamed system. Not only does that go against everything that Google was meant to stand for, but it is a real blow for the internet as a whole. Google- like those other favourites, Yahoo! and Hotmail- will help the Chinese government to monitor its’ people by monitoring sensitive words. Words not allowed include ‘democracy’ and ‘freedom’. Even more worrying was Google’s failure to deny that it would like to move into North Korea and Burma. I suppose the moral of the story for anti-capitalist internet whiz kids everywhere is “the grass is always greener on the other side”. Bah humbug.
The other big political story is Hamas’ election in Palestine. In some ways I’m pleased. I have a hell of a lot of sympathy for Hamas, and can fully understand why they would use suicide bombers as a means of defence (and let’s face it, the Palestinians are not attacking, the Israelis are. The Palestinians are attempting to defend their homeland). However, there has been (at least muted) condemnation of Hamas from the international community following the elections. Tony Blair made a statement so bland I can’t recall a single word of it. George Dubya cocked up his speech (you’d think autocue would be easy!). Netanyahu announced that Israel would not deal with terrorist organisations. Clearly he is slightly misguided. Hamas is not a terrorist organisation. Hamas is a political party with an armed wing. The middle east is now in a real mess. No doubt the wall will continue to be built, and yet more Palestinians will be cut off from their schools, family, workplaces, clean water… The USA will use this as an excuse to go lumbering in with that oh-so-deft touch they’re renowned for. The UK will do nothing, conveniently forgetting that it’s pretty much Britain’s fault that this whole mess was created in the first place. In a way, I’m glad I’m not in charge of trying to sort out the region. However, I worry, with the choice of people entrusted with the task.
Enough of me whining about the news of the day.
Here are some conversations I’ve had or heard lately…
Girl: I got Repetitive Strain Injury from picking up the phone too much.
Me: Yeah, I’ve had RSI too, from playing the violin.
Girl: You got RSI from wanking??!
Boy: I find the concept of having sex outdoors stupid. Why not just use your house?
Me: I dunno, I guess it’s okay if you’re a child.
Boy: I think you had a misspent youth.
Me: I meant teenager…
Guy at work: Why are so many Indian women flying to India to abort baby foetus’s? Can’t they do it in the UK?
Me: Female infanticide is not actually legal in this country, that’s probably the reason.
Me: I’ll have a tea.
Pretensious man at scummy student café: Can I have a large, fairtrade, skinny latte please?
Me (turning away in an attempt to be subtle): What a wanker!
Man: What?
Me: Sorry. I have tourettes.
Journalist: Okay, the place we need to go to is near Hyde Road, then it’s one block east from there.
Editor: I can’t find One Block East in the A-Z.
On that note, I bid you all farewell. I am off to form my big gay mafia and then tomorrow we’re going dogging.
By the way, I may or may not be quitting my job. Suggestions on a post card please!
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Progress report
A week ago I wrote a list of things I planned to do that week. Here's the definitive report on how it went, with marks out of ten.
- Sleep in my own bed every night this week. This is instead of anyone elses sofa or random peoples beds. I didn't buy these bed covers just to look pretty, you know.
9/10 - I did sleep in my own room every night this week. However, on Friday night I fell asleep on top of my covers, and during my nap on Saturday I did the same, though I didn't even clear enough space to lie down properly (hence the nail scissors in the head situation).
- Take a packed lunch to work every day.
10/10 What a star.
- Don't use the vending machine at work. Smarties chocolate bars are not your friend.
4/10 - I can't help it. I'm completely addicted. I tried to combat my chocolate eating by baking cookies. However, I ate them all in pretty much one go, so that wasn't such a good idea. Damn good cookies though! Today I've been good though. I brought in pine nuts to snack on. Not quite a chocolate substitute in my eyes, but I feel virtuous.
- Apply for my Masters course.
8/10 - Last week I went in to uni and got the references sorted. I've started on my personal statement and I'm getting it checked on Thursday. Could probably have done a bit more on it though.
- Get a haircut.
0/10 - Done nothing.
- Go to the bank. And grovel. Nuff said.
0/10 I chickened out, even when the debt recovery people called. I think I am bank phobic.
- Finish reading that sociology book I started ages ago. I really should stop being so lazy.
0/10 or 10/10, depending on how you look at it - I didn't read the book I was talking about, but I have read three other books and I've started work on some translations of some poems, which is very hard work.
- Stop obsessing about the fact that certain people haven't texted you back. I'm not naming names as that would reveal the shameful depths of lameness I've sunk to.
8/10 I did a bit of obsessing, but I've chilled out a lot now and I'm acting fairly sane. I think I'm obsessing slightly less as some of the people in question have actually got in touch, whereas the others I've decided I don't care about anyway. That still leaves a couple of people for me to dwell on, but I'm trying not to.
Overall, I'd say nice work. I reckon I've done pretty well.
- Sleep in my own bed every night this week. This is instead of anyone elses sofa or random peoples beds. I didn't buy these bed covers just to look pretty, you know.
9/10 - I did sleep in my own room every night this week. However, on Friday night I fell asleep on top of my covers, and during my nap on Saturday I did the same, though I didn't even clear enough space to lie down properly (hence the nail scissors in the head situation).
- Take a packed lunch to work every day.
10/10 What a star.
- Don't use the vending machine at work. Smarties chocolate bars are not your friend.
4/10 - I can't help it. I'm completely addicted. I tried to combat my chocolate eating by baking cookies. However, I ate them all in pretty much one go, so that wasn't such a good idea. Damn good cookies though! Today I've been good though. I brought in pine nuts to snack on. Not quite a chocolate substitute in my eyes, but I feel virtuous.
- Apply for my Masters course.
8/10 - Last week I went in to uni and got the references sorted. I've started on my personal statement and I'm getting it checked on Thursday. Could probably have done a bit more on it though.
- Get a haircut.
0/10 - Done nothing.
- Go to the bank. And grovel. Nuff said.
0/10 I chickened out, even when the debt recovery people called. I think I am bank phobic.
- Finish reading that sociology book I started ages ago. I really should stop being so lazy.
0/10 or 10/10, depending on how you look at it - I didn't read the book I was talking about, but I have read three other books and I've started work on some translations of some poems, which is very hard work.
- Stop obsessing about the fact that certain people haven't texted you back. I'm not naming names as that would reveal the shameful depths of lameness I've sunk to.
8/10 I did a bit of obsessing, but I've chilled out a lot now and I'm acting fairly sane. I think I'm obsessing slightly less as some of the people in question have actually got in touch, whereas the others I've decided I don't care about anyway. That still leaves a couple of people for me to dwell on, but I'm trying not to.
Overall, I'd say nice work. I reckon I've done pretty well.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Camp drama!
After my last little outburst, I'm feeling a hell of a lot better. I actually feel quite sorted, which is, to be honest, an odd emotion for me. Especially as the last time I wrote anything, I was feeling like shit. Since then, quite a lot and nothing has happened. Maybe this change in mood is just a temporary thing, but I'm enjoying it all the same.
I didn't actually get pissed on Thursday as I was planning to do. Instead I went to ballet. It was a really easy class as our normal teacher was away. We had a replacement who had no idea what level we were. At one point she asked us if we could do pose pirouettes- something we have all been able to years. Of course, we didn't say anything and enjoyed having a relaxing class. Even the allegro combination was easy- just glissardes, pas de chat and a couple of other easy steps. Though of course, I didn't do the allegro- I just sat on the floor and did some stretches.
On Friday, things started to go a bit tits-up. I'd got up pretty early but managed to waste so much time in the morning that I didn't manage to get to work early. It really seems that whatever time I get up has no bearing on what time I get to work. The more time I have in the mornings, the more time I manage to waste. Anyway, work was okay. I started on my personal statement, and helped draft a letter to the HR department telling them to stop pissing me about if they wanted to keep me. I almost had a falling out with a guy I share a room with as he got annoyed that I'd gone for a cigarette break. Sometimes I'd like to shove a lit cigarette up his moaning arse.
After work, K and I headed out for a drink. She was off on a hot date and needed a drink to calm her nerves. We ended up perched on the end of a table. The couple at the other end of the table had an argument and the woman stormed out. The guy responded in such a feeble way- he sort of stared at her, open mouthed, then turned back to the table and poured the rest of the wine into his glass. Nice to see that men are equally useless wherever you go (note to all male readers: I'm sure you're not all pathetic. It must be just all the ones I've met). I love hanging out with K but I've not seen her all that much since Christmas. We've both been ill, and when I haven't been ill, I've been a bit nuts (walking out of parties and the such like).
Anyway, K went off on her date and I set off home. I called a friend to see whether anything was happening that evening- when I'd spoken to her earlier in the week she'd said she would keep me updated. When I finally got through (my mobile really needs replacing- its top of my list of things to do), she said that there was some thing happening in east London and that I should come. However, then the ultimate spanner was thrown in: "oh, we've invited your ex but you should still come". Rather than spitting in the gutter (what I felt like doing on hearing that) or kicking something (what I thought about doing a split second later- I would've done it had I not learnt my lesson from the last kicking incident), I tried to be very polite- though I probably failed, I don't know, I was a bit angry- and hung up, then walked home, swearing under my breath the whole way. I'm not very good when I'm angry. I either lose it completely and start shouting, or I bottle it all up and turn a bit malevolent. Luckily (for Thameslink trains at least), I only had to wait three minutes for a train, or else I might have been tempted to become a little destructive.
Back home, I decided I didn't want to eat potato bake. Fuming, I cooked some chana masala, though it was quite watery with tears, and I added enough spice to suit my pretty fiery mood. As I was cooking, I poured myself a giant vodka. My housemate got home, and knocked back some booze of her own, which of course, made me drink more. And then I started crying again, though this time about what I thought about the world in a more general sense, rather than my own personal world.
I retreated to my room where I put on some music as loud as I thought I could get away with and drank more vodka. I stopped drinking Zubrowka as it was less alcoholic than the Smirnoff I had in my room. Zubrowka is a nice 40%- enough to get you pissed, but you don't get pissed quick enough to turn into a liability. Smirnoff Blue is 50%, and I usually drink it far too quickly. However, I had watered it down a little with 40% vodka when I was in Norway. I'd been sick on the Blue and decided that adding a little weaker vodka would stop me being sick. It worked- I wasn't sick, though I was quite a horrible drunk. As usual, I started feeling a bit lonely, and I tried to call people. I called M- no answer. I called S- she was pissed at the Barfly. I called the friend I'd spoken to earlier and apologised for the text message I'd sent her, even though I couldn't remember what I'd said, and even though I know that apologising for your actions- especially if you don't know if you mean it- is pretty fucking weak.
In the end, however, I had quite a good night. My music collection is pretty cool (to me anyway) and kept me entertained for hours. The vodka seemed never ending (though the mixer seemed to be, which of course meant stronger drinks as the night went on). I even found someone to talk to who was just as pissed as me and didn't mind running up a huge phone bill. I fell asleep, if not happy, then drunk and content.
On Saturday, I decided to be ultimately lazy. I had- before I started drinking- planned to go to the library, and then go to girl S's for dinner before meeting up for another friends birthday. As it happened, I didn't even get dressed. I just hung out in my pyjamas all day, baked some cookies and read a book. I had some nice chats with some of my friends, and hung out with my housemate for a bit. I even, as I was in such a lazy mood, had a nap, though I was rudely awoken thanks to the fact that I'd fallen asleep on a pair of nail scissors.
The thing that upset me the most on Saturday was the whale. I hadn't been following the progress of this whale. In fact, it was only on Friday that I realised that when they said it was in the Thames, they meant it was actually in London, rather than in the Estuary. Seeing the pictures of the poor whale on the boat, dying, made me really sad and I ran to my housemates room in tears. I find myself crying so much nowadays. I cry about a whale. How sad is that? I even cried when Ariel Sharon had a stroke, and I'm completely anti-Israeli (or pro-Palestinian, I guess they're one and the same, sentiment wise). I dont know why a whale would upset me so much. I think I have real issues about death, but I'm hoping I can put off addressing these.
Sunday was a nice day, all in all. My mum came to visit. I'd figured that she wouldn't get here until just before three, and planned my time accordingly. So I was a little surprised when I was in the shower and my housemate knocked on the door to tell me she was here. Seems she ran for her connecting train. They're resourceful, these mums! It was really nice, hanging out with my mum. I showed her round the Camp (that's the name of where I live, long story) properly, as she hadn't seen it since I moved in, and hadn't really seen most of the flat. She was amazed that it was possible to fit so much stuff into my room. I guess it's quite packed full of random stuff, as well as having far too many clothes and books for the amount of space. I like it that way though. I know my room is very unique- no one else would want one like this. It's tidy, but only out of necessity. If I let it get messy then I can't find the floor, so its easier to keep everything in order.
My mum and I went for a stroll around the area (which takes all of 5 minutes to do) and went to a Spanish restaurant for lunch. Over an enormous paella (for me) and a plate of flesh (lamb or something, for her) as well as chocolate souffles, I talked and talked about everything that was going on. She- amazingly- agreed with most of the things I was saying. She too thinks I should have more self-respect and should not be around (or even care about) people who don't respect me and don't treat me in an acceptable way. She also agrees with my views on my current job situation, and doesn't think I should let them basically shit on me. The funny thing is that I do actually have a lot of respect for myself- it's just that I don't always expect other people to act in a similar way towards me. And I've had enough of that. From now on, if someone is my friend, they will have to act like that. I'm not chasing anyone in the hope of finding some intimacy when they have no intention of doing the same.
Some friendships are, by their very nature, transitionary, and the best thing to do is to know when to let go. That's not to say that I am going to shift to being mean to anyone. No, I'm just going to stop expecting relationships with people to be carried out with the level of integrity that I like to think I have myself. Some friendships are also not worth the effort that goes into them. Is there really any point trying to force something that won't grow naturally? I'm not so sure that that's the way we should be conducting our lives. A far better way would be to see things as temporary, rather than a thing that can be quantified and labelled. What may feel right one day may not the next week. The person you feel the closest to might not the same person one week to the next. No one's emotions are static, and so neither should be their friendships.
I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I'm going to relax and take things at face value. At the end of the day, the only person I can rely on and trust is myself. You can only really achieve intimacy through physical closeness. Is this why I sleep with people? Possibly. Is that bad? I don't think so. It's certainly no worse than trying to achieve intimacy through other methods. Why are certain types of intimacy seen as being worse than others? Frankly, I don't see what the point in being open emotionally is if you're unwilling to be open physically. That doesn't mean that it has to be to the same person. In fact it's often better if it's not. Pretty much all the people I share my thoughts and feelings with, I would never ever want to sleep with. And that works both ways. Realistically, what are the odds that you will connect with someone on a physical and emotional level? In my current state, the answer is zero as I will do anything to avoid being put in that situation.
This is turning into a bit of a tirade, and a very badly written one at that. I'm not sure I'm expressing myself very well. If it comes across like I am sleeping with people left, right and centre, then please be assured that I'm not. Nor am I talking about my feelings with people all over the place. This blog doesnt count as there is a degree of separation, making it far easier for me to write about how I feel. Plus the fact that I will probably never meet most of the people reading this.
The other thing I have been thinking about recently is this: There is absolutely no need for me (or anyone else) to use other peoples opinions to validate myself. Constantly seeking the approval of others in order to feel good about yourself is stupid and completely devoid of any purpose. If you are happy with something then that is enough. It doesn't matter that it's not the coolest band or the best book or the most fashionable jeans. If you like it, then have the fucking strength of character to stick with it. Don't be so impressionable and weak that you value other peoples opinions over yourself. Recently I had a conversation about the profiles that people write on myspace and the concerted effort that goes into the lists of favourite bands and so on. Why lie? Are you that insecure that you think writing the truth will scare people away? So you like Take That. Write it down! So you think that the Crazy Frog is on a par with Mozart. Write that! To be fair, there must be quite a few people who like it, wasn't it number 1 for about four months? Someone must be buying it, and I dont think its those green toad-like creatures living in the pond. Its the painfully-wannabe-cool music lists that are the worst, stuff along the lines of "I'm so fucking edgy, look at my hipper-than-thou music taste and my eminently superior style. I'm so up-to-the-fucking-minute that by the time you read this, it will be so pass. I'm off to start another uber-cool trend that I've stolen directly from the Guardian style magazine".
Actually, that was probably an excellent description of The Rakes. What a bunch of tossers they are. Sorry if anyone likes them. I personally think their music sucks and that they're wankers- though I would say that, really.
I've gone off completely on a tangent now and I can't remember what I was writing about. You'd think that the obvious thing would be to scroll up and have a look, but my mouse is broken and it would be too much hassle to do it any other way.
Oh, just so I don't forget, The Rakes is a shit name for a band anyway.
Hmm, I think I was going off on a rant about myspace music lists that think theyre too cool for school before I started going on a rant about The Rakes. I have completely lost whatever train of thought I had, anyway. Which is probably just as well, as it's bedtime.
Good night all- I'm off to listen to the crappest music I can possibly find. Love to you all!!
I didn't actually get pissed on Thursday as I was planning to do. Instead I went to ballet. It was a really easy class as our normal teacher was away. We had a replacement who had no idea what level we were. At one point she asked us if we could do pose pirouettes- something we have all been able to years. Of course, we didn't say anything and enjoyed having a relaxing class. Even the allegro combination was easy- just glissardes, pas de chat and a couple of other easy steps. Though of course, I didn't do the allegro- I just sat on the floor and did some stretches.
On Friday, things started to go a bit tits-up. I'd got up pretty early but managed to waste so much time in the morning that I didn't manage to get to work early. It really seems that whatever time I get up has no bearing on what time I get to work. The more time I have in the mornings, the more time I manage to waste. Anyway, work was okay. I started on my personal statement, and helped draft a letter to the HR department telling them to stop pissing me about if they wanted to keep me. I almost had a falling out with a guy I share a room with as he got annoyed that I'd gone for a cigarette break. Sometimes I'd like to shove a lit cigarette up his moaning arse.
After work, K and I headed out for a drink. She was off on a hot date and needed a drink to calm her nerves. We ended up perched on the end of a table. The couple at the other end of the table had an argument and the woman stormed out. The guy responded in such a feeble way- he sort of stared at her, open mouthed, then turned back to the table and poured the rest of the wine into his glass. Nice to see that men are equally useless wherever you go (note to all male readers: I'm sure you're not all pathetic. It must be just all the ones I've met). I love hanging out with K but I've not seen her all that much since Christmas. We've both been ill, and when I haven't been ill, I've been a bit nuts (walking out of parties and the such like).
Anyway, K went off on her date and I set off home. I called a friend to see whether anything was happening that evening- when I'd spoken to her earlier in the week she'd said she would keep me updated. When I finally got through (my mobile really needs replacing- its top of my list of things to do), she said that there was some thing happening in east London and that I should come. However, then the ultimate spanner was thrown in: "oh, we've invited your ex but you should still come". Rather than spitting in the gutter (what I felt like doing on hearing that) or kicking something (what I thought about doing a split second later- I would've done it had I not learnt my lesson from the last kicking incident), I tried to be very polite- though I probably failed, I don't know, I was a bit angry- and hung up, then walked home, swearing under my breath the whole way. I'm not very good when I'm angry. I either lose it completely and start shouting, or I bottle it all up and turn a bit malevolent. Luckily (for Thameslink trains at least), I only had to wait three minutes for a train, or else I might have been tempted to become a little destructive.
Back home, I decided I didn't want to eat potato bake. Fuming, I cooked some chana masala, though it was quite watery with tears, and I added enough spice to suit my pretty fiery mood. As I was cooking, I poured myself a giant vodka. My housemate got home, and knocked back some booze of her own, which of course, made me drink more. And then I started crying again, though this time about what I thought about the world in a more general sense, rather than my own personal world.
I retreated to my room where I put on some music as loud as I thought I could get away with and drank more vodka. I stopped drinking Zubrowka as it was less alcoholic than the Smirnoff I had in my room. Zubrowka is a nice 40%- enough to get you pissed, but you don't get pissed quick enough to turn into a liability. Smirnoff Blue is 50%, and I usually drink it far too quickly. However, I had watered it down a little with 40% vodka when I was in Norway. I'd been sick on the Blue and decided that adding a little weaker vodka would stop me being sick. It worked- I wasn't sick, though I was quite a horrible drunk. As usual, I started feeling a bit lonely, and I tried to call people. I called M- no answer. I called S- she was pissed at the Barfly. I called the friend I'd spoken to earlier and apologised for the text message I'd sent her, even though I couldn't remember what I'd said, and even though I know that apologising for your actions- especially if you don't know if you mean it- is pretty fucking weak.
In the end, however, I had quite a good night. My music collection is pretty cool (to me anyway) and kept me entertained for hours. The vodka seemed never ending (though the mixer seemed to be, which of course meant stronger drinks as the night went on). I even found someone to talk to who was just as pissed as me and didn't mind running up a huge phone bill. I fell asleep, if not happy, then drunk and content.
On Saturday, I decided to be ultimately lazy. I had- before I started drinking- planned to go to the library, and then go to girl S's for dinner before meeting up for another friends birthday. As it happened, I didn't even get dressed. I just hung out in my pyjamas all day, baked some cookies and read a book. I had some nice chats with some of my friends, and hung out with my housemate for a bit. I even, as I was in such a lazy mood, had a nap, though I was rudely awoken thanks to the fact that I'd fallen asleep on a pair of nail scissors.
The thing that upset me the most on Saturday was the whale. I hadn't been following the progress of this whale. In fact, it was only on Friday that I realised that when they said it was in the Thames, they meant it was actually in London, rather than in the Estuary. Seeing the pictures of the poor whale on the boat, dying, made me really sad and I ran to my housemates room in tears. I find myself crying so much nowadays. I cry about a whale. How sad is that? I even cried when Ariel Sharon had a stroke, and I'm completely anti-Israeli (or pro-Palestinian, I guess they're one and the same, sentiment wise). I dont know why a whale would upset me so much. I think I have real issues about death, but I'm hoping I can put off addressing these.
Sunday was a nice day, all in all. My mum came to visit. I'd figured that she wouldn't get here until just before three, and planned my time accordingly. So I was a little surprised when I was in the shower and my housemate knocked on the door to tell me she was here. Seems she ran for her connecting train. They're resourceful, these mums! It was really nice, hanging out with my mum. I showed her round the Camp (that's the name of where I live, long story) properly, as she hadn't seen it since I moved in, and hadn't really seen most of the flat. She was amazed that it was possible to fit so much stuff into my room. I guess it's quite packed full of random stuff, as well as having far too many clothes and books for the amount of space. I like it that way though. I know my room is very unique- no one else would want one like this. It's tidy, but only out of necessity. If I let it get messy then I can't find the floor, so its easier to keep everything in order.
My mum and I went for a stroll around the area (which takes all of 5 minutes to do) and went to a Spanish restaurant for lunch. Over an enormous paella (for me) and a plate of flesh (lamb or something, for her) as well as chocolate souffles, I talked and talked about everything that was going on. She- amazingly- agreed with most of the things I was saying. She too thinks I should have more self-respect and should not be around (or even care about) people who don't respect me and don't treat me in an acceptable way. She also agrees with my views on my current job situation, and doesn't think I should let them basically shit on me. The funny thing is that I do actually have a lot of respect for myself- it's just that I don't always expect other people to act in a similar way towards me. And I've had enough of that. From now on, if someone is my friend, they will have to act like that. I'm not chasing anyone in the hope of finding some intimacy when they have no intention of doing the same.
Some friendships are, by their very nature, transitionary, and the best thing to do is to know when to let go. That's not to say that I am going to shift to being mean to anyone. No, I'm just going to stop expecting relationships with people to be carried out with the level of integrity that I like to think I have myself. Some friendships are also not worth the effort that goes into them. Is there really any point trying to force something that won't grow naturally? I'm not so sure that that's the way we should be conducting our lives. A far better way would be to see things as temporary, rather than a thing that can be quantified and labelled. What may feel right one day may not the next week. The person you feel the closest to might not the same person one week to the next. No one's emotions are static, and so neither should be their friendships.
I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I'm going to relax and take things at face value. At the end of the day, the only person I can rely on and trust is myself. You can only really achieve intimacy through physical closeness. Is this why I sleep with people? Possibly. Is that bad? I don't think so. It's certainly no worse than trying to achieve intimacy through other methods. Why are certain types of intimacy seen as being worse than others? Frankly, I don't see what the point in being open emotionally is if you're unwilling to be open physically. That doesn't mean that it has to be to the same person. In fact it's often better if it's not. Pretty much all the people I share my thoughts and feelings with, I would never ever want to sleep with. And that works both ways. Realistically, what are the odds that you will connect with someone on a physical and emotional level? In my current state, the answer is zero as I will do anything to avoid being put in that situation.
This is turning into a bit of a tirade, and a very badly written one at that. I'm not sure I'm expressing myself very well. If it comes across like I am sleeping with people left, right and centre, then please be assured that I'm not. Nor am I talking about my feelings with people all over the place. This blog doesnt count as there is a degree of separation, making it far easier for me to write about how I feel. Plus the fact that I will probably never meet most of the people reading this.
The other thing I have been thinking about recently is this: There is absolutely no need for me (or anyone else) to use other peoples opinions to validate myself. Constantly seeking the approval of others in order to feel good about yourself is stupid and completely devoid of any purpose. If you are happy with something then that is enough. It doesn't matter that it's not the coolest band or the best book or the most fashionable jeans. If you like it, then have the fucking strength of character to stick with it. Don't be so impressionable and weak that you value other peoples opinions over yourself. Recently I had a conversation about the profiles that people write on myspace and the concerted effort that goes into the lists of favourite bands and so on. Why lie? Are you that insecure that you think writing the truth will scare people away? So you like Take That. Write it down! So you think that the Crazy Frog is on a par with Mozart. Write that! To be fair, there must be quite a few people who like it, wasn't it number 1 for about four months? Someone must be buying it, and I dont think its those green toad-like creatures living in the pond. Its the painfully-wannabe-cool music lists that are the worst, stuff along the lines of "I'm so fucking edgy, look at my hipper-than-thou music taste and my eminently superior style. I'm so up-to-the-fucking-minute that by the time you read this, it will be so pass. I'm off to start another uber-cool trend that I've stolen directly from the Guardian style magazine".
Actually, that was probably an excellent description of The Rakes. What a bunch of tossers they are. Sorry if anyone likes them. I personally think their music sucks and that they're wankers- though I would say that, really.
I've gone off completely on a tangent now and I can't remember what I was writing about. You'd think that the obvious thing would be to scroll up and have a look, but my mouse is broken and it would be too much hassle to do it any other way.
Oh, just so I don't forget, The Rakes is a shit name for a band anyway.
Hmm, I think I was going off on a rant about myspace music lists that think theyre too cool for school before I started going on a rant about The Rakes. I have completely lost whatever train of thought I had, anyway. Which is probably just as well, as it's bedtime.
Good night all- I'm off to listen to the crappest music I can possibly find. Love to you all!!
Thursday, January 19, 2006
My current emotional state
I'd like to take this moment to express how I feel. It's either that or start crying in the smoking room again, and no girl should suffer that indignity twice (okay, if I'm being honest, four times) in one day.
I hate our HR department. I hate the fact that I have just spent the last four months doing work that no one gives a shit about. I hate that I was gullible and naive enough to think that if I did a good job, then that would be recognised and I would be praised, or maybe even paid the amount I deserve. I hate that my manager has taken until this point to tell me that actually, the company couldn't care less about you and so you can't have a pay rise. Even though I've been doing this work, and I know I've done a good job of it.
I'm so angry. I don't know why I went to university for three years and got myself in so much debt for nothing. Literally nothing. My friend told me that to get ahead in this organisation, it helps if you don't have any natural intelligence or ability to think independently. I wish I didn't have either. Everyone has always told me that it's so good to be clever and that the way I think is really unique/innovative/brave/whatever. But I wish so much that it wasn't because look where I am. I wish I was stupid and happy to settle for anything, and that I didn't have any thoughts of my own.
I'm going to cry again.
The thing is, if I leave here, I'm so worried I won't be able to make any new friends. I'm not very good at making friends. What I am good at is isolating people around me and generally coming across like a complete moron. I don't want to have to go to another office and meet new people, and have them all look at me and think "who the fuck are you?"
Whose great idea was it for me to have high expectations? Why on earth did I decide that going to the LSE would do anything for a) my self-esteem, or b) my future career prospects. And then people wonder why I'm a pessimist. Simple answer: if you're a pessimist, you can't get disappointed. Which begs the question, what on earth made me think that not being a pessimist would be a good idea? Why did I ever listen to anyone who ever said anything positive about me?
I hate our HR department. I hate the fact that I have just spent the last four months doing work that no one gives a shit about. I hate that I was gullible and naive enough to think that if I did a good job, then that would be recognised and I would be praised, or maybe even paid the amount I deserve. I hate that my manager has taken until this point to tell me that actually, the company couldn't care less about you and so you can't have a pay rise. Even though I've been doing this work, and I know I've done a good job of it.
I'm so angry. I don't know why I went to university for three years and got myself in so much debt for nothing. Literally nothing. My friend told me that to get ahead in this organisation, it helps if you don't have any natural intelligence or ability to think independently. I wish I didn't have either. Everyone has always told me that it's so good to be clever and that the way I think is really unique/innovative/brave/whatever. But I wish so much that it wasn't because look where I am. I wish I was stupid and happy to settle for anything, and that I didn't have any thoughts of my own.
I'm going to cry again.
The thing is, if I leave here, I'm so worried I won't be able to make any new friends. I'm not very good at making friends. What I am good at is isolating people around me and generally coming across like a complete moron. I don't want to have to go to another office and meet new people, and have them all look at me and think "who the fuck are you?"
Whose great idea was it for me to have high expectations? Why on earth did I decide that going to the LSE would do anything for a) my self-esteem, or b) my future career prospects. And then people wonder why I'm a pessimist. Simple answer: if you're a pessimist, you can't get disappointed. Which begs the question, what on earth made me think that not being a pessimist would be a good idea? Why did I ever listen to anyone who ever said anything positive about me?
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