Dear Diary,
Today, I achieved the goal I set out to achieve months ago. Today, I have finally got MORE THAN 1000 SONGS ON MY IPOD. Yeah, BITCH!!! And I'm aware how sad it is that that excites me, but hey - one more thing to cross off the "List of things to do before I'm 30"! (I really should write that down one day.....)
However, this did lead to a rather alarming discovery - Lily Allen. Now don't get me wrong, I love her to death, and think she's amazing. But as I put both her albums on my Ipod, I discovered one song from "It's not me, it's you" that summed up my life so accurately, I almost cried (more in shock than anything). And no, it isn't "Not Fair" - although those lyrics pretty much summarised my whole relationship with Aaron, grrr.... But hey, who else could turn a laughably tragic situation into a groovy country song that sums up EVERYTHING about you? That is why I love her so. Anyway, back to this alarming song:
"22" - Lily Allen
When she was 22 the future looked bright,
But she's nearly 30 now and she's out every night
I see that look in her face, she's got that look in her eye
She's thinking how did I get here and wondering why
It's sad but it's true how society says
Her life is already over
There's nothing to do and there's nothing to say
Till the man of her dreams comes along, picks her up and puts her over his shoulder
It seems so unlikely in this day and age
She's got an alright job but it's not a career
Wherever she thinks about it, it brings her to tears
Cause all she wants is a boyfriend
She gets one-night stands
She's thinking how did I get here, I'm doing all that I can
It's sad but it's true how society says
Her life is already over
There's nothing to do and there's nothing to say
Till the man of her dreams comes along picks her up and puts her over his shoulder
It seems so unlikely in this day and age
OH MY GOD (I can't believe it....) !!! How depressing is that? Even more so when it looks like it was written about me! Jesus Christ. I'll show her. I'LL SHOW YOU, LILY!! Who knows, maybe next week I'll have the job of my dreams and be on 5 grand a month! Maybe when I go over, Gary will confess post-coitus that his attraction to me goes way beyond the sexual and we'll end up in a relationship! Maybe everything will be alright! Yeah, FUCK YOU, AARON!!! You've NOT cocked everything up for me, you runty little dickweed!!
Sorry folks.... not ENTIRELY sure what just happened, there.
Good news is, anyway, Mum's given me some work tomorrow, so at least I'll be getting out the house and earning some money. And since my claim was cancelled last week (on account of me being a bad girl and telling the truth), I've got to ring up to put it back on again. And I'm not ENTIRELY sure I'll be telling them about tomorrow, if this is the hassle you get every time you have a few hours work..... Bloody establishment.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Thursday, 30 April 2009
Wednesday, 29 April 2009
Make or Break Hotel
Dear Diary,
PROS AND CONS OF GETTING A HOTEL:
PROS:
If you book in advance, it's only £30 a night
You can be as noisy as you like. What are the "neighbours" gonna do, call the police?
You can take as long as you like in the shower without having to consider impatient flatmates
They do Full English breakfast. Yesssssssssssss!!
You can become a different person for a night - and engage in things you wouldn't normally do (for fear of being caught out/embarrassed)
Check-in = 3pm, Check-out = Midday. 21-hour shag-a-thon, anyone??
It's located in the city centre, so can always pop out for a bite to eat (fuel for the engine, hehe)
Someone else cleans up
Lack of normality = lack of inhibitions
Its all exciting and intense
CONS
One of us will have to do the booking, therefore one of us will have to pay on card. Which means, by rights, we would have to go halves. But HOW do you go about booking a room, running the details by him, sorting out what dates we're both available, and handing over a wad of cash without taking the sexiness and spontenaeity out of the whole experience? What a minefield.
We will only have 21 hours together - call me greedy, but I could spend a WEEK with this guy
It would be highly obvious to the receptionist what we were doing
Breakfast isn't included in the price. And even if we DID decide to pay for and have said breakfast - what if it was awkward?
Too much information, I know, but my period, whilst being due at the beginning of each month, shifts around every time. How can I pre-book a room cheaply in advance when I don't even know if I can even GO yet or not??!
There is the slight possibility of bumping into Zara and co. in the city centre. Very slight, but possible.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Current Mood: cold
Current Music: "Not Fair" - Lily Allen. Catchiest song EVER
PROS AND CONS OF GETTING A HOTEL:
PROS:
If you book in advance, it's only £30 a night
You can be as noisy as you like. What are the "neighbours" gonna do, call the police?
You can take as long as you like in the shower without having to consider impatient flatmates
They do Full English breakfast. Yesssssssssssss!!
You can become a different person for a night - and engage in things you wouldn't normally do (for fear of being caught out/embarrassed)
Check-in = 3pm, Check-out = Midday. 21-hour shag-a-thon, anyone??
It's located in the city centre, so can always pop out for a bite to eat (fuel for the engine, hehe)
Someone else cleans up
Lack of normality = lack of inhibitions
Its all exciting and intense
CONS
One of us will have to do the booking, therefore one of us will have to pay on card. Which means, by rights, we would have to go halves. But HOW do you go about booking a room, running the details by him, sorting out what dates we're both available, and handing over a wad of cash without taking the sexiness and spontenaeity out of the whole experience? What a minefield.
We will only have 21 hours together - call me greedy, but I could spend a WEEK with this guy
It would be highly obvious to the receptionist what we were doing
Breakfast isn't included in the price. And even if we DID decide to pay for and have said breakfast - what if it was awkward?
Too much information, I know, but my period, whilst being due at the beginning of each month, shifts around every time. How can I pre-book a room cheaply in advance when I don't even know if I can even GO yet or not??!
There is the slight possibility of bumping into Zara and co. in the city centre. Very slight, but possible.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Current Mood: cold
Current Music: "Not Fair" - Lily Allen. Catchiest song EVER
Rambles and brambles
Dear Diary,
Well, I did it. The unimaginable has happened. As with MySpace, Facebook, Harry Potter, and every other big thing that has ever been invented which I swore to avoid, I have bowed to the inevitable - I have joined Twitter. Although, after a mere 24 hours, I really don't see what the big deal is. It just seems like a mini-version of Facebook (ie: you tell everyone what you're up to), but with the added benefit of being able to stalk your favourite celebritites and find out that they are just normal people after all. Hmmm..... Not that Matt Berry has responded to the very lovely message I sent him, the knob. Time shall tell if this is worth the hype.....
Monday and Tuesday were the same old - hardly worth the recapping, really. It's incredibly depressing to know that I'm letting days, and indeed WEEKS, slip by with nothing happening. I'm so going to look back on this wasted time in years to come, full of regret, thinking "What the fuck was I DOING??!" But really, there's nothing else I CAN do at the moment. Every waking hour is spent trying to find work and sending endless CVs and enthusiastic letters to faceless corporations and employers, when, according to the "Mirror" - my chances of getting a reply are 2 in 50. Jesus. Mind you, I read in an interview that Graham Linehan spent about 3 years (before "The IT Crowd" got picked up) doing nothing - playing Guitar Hero 90% of the time, and writing 10% of the time. Now I'm not for a second suggesting I'm as big a genius as him, but a lot of evidence seems to suggest that being a successful scriptwriter involves a LOT of procrastination. So there's hope for me yet, I guess!
Last night was very interesting. Very interesting indeed. Well, mainly because Mum was away so we had an absolute FINE-ARSE chippy for tea (and profiteroles for pudding, mmmmmmmmmm.....) but also because of Gary. Yes, that old chesnut.
So I was curled up in bed with my Ipod and Harry Potter (not literally - although DAMN, Daniel Radcliffe is aging well - I don't think I'd be allowed to put the actual picture up on here, but take a look at THIS bad boy!) when I got a text off Gary. Now, that was surprising in itself - but it was a strange text, composed only of 3 words that made no sense, nor were they related to anything I'd been saying whatsoever.
"U love it"
Eh?? What was the meaning of this strange, univited message? We'd not spoken to each other for about a month! (Truth be told, I think getting laid on Monday took him off my mind, as I wasn't quite so ants-in-the-pants-y after that - whereas before, I'd've jumped the next coach in a SECOND, if he'd asked me) So I texted back asking exactly what I love, and he just replied "Everything." I asked if he was pissed, and rather surprisingly, his reply was "No, not at all. Just wanted to talk to you." Awwwwww! OK, our previous chats haven't exactly verged into the romantic, but for some reason, I found this pretty sweet.
So we got chatting, about this and that. I fell asleep in the middle of it at one point, but luckily he didn't text back for AGES anyway. Besides, it was pretty sweet to dozily wake up to "Let's get it on" (my text ringtone) drifting across the room. Especially given who I was talking to! Anyway, after a while, as always, things ventured into the dirty. Blame me, not him! I was the one who started it, in all fairness - I can't help that I'm completely insatiable. Only this time, I don't know how, but our chat ended up getting a lot filthier than previous ones. And I tell you what - I'm glad I stepped up my game. Because, after weeks of trying to get him to meet up, I think I've finally done it. His exams finish on the 14th, and by a happy coincidence, I'm back in town on the 18th (will explain why later). I put this to him, and his response was as follows (highly edited):
"God yes, let's do it! Shall we get a hotel? I'll be honest, I have not been so turned on in AGES"
YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!! I'm so stoked by now, I'd be happy just going to his, but again, there is the threat of the (mutual friend of Zara's) housemate who would possibly recognise me. Not to mention I'd be embarrassed about any noise (he has a squeaky bed, apparently). Plus, there's just something so exciting about a hotel, in a "we-could-just-be-any-old-strangers-existing-in-our-own-little-sexy-world-for-one-night" Secret Diary of a Call Girl kinda way. If that makes sense. Not to mention we wouldn't have to worry about noise, and someone else has to change the sheets (gross, but true).
So, I think it's a given - it's finally gonna happen. The whole thing was madly exciting to be honest, especially since he openly admitted he wanted me "so much" (*blush*). Now I know you think that, give our past conversations, it's a pretty obvious observation. But somehow, seeing the words actually written out - with my NAME in front of it - (everyone knows that a name at the beginning places emphasis on a point!) made me literally squeak with excitement. Actually SQUEAK!
He even started asking what kind of kinky stuff I'd be into trying. Crikey!! I think I've met someone scarier than me...... or in any case, a hell of a lot more experimental. This sounds like it's going to be fun! Who knows, I may even find the elusive other-person-induced orgasm at last!! I better bloody had do, after searching for all these years...... well, "year," technically. Gosh, it's so weird to think how I was completely naeive and sexually inactive until I met Aaron, and then spent the next year shagging everyone in sight. In a way, I suppose he was a good thing that happened to me. Yes, he was a dick and I got my heart broken, but on the bright side it got the pesky business of losing my virginity out the way, and I spent the whole of 2008 making up for lost time! While he's probably still stuck with the same girl, probably having boring, routine sex by now. I think I know who's winning!! Yeah, FUCK YOU, AARON!! 2008 was definitely the Year of the Kat, it would seem.......
Where was I? Oh yes, so Gary and I continued to carry on texting (hmmm.... sounds like a film pitch from those Orange ad guys) till about 3 oclock, until I had to break off for "me-time" before falling into a delicious sleep. He'd better keep me up till PAST 3am if this actually takes place. All that remains now is to check out hotels again, and see if it actually happens this time. It better bloody had do, if he cancels again after getting me all worked up and actually promising to sort something this time, I'll crack his head open. And I DON'T mean the one on top of his neck........
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Current Mood: defiant
Current Music: "Sexy Motherfucker" - Prince
Well, I did it. The unimaginable has happened. As with MySpace, Facebook, Harry Potter, and every other big thing that has ever been invented which I swore to avoid, I have bowed to the inevitable - I have joined Twitter. Although, after a mere 24 hours, I really don't see what the big deal is. It just seems like a mini-version of Facebook (ie: you tell everyone what you're up to), but with the added benefit of being able to stalk your favourite celebritites and find out that they are just normal people after all. Hmmm..... Not that Matt Berry has responded to the very lovely message I sent him, the knob. Time shall tell if this is worth the hype.....
Monday and Tuesday were the same old - hardly worth the recapping, really. It's incredibly depressing to know that I'm letting days, and indeed WEEKS, slip by with nothing happening. I'm so going to look back on this wasted time in years to come, full of regret, thinking "What the fuck was I DOING??!" But really, there's nothing else I CAN do at the moment. Every waking hour is spent trying to find work and sending endless CVs and enthusiastic letters to faceless corporations and employers, when, according to the "Mirror" - my chances of getting a reply are 2 in 50. Jesus. Mind you, I read in an interview that Graham Linehan spent about 3 years (before "The IT Crowd" got picked up) doing nothing - playing Guitar Hero 90% of the time, and writing 10% of the time. Now I'm not for a second suggesting I'm as big a genius as him, but a lot of evidence seems to suggest that being a successful scriptwriter involves a LOT of procrastination. So there's hope for me yet, I guess!
Last night was very interesting. Very interesting indeed. Well, mainly because Mum was away so we had an absolute FINE-ARSE chippy for tea (and profiteroles for pudding, mmmmmmmmmm.....) but also because of Gary. Yes, that old chesnut.
So I was curled up in bed with my Ipod and Harry Potter (not literally - although DAMN, Daniel Radcliffe is aging well - I don't think I'd be allowed to put the actual picture up on here, but take a look at THIS bad boy!) when I got a text off Gary. Now, that was surprising in itself - but it was a strange text, composed only of 3 words that made no sense, nor were they related to anything I'd been saying whatsoever.
"U love it"
Eh?? What was the meaning of this strange, univited message? We'd not spoken to each other for about a month! (Truth be told, I think getting laid on Monday took him off my mind, as I wasn't quite so ants-in-the-pants-y after that - whereas before, I'd've jumped the next coach in a SECOND, if he'd asked me) So I texted back asking exactly what I love, and he just replied "Everything." I asked if he was pissed, and rather surprisingly, his reply was "No, not at all. Just wanted to talk to you." Awwwwww! OK, our previous chats haven't exactly verged into the romantic, but for some reason, I found this pretty sweet.
So we got chatting, about this and that. I fell asleep in the middle of it at one point, but luckily he didn't text back for AGES anyway. Besides, it was pretty sweet to dozily wake up to "Let's get it on" (my text ringtone) drifting across the room. Especially given who I was talking to! Anyway, after a while, as always, things ventured into the dirty. Blame me, not him! I was the one who started it, in all fairness - I can't help that I'm completely insatiable. Only this time, I don't know how, but our chat ended up getting a lot filthier than previous ones. And I tell you what - I'm glad I stepped up my game. Because, after weeks of trying to get him to meet up, I think I've finally done it. His exams finish on the 14th, and by a happy coincidence, I'm back in town on the 18th (will explain why later). I put this to him, and his response was as follows (highly edited):
"God yes, let's do it! Shall we get a hotel? I'll be honest, I have not been so turned on in AGES"
YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!! I'm so stoked by now, I'd be happy just going to his, but again, there is the threat of the (mutual friend of Zara's) housemate who would possibly recognise me. Not to mention I'd be embarrassed about any noise (he has a squeaky bed, apparently). Plus, there's just something so exciting about a hotel, in a "we-could-just-be-any-old-strangers-existing-in-our-own-little-sexy-world-for-one-night" Secret Diary of a Call Girl kinda way. If that makes sense. Not to mention we wouldn't have to worry about noise, and someone else has to change the sheets (gross, but true).
So, I think it's a given - it's finally gonna happen. The whole thing was madly exciting to be honest, especially since he openly admitted he wanted me "so much" (*blush*). Now I know you think that, give our past conversations, it's a pretty obvious observation. But somehow, seeing the words actually written out - with my NAME in front of it - (everyone knows that a name at the beginning places emphasis on a point!) made me literally squeak with excitement. Actually SQUEAK!
He even started asking what kind of kinky stuff I'd be into trying. Crikey!! I think I've met someone scarier than me...... or in any case, a hell of a lot more experimental. This sounds like it's going to be fun! Who knows, I may even find the elusive other-person-induced orgasm at last!! I better bloody had do, after searching for all these years...... well, "year," technically. Gosh, it's so weird to think how I was completely naeive and sexually inactive until I met Aaron, and then spent the next year shagging everyone in sight. In a way, I suppose he was a good thing that happened to me. Yes, he was a dick and I got my heart broken, but on the bright side it got the pesky business of losing my virginity out the way, and I spent the whole of 2008 making up for lost time! While he's probably still stuck with the same girl, probably having boring, routine sex by now. I think I know who's winning!! Yeah, FUCK YOU, AARON!! 2008 was definitely the Year of the Kat, it would seem.......
Where was I? Oh yes, so Gary and I continued to carry on texting (hmmm.... sounds like a film pitch from those Orange ad guys) till about 3 oclock, until I had to break off for "me-time" before falling into a delicious sleep. He'd better keep me up till PAST 3am if this actually takes place. All that remains now is to check out hotels again, and see if it actually happens this time. It better bloody had do, if he cancels again after getting me all worked up and actually promising to sort something this time, I'll crack his head open. And I DON'T mean the one on top of his neck........
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Current Mood: defiant
Current Music: "Sexy Motherfucker" - Prince
Monday, 27 April 2009
Fight for your right to party
Dear Diary,
Ah,
SATURDAY.
Saturday was highly bizarre. In both good and bad ways. Mainly because, whilst a good night was had, I somehow ended up getting caught up in a pub brawl. And I feel even more strangely about it because the first thing that popped into my head was "This should be on a list of Things to do before you're 30!" Yikes. But I digress....
So, Saturday, as well as being the 25th, was the day of Marie's party (her birthday was Thursday). She'd apparently hired the Trees out, and was demanding fancy dress be worn. So, I spent the day getting ready, hanging round in town buying presents/cards and rushing around like a scalded flea. Got to hers about 6, hung out and ate SuperNoodles for tea (never let it be said that I drink on an empty stomach!) as everyone arrived (mostly sickeningly good-looking happy couples), who, incidentally, all took about 46 years to get ready. Even the lads. Heart sank as a gorgeous, thin, stunning girl turned up with the exact same policewoman outfit I was wearing (*shakes fists at Ann Summers*). Luckily, I discovered that the more I drank, the less I cared.
Had a very enjoyable (*cough*) walk up to the pub, stared at by all, respected by none. I had a black cardie over my dress, which made me look more like a traffic warden, and Marie was dressed as a sexy pilot, legs going on forever in stripper shoes. Got caterwauled almost the SECOND we walked in by pissed-up chav knobheads - bad times.
The evening passed...... really quite nicely. Not as fun as some nights out I've had, but I guess not everyone is hardcore! Hehe. I was desperately trying to get everyone involved in drinking games (to the point of begging the DJ for "Roxanne") but no-one was having it. Fucking lightweights. Anne turned up, (surprisingly) in fancy dress (even more surprisingly)! As the night went on, we danced loads, several more people decided to change their built-in policies re: drinking games and shots, and "Roxanne" was eventually played - albeit with poor results. I was the only one who seemed interested in playing the game. Pussies.
Oh, and bad news - Marie fell off the wagon. The Wagon of Exes. She'd spent all afternoon coyly smiling, telling us how she and PrickTard Ex had become friends and were getting on really well, how he's been really nice to her lately (of course he frigging has, he's got no-one to shag anymore!!) and had been looking rather "fit" recently. Bear in mind this guy looks like a sleepy-eyed cockatoo-haired twat. And also bear in mind she'd been crying over him and calling him a cunt less than a fortnight ago. This is why you should NEVER be friends with exes, but hate them from a distance and spend weeks viciously stabbing pins through the groin of a voodoo doll (was that just me??)
PrickTard turned up, 2 hours late, and left after an hour. But did that stop Captain Marie? Hell no. The second he arrived she was all over him, talking, giggling, getting photos taken with him, oblivious to us glaring, muttering, and flicking the V's at him behind his back whist dancing (again, that might have just been me).
They soon moved outside where we kept our beady eyes fixed on them. All the signs were there - heads unnecessarily close, pointless touching, eye-gazing, little pecks on the lips. I didn't know what to do anymore, frankly, she's a goddamn fucking fool. I've lost ALL patience. This is a guy who LEFT HER IN THE HOSPITAL AFTER AN ASTHMA ATTACK, TO RETURN TO THE PUB, for fuck's sake. Still, she had clearly forgotten all this, and seemed blissfully oblivious to the crowd of friends who materialised outside (as if by telepathy). She was oblivious to the dark mutters of "What the FUCK is she doing?!" and me pretending to be an owl, hooting something that sounded like: "Don't dooooooooooo it!!" She was even oblivious to my panicked shouts of: "We have a situation here! This girl is ridiculous, we've got to do something! Code Red!! CODE RED!!!!!" Just as someone was about to walk over to "casually" trip and spill a drink over him (be fair, we were all crazy-drunk and thought it a fine idea), PrickTard got up and left. For good.
In a fit of high annoyance and disbelief at Marie's utter stupidity, we handcuffed her to a nearby lampost and force-fed her shots of tequila. She did her usual thing - begging and giggling in a childish voice, promising never to do it again. Luckily, everyone seemed as pissed off as I was - we told her she couldn't worm her way out of this by being cute and laughing it off anymore. Not ENTIRELY sure it sank in - but fuck it, we left her there for a good 15 minutes. Not alone, obviously, as Chave knobheads were still lurking (and leering). But we gave her a pretty harsh ear-bashing, to say the least.
A chav knobhead tried it on with me on the way in. But even I know when not to be chatted up by someone, so I chatted politely - attempting to sidle past. He said several things about my dress and boobs - I asked him what right he had to talk to me like that after a mere 30 seconds of conversation. He shrugged, said "Fair point" and turned away.
And that's when the unbelievable happened. We went back inside, chilling out at the tables. Marie had been bought about 6 cider and blacks, 2 of which she gave to me (she was too pissed to notice I'd already surrepticiously downed one). We were chatting away and having fun, when all of a sudden, the unmistakeable sounds of a fight were heard around the corner. Scuffling, testosterone-fuelled shouting, stumbling, the horrible sound of punches being thrown...... We poked our heads round the corner, horrified to see a fight taking place, so big it almost didn't seem to fit in the room. Marie's mum immediately started sending people out the back door, as Marie dived towards the fray to check if her friends were involved. Luckily they weren't, it was the chav dickheads - they'd been in since the football and were CLEARLY hoping for a fight at some point.
As the fight raged on, going WAY past the point when it shoud've ended, I ran for the door, having COMPLETELY mis-heard Marie's mum and not thinking to use the back door like the others. As I stood there, two brawling chavs (someone trying to drag his mate away) came hurtling towards me. In a sheer panic, I wrenched the door open for them to get out. They stood still and looked at me - whilst I desperately tried to look like I wasn't going to fight them. Decided to reason with them, very calmly asking if they wanted to go outside. Just as it looked like they were about to leave, someone came flying towards them - causing them to angrily re-join the fight. I stood by the door in a sort of drunken haze, peering desperately around for Marie so we could just go.
And then, out of nowhere, I got glassed. Seriously, out of nowhere, a glass just came flying at me. And I don't even mean a shotglass (although, on reflection, that would be an odd thing to throw in a pub brawl) - it was one of those big, bitter-holding, handlepot fuckers. By some miracle, it didn't hit me in the face, or indeed smash and cut me - it simply hit my thigh, bounced off, and smashed against the wall. I fell over - well, it was thrown pretty fucking forcefully - and stayed on the floor, staring at the fight. Glasses were exploding like mini-bombs every 8 seconds, STOOLS were being thrown, Julie was hysterically yelling that the police were on their way. I half-sat half-lay in the doorway, crying slightly (more out of shock than anything), before a guy helped me to my feet, brushing glass off my hands. I ran into Marie, who was fuming and sobbing, and next thing we know, the police were there, and the chav dickheads were nowhere to be seen.
The police did their best, but no-one knew the names, or indeed who even STARTED the fight. Two police officers were joking with me about me "not wearing the regulation uniform" and asking me "if I was with them" - presumably just to lighten the mood. We must've looked pretty traumatised. Anyhow, we soon left, making our way back to Marie's where we sat in the kitchen, drinking Raspberry Daiquiris (which appeared out of NOWHERE) and roundly abusing the chav dickheads - before deciding a fuck-load of takeaway pizzas was an excellent form of therapy.
Soon, after all the happy couples had gone to bed, 2 of Marie's friends (one of which was the guy with the small penis..... from December, remember?) decided to walk up the road to collect some cans and carry on the party. So Marie went to get into her PJ's whilst I (already in my PJs) sat chatting to Dan, a ridiculously good looking regular at the pub, who shares with me an insane love of "Family Guy," "Peep Show" and Russell Brand. We sat and discussed the calls to Andrew Sachs (completely blown out of proportion and hilarious, in my opinion), occasionally pausing to break off into choruses of "Surfin Bird." I defy ANYONE who has seen that episode to EVER get the song out of their head again. At least for a good few months or so. It was my understanding that EVERYONE had heard...... THAT THE BIRD IS THE WORD!!!
Aaaaaaaaaaaaanyway..... after they left, Dan and I decided we needed a "power nap" to revitalise us for more beer drinking - so we ended up top and tailing on the sofa, not for a SECOND imagining that said power nap would not really do us any good. Next thing we knew, Marie's mum was sending them home (clearly very aware that we were in no fit state to drink anymore) and I had the sofa to myself.
SUNDAY
Woke up stupidly early the next morning with a bruise on my thigh, the size of a HAND. Lay there for ages, feeling incredibly uncomfortable, but completely unable to move. Eventually staggered to the kitchen for water, pausing only to fish the first thing that came to hand (a bag of steak and kidney puddings) out of the freezer. Collapsed on the sofa and fell asleep - for what I can ASSURE you was the first time in my life - with a bag of steak and kidneys on my head.
Marie soon woke up after everyone had left. She didn't seem remotely hungover (grrr....) so we all hung out a little while watching Hollyoaks (double grrrr...), her mum and I roundly criticising her, re: PrickTard Ex. Soon decided to go home, as I desperately needed my old hangover curing friend, the Subway, and my own bed. Made an educated decision to get a taxi, as I only had my heels with me and couldn't contemplate walking to the bus stop in heels (and indeed, my current state).
Anyway, settled in at home, muching Subway, watching zombie films and enjoying having the house to myself all day (parents and Damien had gone for walk and pub lunch)
So yeah. I've been in a pub brawl. Strange, when you say it like that...... I feel all hardcore and mental inside. The bruise looks more disgusting with every day, all black, green, brown and blue. Eurgh. Frigging chavs. Fuck "Hug a hoodie" - they should be deported.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Current Mood: aching
Current Music: "Single Ladies (put a ring on it) - Beyonce'
Ah,
SATURDAY.
Saturday was highly bizarre. In both good and bad ways. Mainly because, whilst a good night was had, I somehow ended up getting caught up in a pub brawl. And I feel even more strangely about it because the first thing that popped into my head was "This should be on a list of Things to do before you're 30!" Yikes. But I digress....
So, Saturday, as well as being the 25th, was the day of Marie's party (her birthday was Thursday). She'd apparently hired the Trees out, and was demanding fancy dress be worn. So, I spent the day getting ready, hanging round in town buying presents/cards and rushing around like a scalded flea. Got to hers about 6, hung out and ate SuperNoodles for tea (never let it be said that I drink on an empty stomach!) as everyone arrived (mostly sickeningly good-looking happy couples), who, incidentally, all took about 46 years to get ready. Even the lads. Heart sank as a gorgeous, thin, stunning girl turned up with the exact same policewoman outfit I was wearing (*shakes fists at Ann Summers*). Luckily, I discovered that the more I drank, the less I cared.
Had a very enjoyable (*cough*) walk up to the pub, stared at by all, respected by none. I had a black cardie over my dress, which made me look more like a traffic warden, and Marie was dressed as a sexy pilot, legs going on forever in stripper shoes. Got caterwauled almost the SECOND we walked in by pissed-up chav knobheads - bad times.
The evening passed...... really quite nicely. Not as fun as some nights out I've had, but I guess not everyone is hardcore! Hehe. I was desperately trying to get everyone involved in drinking games (to the point of begging the DJ for "Roxanne") but no-one was having it. Fucking lightweights. Anne turned up, (surprisingly) in fancy dress (even more surprisingly)! As the night went on, we danced loads, several more people decided to change their built-in policies re: drinking games and shots, and "Roxanne" was eventually played - albeit with poor results. I was the only one who seemed interested in playing the game. Pussies.
Oh, and bad news - Marie fell off the wagon. The Wagon of Exes. She'd spent all afternoon coyly smiling, telling us how she and PrickTard Ex had become friends and were getting on really well, how he's been really nice to her lately (of course he frigging has, he's got no-one to shag anymore!!) and had been looking rather "fit" recently. Bear in mind this guy looks like a sleepy-eyed cockatoo-haired twat. And also bear in mind she'd been crying over him and calling him a cunt less than a fortnight ago. This is why you should NEVER be friends with exes, but hate them from a distance and spend weeks viciously stabbing pins through the groin of a voodoo doll (was that just me??)
PrickTard turned up, 2 hours late, and left after an hour. But did that stop Captain Marie? Hell no. The second he arrived she was all over him, talking, giggling, getting photos taken with him, oblivious to us glaring, muttering, and flicking the V's at him behind his back whist dancing (again, that might have just been me).
They soon moved outside where we kept our beady eyes fixed on them. All the signs were there - heads unnecessarily close, pointless touching, eye-gazing, little pecks on the lips. I didn't know what to do anymore, frankly, she's a goddamn fucking fool. I've lost ALL patience. This is a guy who LEFT HER IN THE HOSPITAL AFTER AN ASTHMA ATTACK, TO RETURN TO THE PUB, for fuck's sake. Still, she had clearly forgotten all this, and seemed blissfully oblivious to the crowd of friends who materialised outside (as if by telepathy). She was oblivious to the dark mutters of "What the FUCK is she doing?!" and me pretending to be an owl, hooting something that sounded like: "Don't dooooooooooo it!!" She was even oblivious to my panicked shouts of: "We have a situation here! This girl is ridiculous, we've got to do something! Code Red!! CODE RED!!!!!" Just as someone was about to walk over to "casually" trip and spill a drink over him (be fair, we were all crazy-drunk and thought it a fine idea), PrickTard got up and left. For good.
In a fit of high annoyance and disbelief at Marie's utter stupidity, we handcuffed her to a nearby lampost and force-fed her shots of tequila. She did her usual thing - begging and giggling in a childish voice, promising never to do it again. Luckily, everyone seemed as pissed off as I was - we told her she couldn't worm her way out of this by being cute and laughing it off anymore. Not ENTIRELY sure it sank in - but fuck it, we left her there for a good 15 minutes. Not alone, obviously, as Chave knobheads were still lurking (and leering). But we gave her a pretty harsh ear-bashing, to say the least.
A chav knobhead tried it on with me on the way in. But even I know when not to be chatted up by someone, so I chatted politely - attempting to sidle past. He said several things about my dress and boobs - I asked him what right he had to talk to me like that after a mere 30 seconds of conversation. He shrugged, said "Fair point" and turned away.
And that's when the unbelievable happened. We went back inside, chilling out at the tables. Marie had been bought about 6 cider and blacks, 2 of which she gave to me (she was too pissed to notice I'd already surrepticiously downed one). We were chatting away and having fun, when all of a sudden, the unmistakeable sounds of a fight were heard around the corner. Scuffling, testosterone-fuelled shouting, stumbling, the horrible sound of punches being thrown...... We poked our heads round the corner, horrified to see a fight taking place, so big it almost didn't seem to fit in the room. Marie's mum immediately started sending people out the back door, as Marie dived towards the fray to check if her friends were involved. Luckily they weren't, it was the chav dickheads - they'd been in since the football and were CLEARLY hoping for a fight at some point.
As the fight raged on, going WAY past the point when it shoud've ended, I ran for the door, having COMPLETELY mis-heard Marie's mum and not thinking to use the back door like the others. As I stood there, two brawling chavs (someone trying to drag his mate away) came hurtling towards me. In a sheer panic, I wrenched the door open for them to get out. They stood still and looked at me - whilst I desperately tried to look like I wasn't going to fight them. Decided to reason with them, very calmly asking if they wanted to go outside. Just as it looked like they were about to leave, someone came flying towards them - causing them to angrily re-join the fight. I stood by the door in a sort of drunken haze, peering desperately around for Marie so we could just go.
And then, out of nowhere, I got glassed. Seriously, out of nowhere, a glass just came flying at me. And I don't even mean a shotglass (although, on reflection, that would be an odd thing to throw in a pub brawl) - it was one of those big, bitter-holding, handlepot fuckers. By some miracle, it didn't hit me in the face, or indeed smash and cut me - it simply hit my thigh, bounced off, and smashed against the wall. I fell over - well, it was thrown pretty fucking forcefully - and stayed on the floor, staring at the fight. Glasses were exploding like mini-bombs every 8 seconds, STOOLS were being thrown, Julie was hysterically yelling that the police were on their way. I half-sat half-lay in the doorway, crying slightly (more out of shock than anything), before a guy helped me to my feet, brushing glass off my hands. I ran into Marie, who was fuming and sobbing, and next thing we know, the police were there, and the chav dickheads were nowhere to be seen.
The police did their best, but no-one knew the names, or indeed who even STARTED the fight. Two police officers were joking with me about me "not wearing the regulation uniform" and asking me "if I was with them" - presumably just to lighten the mood. We must've looked pretty traumatised. Anyhow, we soon left, making our way back to Marie's where we sat in the kitchen, drinking Raspberry Daiquiris (which appeared out of NOWHERE) and roundly abusing the chav dickheads - before deciding a fuck-load of takeaway pizzas was an excellent form of therapy.
Soon, after all the happy couples had gone to bed, 2 of Marie's friends (one of which was the guy with the small penis..... from December, remember?) decided to walk up the road to collect some cans and carry on the party. So Marie went to get into her PJ's whilst I (already in my PJs) sat chatting to Dan, a ridiculously good looking regular at the pub, who shares with me an insane love of "Family Guy," "Peep Show" and Russell Brand. We sat and discussed the calls to Andrew Sachs (completely blown out of proportion and hilarious, in my opinion), occasionally pausing to break off into choruses of "Surfin Bird." I defy ANYONE who has seen that episode to EVER get the song out of their head again. At least for a good few months or so. It was my understanding that EVERYONE had heard...... THAT THE BIRD IS THE WORD!!!
Aaaaaaaaaaaaanyway..... after they left, Dan and I decided we needed a "power nap" to revitalise us for more beer drinking - so we ended up top and tailing on the sofa, not for a SECOND imagining that said power nap would not really do us any good. Next thing we knew, Marie's mum was sending them home (clearly very aware that we were in no fit state to drink anymore) and I had the sofa to myself.
SUNDAY
Woke up stupidly early the next morning with a bruise on my thigh, the size of a HAND. Lay there for ages, feeling incredibly uncomfortable, but completely unable to move. Eventually staggered to the kitchen for water, pausing only to fish the first thing that came to hand (a bag of steak and kidney puddings) out of the freezer. Collapsed on the sofa and fell asleep - for what I can ASSURE you was the first time in my life - with a bag of steak and kidneys on my head.
Marie soon woke up after everyone had left. She didn't seem remotely hungover (grrr....) so we all hung out a little while watching Hollyoaks (double grrrr...), her mum and I roundly criticising her, re: PrickTard Ex. Soon decided to go home, as I desperately needed my old hangover curing friend, the Subway, and my own bed. Made an educated decision to get a taxi, as I only had my heels with me and couldn't contemplate walking to the bus stop in heels (and indeed, my current state).
Anyway, settled in at home, muching Subway, watching zombie films and enjoying having the house to myself all day (parents and Damien had gone for walk and pub lunch)
So yeah. I've been in a pub brawl. Strange, when you say it like that...... I feel all hardcore and mental inside. The bruise looks more disgusting with every day, all black, green, brown and blue. Eurgh. Frigging chavs. Fuck "Hug a hoodie" - they should be deported.
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Current Mood: aching
Current Music: "Single Ladies (put a ring on it) - Beyonce'
Doles, doctors and dirty daughters
Dear Diary,
WEDNESDAY:
Was shit. Had a shift at the pub. It was fairly nondescript - we had a big darts match on, so were busier than usual. Nothing I couldn't handle (*proudly adjusts collar*)
THURSDAY:
Was cool. Full of regrets about not being able to celebrate my English patriotism, or being able to afford going BACK to Liverpool (for an acquaintance's birthday night out) - I was soon cheered up by my BSL Class. Although, frankly, I could have easily missed half of it - which was finger-spelling the alphabet. I learnt that in BROWNIES, so whilst I felt very chuffed with people commenting on the speed of my fingers (couldn't resist!), it was madly frustrating. At least if the Deaf Punters come in on Wednesday, I can tell them all my family's names, and their ages, and can count to 20. Fun times!
Had a doctor's appointment to talk about cures for my chronic hayfever - I asked for a remedy you wouldn't give to humans. I need the stuff horse tranquilisers are made of. He obliged. Then I bit the bullet and asked for an STD test. I've had one before (not sure I mentioned it) but that was just for the weak, easily dispensible STD's - I need reassurance that I don't have one of those symptomless buggers you read about, nesting in there for years, before the person dies horrifically. So, we shall see! (Christ knows why I'm being so light-hearted)
Got a call from the rugby club - offering an emergency shift. I might as well not have bothered. I was out again in 2 hours.
FRIDAY
Up at t'crack of dawn to go work at Mum's shop, which is always fun. Yes, tons of hard work, but always end up laughing my arse off with the girls my age - not to mention the free breakfast you get on your break. Sweet!
BAD MOMENT - Telling Mum I had a JobCentre meeting to declare the work I did today - which APPARENTLY, I shouldn't have done, as it means I'll get my benefits scrapped this week. Despite my pleas about being honest, and how lying to the government technically constitutes FRAUD, I was told in no uncertain terms that I was a numpty. And that apparently, there certain things you should maybe keep to yourself, so as to continue getting money. Buggeration. Felt very thick all day, as I mercilessly got piss-taken. Scuse the hell out of me for being brought up an honest truth-telling girl. Nontheless:
I AM SUCH A FRIGGING IDIOT!!! DEFINTATELY one of those occasions I need to keep my mouth shut on, methinks.
SCARY MOMENT - After a hilarious natter with Carla (which, as always, verged into the risque'), Mum came round the corner to hear us all laughing, and the gist of the conversation. Raising her eyebrows, she came out with the dread sentence:
"D'you know, Carla, I'm sure Kat's just been fibbing all along, and all this squeamish innocence she puts on is just a front to cover up how rude and dirty-minded she REALLY is!"
All together now:
SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT !!!!!!!
How did she KNOW??! Or maybe she doesn't. Let's pray she never discovers the truth..... Maybe she's been reading this blog? But that's IMPOSSIBLE!! I've taken EVERY step to ensure it can't be read from the home computer. Not that she's the most tech-savvy woman in the world, anyway. She can't tell the computer's arse from her elbow.
COMING SOON: Kat brings her policewoman uniform out of retirement, loses patience with a friend, and inadvertantly becomes involved in a pub brawl
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Current Mood: cosy
Current Music: "My Generation" - The Who
WEDNESDAY:
Was shit. Had a shift at the pub. It was fairly nondescript - we had a big darts match on, so were busier than usual. Nothing I couldn't handle (*proudly adjusts collar*)
THURSDAY:
Was cool. Full of regrets about not being able to celebrate my English patriotism, or being able to afford going BACK to Liverpool (for an acquaintance's birthday night out) - I was soon cheered up by my BSL Class. Although, frankly, I could have easily missed half of it - which was finger-spelling the alphabet. I learnt that in BROWNIES, so whilst I felt very chuffed with people commenting on the speed of my fingers (couldn't resist!), it was madly frustrating. At least if the Deaf Punters come in on Wednesday, I can tell them all my family's names, and their ages, and can count to 20. Fun times!
Had a doctor's appointment to talk about cures for my chronic hayfever - I asked for a remedy you wouldn't give to humans. I need the stuff horse tranquilisers are made of. He obliged. Then I bit the bullet and asked for an STD test. I've had one before (not sure I mentioned it) but that was just for the weak, easily dispensible STD's - I need reassurance that I don't have one of those symptomless buggers you read about, nesting in there for years, before the person dies horrifically. So, we shall see! (Christ knows why I'm being so light-hearted)
Got a call from the rugby club - offering an emergency shift. I might as well not have bothered. I was out again in 2 hours.
FRIDAY
Up at t'crack of dawn to go work at Mum's shop, which is always fun. Yes, tons of hard work, but always end up laughing my arse off with the girls my age - not to mention the free breakfast you get on your break. Sweet!
BAD MOMENT - Telling Mum I had a JobCentre meeting to declare the work I did today - which APPARENTLY, I shouldn't have done, as it means I'll get my benefits scrapped this week. Despite my pleas about being honest, and how lying to the government technically constitutes FRAUD, I was told in no uncertain terms that I was a numpty. And that apparently, there certain things you should maybe keep to yourself, so as to continue getting money. Buggeration. Felt very thick all day, as I mercilessly got piss-taken. Scuse the hell out of me for being brought up an honest truth-telling girl. Nontheless:
I AM SUCH A FRIGGING IDIOT!!! DEFINTATELY one of those occasions I need to keep my mouth shut on, methinks.
SCARY MOMENT - After a hilarious natter with Carla (which, as always, verged into the risque'), Mum came round the corner to hear us all laughing, and the gist of the conversation. Raising her eyebrows, she came out with the dread sentence:
"D'you know, Carla, I'm sure Kat's just been fibbing all along, and all this squeamish innocence she puts on is just a front to cover up how rude and dirty-minded she REALLY is!"
All together now:
SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT !!!!!!!
How did she KNOW??! Or maybe she doesn't. Let's pray she never discovers the truth..... Maybe she's been reading this blog? But that's IMPOSSIBLE!! I've taken EVERY step to ensure it can't be read from the home computer. Not that she's the most tech-savvy woman in the world, anyway. She can't tell the computer's arse from her elbow.
COMING SOON: Kat brings her policewoman uniform out of retirement, loses patience with a friend, and inadvertantly becomes involved in a pub brawl
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Current Mood: cosy
Current Music: "My Generation" - The Who
Thursday, 23 April 2009
Bad Kat's back in town!
Dear Diary,
Monday was good. I liked Monday. Mainly because a) “Bad” Kat made a welcome comeback, and b) I got to return to Liverpool and see Kyle again. I'll start at the beginning:
I had to go back to uni to pay a re-enrolment fee (coursework issues – ie: me not handing it in – prevented me graduating last year) and Kyle said I was welcome to stay over, and even go on an epic bender. However, upon finding out that his boyfriend would be staying over, and therefore, I would be delegated to the sofa, I made an educated decision to stay at someone else's. Gary hadn't texted or even spoke to me in a while, and apparently he had an exam on Tuesday, anyway. Excuses, excuses...... So, into the suitcase went the Cheryl dress, the hair straighteners, silky matching undergarments, heels, and contact lenses.
Purposefully got a late evening coach, as Kyle's fella was coming over to drop some stuff off, and I wanted to avoid him. Partly because I felt bad about “what happened” last time I was there, and partly because I don't actually like him that much – he has a way of talking to me that makes me feel incredibly thick. However, he seems to have changed slightly – he was perfectly nice to me, and even commented on my weight loss (Yes! Yessssssssssssssssss!!) when the dress was on, saying it was very flattering and complimented my figure. Aw. Kyle did my hair whilst I did my make-up, and the end result was WICKED. Decided not to bother with tights, but instead had a vigorous shaving, moisturising and sunbathing session, so my legs were all shiny-looking (I did all that at home, before anyone thinks I'd be as gross as to shave in someone else's flat).
Boyfriend eventually left us to it when I triumphantly produced two bottles of Magners and rough wine – so we sat out on the balcony, drinking, watching the sun set over that magical skyline, and listening to music. Sweet. That is what my life should be like.
Not much to be said about the evening, really. We headed into town, singing "Cecilia" and discussing our lives. As it was Monday night, the place was like a ghost town. We slammed tequilas, got free drinks from our friend back in the bar we went to last time. Kyle took us round in a complete circle in an attempt to find a hidden bar, and inexplicably kissed me when I started smacking and ranting at him. We found the hidden bar (where have all these new buildings in Liverpool COME from??) and got free cocktails, as he knew the manager (how does he know EVERYONE?!)
Me: “How much is that?”
Manager: “Don't worry about it, OK?”
Me: “Wha....?”
Manager: “It's on the house!”
Me: (*after a pause*) “I love you, and I want to have 17 of your babies”
Manager: (*raising eyebrow*) “Is that an offer?”
Kyle: (*dragging me away*) “Come ON, Kat!!”
We made a quick obligatory stop-off in the gay district, which was pretty shit. Although that is where I met Barry, at the bar in an old haunt that had been made-over – but actually looked worse than before. He told me his name and bought me a drink – I started singing Barry White songs to him (which was tricky, as I only knew “You're my first, my last, my everything”). But instead of backing away slowly, he laughed and carried on chatting to me, being all Irish. I suppose he was quite attractive, in the right light. Kyle, sensing the immediate chemistry (or obvious look-out for a shag) between us, started scowling at me and told me he was leaving – and that I'd better be back at his before half 10 in the morning, or he'd go to work, leaving me locked out. What a fucking charmer. Wisely decided not to mention every single time at uni he's left me alone to go pull someone – or let me make my way home alone when he was supposed to be staying over so he could go get a shag.
30 year-old Barry and I, using some inexplicable,slightly-stunted-version-of-the-mating-ritual, wordless agreement, soon decided to leave, obvious that we'd be going home together. (Well, I suppose I MIGHT have used the words; “My friend has his fella staying over, and I don't want to go back and hear them having sex – I need somewhere else to sleep!”) Plans were scuppered as his friend (who he was staying with) wasn't answering his phone or the door. I jokingly suggested a hotel – at which he flew across the road to grab a taxi. He thought I was serious. Eeep.
Sure enough, we pulled up to a small, shiny Travel Lodge. Hung back shyly as Barry tried to convince the receptionist that he'd booked a room on the Internet, despite the fact that it was a) 3am, and b) very very obviously not true. I smiled at the receptionist, clutching my clutch bag and trying my best not to look like a blatant dirty stop-out, which was difficult, as that is in fact what I was. Eventually, Barry decided to simply give up and pay up, handing over his card and forking out £70 (SEVENTY POUNDS!!!!) for a room, while I stood there making all kinds of horrified faces, offering to chip in (despite only having eight quid left in my bag) and waiting for the inevitable; “You know..... £70 is a lot of money..... I'm not sure I want to have sex with you THAT much.....” However, we soon got our key, so off I strutted to the lift – feeling pretty chuffed and confident in my sexual abilities, so great that they could make a man splash out seventy of the Queen's English pounds to have sex with me, despite only meeting me an hour ago. Until I realized 2 things:
1) I most probably definitely looked like I was a prostitute.
2) He technically had nowhere to sleep – so it was a logical solution.
3) There was the slight possibility that Barry hadn't been laid in a while, and didn't mind paying a lot of money for it to happen.
Once up in the room, things took a natural progression. He inexplicably put the TV/radio on, which meant that for the second time in my life, Radio 1 was a background to coitus. I lay back and listened to the insufferable Lady Gaga perform a highly annoying and unusual acoustic version of “Poker Face” and thought about how much I'd like to poke HER face. And then had to try not to laugh at this excellent joke-ette, as Barry was currently removing his trousers – and I didn't think somehow that laughter would be an appropriate reaction to seeing his pork sword. Which, incidentally, was very nice – just the right size, length and shape. I sure can pick 'em!
He seemed very keen to make the most of the night, by attempting to work through what felt like the ENTIRE Kama Sutra. We went from the bed, to the sofa, to the desk, back to the sofa, which was twice as exciting due to the fact that he was able to pick me up and carry me. What was he, a MACHINE??! Although it was fairly obvious that he was thinking; “Fuck it, I've paid seventy quid for a room I'm only using once – I'm going to recreate every porn film I've EVER seen!” Didn't have any complaints, except for when he did that thing all men seem to do at one point – get a little carried away, and try, mid-shag, to gather my legs up under their arms and force them above my head. Now COME ON, I know I'm flexible, but Christ, I'm already concentrating on a billion other things, don't add INJURY to the bill!
Had a very odd conversation about half way through. We were lying side by side on a 10 minute break, waiting to see if the flag would fly again, when he came out with this:
(*looking sideways*) “Shit!”
(*alarmed*) “What?!”
“Your breasts are HUGE!”
Quite why he felt the need to point this out, or why he hadn't noticed an hour and 20 minutes ago when I'd first undressed, I didn't understand.
“They are indeed.”
“Seriously..... they're enormous!”
“I had noticed”
(*sounding like he's trying to explain something important*) “But..... they're HUGE!”
“............. Fair point, lad.”
Yeah, I have a tendency to utter Scousisms sometimes, especially when I'm in the city and ESPECIALLY when I've had a few. Hell, I only have to be there for an hour and I'm wearing “sunnies,” chewing “chewies” and drinking “bevvies” and saying “lad” or “like” at the end of sentences. Like.
Other than that, there wasn't much to say about the evening (or rather, early morning). Despite being quite rough, it was fairly hot, even though there was the inevitable 20 minutes or so when the 18 Carlsbergs that were sank take their toll. And the snoring was death-defying, and sadly I had no Ipod with me to distract. Which was a shame, as I had “Saw 5” on there now, which would have at least helped me escape the cacophony (although, hopefully not to the point where I'd run a blade through my arm up to the elbow). I only got about 3 hours sleep, the knob.
The next morning was very alarming. Woke up with pain in my head and contact lenses in my shoes. I don't even remember removing them. The contacts, not the shoes. Lay back and listened to Chris Moyles for a while, resolving to listen to Radio 1 more often – presumably having it on in the background as I slept brainwashed me. Barry, naturally, was asleep and snoring still. I remembered the vaguely threatening texts from Kyle, saw that it was half 9, and slowly got out of bed to find my clothes. Stared annoyed-ly at Barry as I slung my dress on, inwardly cursing him not waking up for morning sex. As I ran around the room, collecting my 95 bangles, I decided it was probably best to just go. Maybe leave a pleasant note on the pillow, something along the lines of:
“Thank you for paying £70 for this room so we could have somewhere to bonk! Bet you don't remember that, sucker! But you definitely did. And don't worry, we definitely did bonk. You were rather good. I like your tan lines, and your penis. Thank you for clearing away the cobwebs – it's been a while! January, to be precise. Well, have a good day. Sorry I didn't stick around, but I need to go placate my angry gay friend – and you weren't awake for morning sex anyway xxx PS: For future reference, just when you're about 2 seconds away from flinging someone onto a bed, for the love of god, don't choose THAT moment to point out that you're shit at sex. It's a massive turn off, and you were quite good at it, anyway. Better than some I've had before. But yeah, avoid that - as a normal person would probably give you a Look and leave. Luckily, I am not normal, and I hadn't been laid in 3 months. Take care, lovely Irish man!”
But just as I was considering this, by some strange force of nature, my phone alarm started loudly belting out “Mercy,” and he chose that moment to wake up. He looked very baffled – maybe the appearance of glasses on my face made him forget who I was.
“Hey”
(*confused-ly looking at me*) “Hi......?”
(*feeling the need to be helpful*) “You are in a Travel Lodge!”
“Yeah...... Where are you going?”
“Oh, nowhere, I just felt like....... you know, putting my clothes on”
“Were you sneaking out on me?”
“Not remotely! I just.... (*panicking*) thought.... that.....”
“Yeah.....?”
(*trying to be saucy*) “......you'd like to remove them again.....?”
“........OK!”
A few minutes pass.
“Wow!”
“What?”
“You've got HUGE tits!”
How much had he actually forgotten about what happened a mere 5 hours ago?!
“I know. They ARE attached to me! And you told me last night.”
“But..... your tits are MASSIVE!”
(*failing to understand why this has been confirmed five times in the last six hours*) “Yes. Yes they are............. Do you want to (CENSORED) ?”
Anyway, soon after a good bout of morning sex (during which he inexplicably told me I had nice skin), we were both dressed, ready to face the early morning, he furiously trying to phone his mate, me texting Kyle to tell him I was on the way. Went and stood in the foyer, blinking in the gorgeous morning sun, and trying to ignore the fact that I was in a dress and heels, with a clutch bag and bare legs. Which was like a neon/glitter sign announcing that I'd stopped out in a dirty way – as nobody EVER wears a dress, heels and bare legs in the morning, or even the day. Not at 10am, anyway. Not even in Liverpool.
Jumped in a nearby taxi, while Barry announced he was off to find a bar. At 10 in the morning??! Maybe he was off to drown his sorrows at handing over £70 for one night in a hotel? Who knows. I didn't ask. What I did do was give him an awkward little goodbye kiss on the cheek and told him it was nice to meet him. And then, for reasons I still don't fully understand, I shook his hand.
Got back to Kyle's at twenty past, who thankfully DIDN'T uphold his threat to go to work at half 10, leaving me stranded. He was just as hungover as I, and clearly planning on throwing a sickie. Not that he told me, but it was pretty obvious by the way he opened the door, walked in a zombie-like trance back to his room, and flopped like a dead fish back into bed. Very nearly felt bad for waking him up - before remembering all the times at uni he'd left me on nights out to go home with someone. So instead of feeling bad, I concentrated on feeling hungover (and a little bit smug) as I pulled on my comfy jimjams and flopped into bed with him. I had a night of hot uninhibited hotel sex, he probably had boring, comfortable relationship sex. If ANY! I think I know who's winning! Actually, thinking about it, I'm not sure which one I'd rather have. Surely loving, comfortable sex with someone you love is better than sex with a stranger who only wants you because you are THERE and said Yes, no matter how exciting and illicit. Hmmm.... Now I'm depressing myself.
Woke up a few hours later, with Kyle making sexual noises down my ear – an old joke we used to play whenever we stayed at each other's flats – usually meaning none of us could get to sleep for at least an hour, as we'd be waiting for the inevitable groaning, and pissing ourselves laughing at the mere thought of it. He excitedly demanded I provide every little detail, moment and position of the night, almost to the point of providing illustrations. Afterwards, he fell back asleep. I sat on the balcony listening to my Ipod, stretching out luxuriously as the wind tried to blow my hangover away. It didn't. Eventually went back in and curled back up in bed.
Both woke up again at 2pm – rolling pathetically around in bed and feebly moaning about how much we wanted food, but not actually able to contemplate the thought of finding it. Eventually left, and had a GORGEOUS fry-up, sat outside one of our favourite cafe's. We walked up to uni, I paid my re-enrolment fee (Yessssssssssssssss!!) and, in a fit of celebration and nostalgia, bought a packet of BabyBels. I ate them on the way home, whilst making Pacman noises (to accompany the making of Pacman shapes out of the wax) singing the BabyBel song, and annoying the hell out of Kyle.
Back at his, we spent several hilarious hours jamming away on his keyboard, just like in the good old days when we composed crazy-ass songs about hamsters, birthdays, and cocks (among other things). His boyfriend turned up after a while, so I awkwardly lay and read my book while they hung out. Eventually he left, while Kyle got ready for work and I packed my suitcase.
Walked back to the train station, wearing my huge face-covering sunnies to avoid seeing anyone properly and hopefully, being recognised (I was terrified of bumping into Zara, Leanne or Renee). Had a scary moment where I walked past someone who looked EXACTLY like Zara. It may even have been her, she sure was staring at me a lot as we walked past each other. Maybe she was trying to work out if it was actually me – as I had short, red hair, was not wearing my distinctive glasses, and wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, which she probably wouldn't have expected on me. Incidentally, nothing happened, we just carried on. Am I ever going to be able to go back to that fair city without constantly looking over my shoulder and fearing bumping into old friends? Grr.... Fucking Gary. I bet they've not fallen out with HIM.
Sat on the train in a complete haze, experiencing the kind of hangover that lasts all day – which I only seem to get when in Liverpool. Just as I was looking forward to an early night, snuggled up in bed after a plate of warmed-up tea, my phone rang. It was the bloody pub, asking me to come in. Figures. Dad had to come pick me up from the station, I had about 9 minutes to wolf down some tea, change my clothes, have a wash, and generally make myself feel and look like less of a dirty hobo.
So yeah, thus concludes my little trip. Acting on Alice's sound advice (that “Bad” Kat was more interesting to read about), I was “bad” again. Well, bad as in “good” - in a Michael Jackson-esque way. Some may disagree, but I suppose the good that came out of it was that I got laid – and for one night, almost became like a prostitute, and not even in a bad way! Well, I suppose the fact that I didn't get paid is bad, I could do with some extra cash! And I suppose it was bad that I could look Kyle's fella in the eye without feeling ANY guilt about what happened – except for the guilt I felt about NOT feeling guilty (if that makes sense). But hey, Kyle's the one who started it, he's the one in a relationship. If he can do that and look at his boyfriend without feeling an ounce of guilt, then I should be able to as well. Fuck it, it's not my problem.
The shift at the pub went well, by the way. Rather strangely, working got rid of my hangover more effectively than a fry-up, BabyBel or walk in the sun. Intriguing!
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Monday was good. I liked Monday. Mainly because a) “Bad” Kat made a welcome comeback, and b) I got to return to Liverpool and see Kyle again. I'll start at the beginning:
I had to go back to uni to pay a re-enrolment fee (coursework issues – ie: me not handing it in – prevented me graduating last year) and Kyle said I was welcome to stay over, and even go on an epic bender. However, upon finding out that his boyfriend would be staying over, and therefore, I would be delegated to the sofa, I made an educated decision to stay at someone else's. Gary hadn't texted or even spoke to me in a while, and apparently he had an exam on Tuesday, anyway. Excuses, excuses...... So, into the suitcase went the Cheryl dress, the hair straighteners, silky matching undergarments, heels, and contact lenses.
Purposefully got a late evening coach, as Kyle's fella was coming over to drop some stuff off, and I wanted to avoid him. Partly because I felt bad about “what happened” last time I was there, and partly because I don't actually like him that much – he has a way of talking to me that makes me feel incredibly thick. However, he seems to have changed slightly – he was perfectly nice to me, and even commented on my weight loss (Yes! Yessssssssssssssssss!!) when the dress was on, saying it was very flattering and complimented my figure. Aw. Kyle did my hair whilst I did my make-up, and the end result was WICKED. Decided not to bother with tights, but instead had a vigorous shaving, moisturising and sunbathing session, so my legs were all shiny-looking (I did all that at home, before anyone thinks I'd be as gross as to shave in someone else's flat).
Boyfriend eventually left us to it when I triumphantly produced two bottles of Magners and rough wine – so we sat out on the balcony, drinking, watching the sun set over that magical skyline, and listening to music. Sweet. That is what my life should be like.
Not much to be said about the evening, really. We headed into town, singing "Cecilia" and discussing our lives. As it was Monday night, the place was like a ghost town. We slammed tequilas, got free drinks from our friend back in the bar we went to last time. Kyle took us round in a complete circle in an attempt to find a hidden bar, and inexplicably kissed me when I started smacking and ranting at him. We found the hidden bar (where have all these new buildings in Liverpool COME from??) and got free cocktails, as he knew the manager (how does he know EVERYONE?!)
Me: “How much is that?”
Manager: “Don't worry about it, OK?”
Me: “Wha....?”
Manager: “It's on the house!”
Me: (*after a pause*) “I love you, and I want to have 17 of your babies”
Manager: (*raising eyebrow*) “Is that an offer?”
Kyle: (*dragging me away*) “Come ON, Kat!!”
We made a quick obligatory stop-off in the gay district, which was pretty shit. Although that is where I met Barry, at the bar in an old haunt that had been made-over – but actually looked worse than before. He told me his name and bought me a drink – I started singing Barry White songs to him (which was tricky, as I only knew “You're my first, my last, my everything”). But instead of backing away slowly, he laughed and carried on chatting to me, being all Irish. I suppose he was quite attractive, in the right light. Kyle, sensing the immediate chemistry (or obvious look-out for a shag) between us, started scowling at me and told me he was leaving – and that I'd better be back at his before half 10 in the morning, or he'd go to work, leaving me locked out. What a fucking charmer. Wisely decided not to mention every single time at uni he's left me alone to go pull someone – or let me make my way home alone when he was supposed to be staying over so he could go get a shag.
30 year-old Barry and I, using some inexplicable,slightly-stunted-version-of-the-mating-ritual, wordless agreement, soon decided to leave, obvious that we'd be going home together. (Well, I suppose I MIGHT have used the words; “My friend has his fella staying over, and I don't want to go back and hear them having sex – I need somewhere else to sleep!”) Plans were scuppered as his friend (who he was staying with) wasn't answering his phone or the door. I jokingly suggested a hotel – at which he flew across the road to grab a taxi. He thought I was serious. Eeep.
Sure enough, we pulled up to a small, shiny Travel Lodge. Hung back shyly as Barry tried to convince the receptionist that he'd booked a room on the Internet, despite the fact that it was a) 3am, and b) very very obviously not true. I smiled at the receptionist, clutching my clutch bag and trying my best not to look like a blatant dirty stop-out, which was difficult, as that is in fact what I was. Eventually, Barry decided to simply give up and pay up, handing over his card and forking out £70 (SEVENTY POUNDS!!!!) for a room, while I stood there making all kinds of horrified faces, offering to chip in (despite only having eight quid left in my bag) and waiting for the inevitable; “You know..... £70 is a lot of money..... I'm not sure I want to have sex with you THAT much.....” However, we soon got our key, so off I strutted to the lift – feeling pretty chuffed and confident in my sexual abilities, so great that they could make a man splash out seventy of the Queen's English pounds to have sex with me, despite only meeting me an hour ago. Until I realized 2 things:
1) I most probably definitely looked like I was a prostitute.
2) He technically had nowhere to sleep – so it was a logical solution.
3) There was the slight possibility that Barry hadn't been laid in a while, and didn't mind paying a lot of money for it to happen.
Once up in the room, things took a natural progression. He inexplicably put the TV/radio on, which meant that for the second time in my life, Radio 1 was a background to coitus. I lay back and listened to the insufferable Lady Gaga perform a highly annoying and unusual acoustic version of “Poker Face” and thought about how much I'd like to poke HER face. And then had to try not to laugh at this excellent joke-ette, as Barry was currently removing his trousers – and I didn't think somehow that laughter would be an appropriate reaction to seeing his pork sword. Which, incidentally, was very nice – just the right size, length and shape. I sure can pick 'em!
He seemed very keen to make the most of the night, by attempting to work through what felt like the ENTIRE Kama Sutra. We went from the bed, to the sofa, to the desk, back to the sofa, which was twice as exciting due to the fact that he was able to pick me up and carry me. What was he, a MACHINE??! Although it was fairly obvious that he was thinking; “Fuck it, I've paid seventy quid for a room I'm only using once – I'm going to recreate every porn film I've EVER seen!” Didn't have any complaints, except for when he did that thing all men seem to do at one point – get a little carried away, and try, mid-shag, to gather my legs up under their arms and force them above my head. Now COME ON, I know I'm flexible, but Christ, I'm already concentrating on a billion other things, don't add INJURY to the bill!
Had a very odd conversation about half way through. We were lying side by side on a 10 minute break, waiting to see if the flag would fly again, when he came out with this:
(*looking sideways*) “Shit!”
(*alarmed*) “What?!”
“Your breasts are HUGE!”
Quite why he felt the need to point this out, or why he hadn't noticed an hour and 20 minutes ago when I'd first undressed, I didn't understand.
“They are indeed.”
“Seriously..... they're enormous!”
“I had noticed”
(*sounding like he's trying to explain something important*) “But..... they're HUGE!”
“............. Fair point, lad.”
Yeah, I have a tendency to utter Scousisms sometimes, especially when I'm in the city and ESPECIALLY when I've had a few. Hell, I only have to be there for an hour and I'm wearing “sunnies,” chewing “chewies” and drinking “bevvies” and saying “lad” or “like” at the end of sentences. Like.
Other than that, there wasn't much to say about the evening (or rather, early morning). Despite being quite rough, it was fairly hot, even though there was the inevitable 20 minutes or so when the 18 Carlsbergs that were sank take their toll. And the snoring was death-defying, and sadly I had no Ipod with me to distract. Which was a shame, as I had “Saw 5” on there now, which would have at least helped me escape the cacophony (although, hopefully not to the point where I'd run a blade through my arm up to the elbow). I only got about 3 hours sleep, the knob.
The next morning was very alarming. Woke up with pain in my head and contact lenses in my shoes. I don't even remember removing them. The contacts, not the shoes. Lay back and listened to Chris Moyles for a while, resolving to listen to Radio 1 more often – presumably having it on in the background as I slept brainwashed me. Barry, naturally, was asleep and snoring still. I remembered the vaguely threatening texts from Kyle, saw that it was half 9, and slowly got out of bed to find my clothes. Stared annoyed-ly at Barry as I slung my dress on, inwardly cursing him not waking up for morning sex. As I ran around the room, collecting my 95 bangles, I decided it was probably best to just go. Maybe leave a pleasant note on the pillow, something along the lines of:
“Thank you for paying £70 for this room so we could have somewhere to bonk! Bet you don't remember that, sucker! But you definitely did. And don't worry, we definitely did bonk. You were rather good. I like your tan lines, and your penis. Thank you for clearing away the cobwebs – it's been a while! January, to be precise. Well, have a good day. Sorry I didn't stick around, but I need to go placate my angry gay friend – and you weren't awake for morning sex anyway xxx PS: For future reference, just when you're about 2 seconds away from flinging someone onto a bed, for the love of god, don't choose THAT moment to point out that you're shit at sex. It's a massive turn off, and you were quite good at it, anyway. Better than some I've had before. But yeah, avoid that - as a normal person would probably give you a Look and leave. Luckily, I am not normal, and I hadn't been laid in 3 months. Take care, lovely Irish man!”
But just as I was considering this, by some strange force of nature, my phone alarm started loudly belting out “Mercy,” and he chose that moment to wake up. He looked very baffled – maybe the appearance of glasses on my face made him forget who I was.
“Hey”
(*confused-ly looking at me*) “Hi......?”
(*feeling the need to be helpful*) “You are in a Travel Lodge!”
“Yeah...... Where are you going?”
“Oh, nowhere, I just felt like....... you know, putting my clothes on”
“Were you sneaking out on me?”
“Not remotely! I just.... (*panicking*) thought.... that.....”
“Yeah.....?”
(*trying to be saucy*) “......you'd like to remove them again.....?”
“........OK!”
A few minutes pass.
“Wow!”
“What?”
“You've got HUGE tits!”
How much had he actually forgotten about what happened a mere 5 hours ago?!
“I know. They ARE attached to me! And you told me last night.”
“But..... your tits are MASSIVE!”
(*failing to understand why this has been confirmed five times in the last six hours*) “Yes. Yes they are............. Do you want to (CENSORED) ?”
Anyway, soon after a good bout of morning sex (during which he inexplicably told me I had nice skin), we were both dressed, ready to face the early morning, he furiously trying to phone his mate, me texting Kyle to tell him I was on the way. Went and stood in the foyer, blinking in the gorgeous morning sun, and trying to ignore the fact that I was in a dress and heels, with a clutch bag and bare legs. Which was like a neon/glitter sign announcing that I'd stopped out in a dirty way – as nobody EVER wears a dress, heels and bare legs in the morning, or even the day. Not at 10am, anyway. Not even in Liverpool.
Jumped in a nearby taxi, while Barry announced he was off to find a bar. At 10 in the morning??! Maybe he was off to drown his sorrows at handing over £70 for one night in a hotel? Who knows. I didn't ask. What I did do was give him an awkward little goodbye kiss on the cheek and told him it was nice to meet him. And then, for reasons I still don't fully understand, I shook his hand.
Got back to Kyle's at twenty past, who thankfully DIDN'T uphold his threat to go to work at half 10, leaving me stranded. He was just as hungover as I, and clearly planning on throwing a sickie. Not that he told me, but it was pretty obvious by the way he opened the door, walked in a zombie-like trance back to his room, and flopped like a dead fish back into bed. Very nearly felt bad for waking him up - before remembering all the times at uni he'd left me on nights out to go home with someone. So instead of feeling bad, I concentrated on feeling hungover (and a little bit smug) as I pulled on my comfy jimjams and flopped into bed with him. I had a night of hot uninhibited hotel sex, he probably had boring, comfortable relationship sex. If ANY! I think I know who's winning! Actually, thinking about it, I'm not sure which one I'd rather have. Surely loving, comfortable sex with someone you love is better than sex with a stranger who only wants you because you are THERE and said Yes, no matter how exciting and illicit. Hmmm.... Now I'm depressing myself.
Woke up a few hours later, with Kyle making sexual noises down my ear – an old joke we used to play whenever we stayed at each other's flats – usually meaning none of us could get to sleep for at least an hour, as we'd be waiting for the inevitable groaning, and pissing ourselves laughing at the mere thought of it. He excitedly demanded I provide every little detail, moment and position of the night, almost to the point of providing illustrations. Afterwards, he fell back asleep. I sat on the balcony listening to my Ipod, stretching out luxuriously as the wind tried to blow my hangover away. It didn't. Eventually went back in and curled back up in bed.
Both woke up again at 2pm – rolling pathetically around in bed and feebly moaning about how much we wanted food, but not actually able to contemplate the thought of finding it. Eventually left, and had a GORGEOUS fry-up, sat outside one of our favourite cafe's. We walked up to uni, I paid my re-enrolment fee (Yessssssssssssssss!!) and, in a fit of celebration and nostalgia, bought a packet of BabyBels. I ate them on the way home, whilst making Pacman noises (to accompany the making of Pacman shapes out of the wax) singing the BabyBel song, and annoying the hell out of Kyle.
Back at his, we spent several hilarious hours jamming away on his keyboard, just like in the good old days when we composed crazy-ass songs about hamsters, birthdays, and cocks (among other things). His boyfriend turned up after a while, so I awkwardly lay and read my book while they hung out. Eventually he left, while Kyle got ready for work and I packed my suitcase.
Walked back to the train station, wearing my huge face-covering sunnies to avoid seeing anyone properly and hopefully, being recognised (I was terrified of bumping into Zara, Leanne or Renee). Had a scary moment where I walked past someone who looked EXACTLY like Zara. It may even have been her, she sure was staring at me a lot as we walked past each other. Maybe she was trying to work out if it was actually me – as I had short, red hair, was not wearing my distinctive glasses, and wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, which she probably wouldn't have expected on me. Incidentally, nothing happened, we just carried on. Am I ever going to be able to go back to that fair city without constantly looking over my shoulder and fearing bumping into old friends? Grr.... Fucking Gary. I bet they've not fallen out with HIM.
Sat on the train in a complete haze, experiencing the kind of hangover that lasts all day – which I only seem to get when in Liverpool. Just as I was looking forward to an early night, snuggled up in bed after a plate of warmed-up tea, my phone rang. It was the bloody pub, asking me to come in. Figures. Dad had to come pick me up from the station, I had about 9 minutes to wolf down some tea, change my clothes, have a wash, and generally make myself feel and look like less of a dirty hobo.
So yeah, thus concludes my little trip. Acting on Alice's sound advice (that “Bad” Kat was more interesting to read about), I was “bad” again. Well, bad as in “good” - in a Michael Jackson-esque way. Some may disagree, but I suppose the good that came out of it was that I got laid – and for one night, almost became like a prostitute, and not even in a bad way! Well, I suppose the fact that I didn't get paid is bad, I could do with some extra cash! And I suppose it was bad that I could look Kyle's fella in the eye without feeling ANY guilt about what happened – except for the guilt I felt about NOT feeling guilty (if that makes sense). But hey, Kyle's the one who started it, he's the one in a relationship. If he can do that and look at his boyfriend without feeling an ounce of guilt, then I should be able to as well. Fuck it, it's not my problem.
The shift at the pub went well, by the way. Rather strangely, working got rid of my hangover more effectively than a fry-up, BabyBel or walk in the sun. Intriguing!
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Yet another recap
Dear Diary,
Jesus Christ! I've left another WEEK!! In fact, almost TWO weeks!! This is getting ridiculous. Although not as ridiculous as the realisation that I can let almost 2 weeks of my LIFE slip by without anything to remember them by. Absolutely NOTHING worthwhile happened to me. Fuck, things have GOT to change.
Let's see what I can remember:
Tuesday - Lisa and I went to Pizza Hut and saw "The Boat that Rocked." Since I can't possibly do it justice in a short recap entry, I will simply advise you to wait for the review. Because, my GOD, there will be one.
Wednesday - I had work. It was uneventful. Learnt a little more to say to the Deaf folks and felt very chuffed with myself.
Thursday - Lisa went back to Oxford. I was thrilled when the sun made an appearance. Went to the gym and actually enjoyed it, especailly walking home in the afternoon glow.
Friday - In a fit of enthusiasm for wanting to work in the media, I phoned every TV and radio staion in the local area, asking for unpaid work experience. A few of them even said "yes." So pretty much sent all day writing, printing and sending exciting CVs and covering letters.
Saturday - I got a shift at the rugby club. EVERYONE sat outside, whilst I was left completely alone in the lounge bar for AN HOUR. I drank free lemonade, listened to my Ipod and danced around the deserted room - occasionally looking out the windows to watch the lads do funnels. Actually came home early, it was that dead. Mum made a BEAST of a paella. Good times.
Sunday - Parents threw a BBQ. I made a summer/BBQ/60's playlist - inspired by "The Boat that Rocked" - and felt like an exceptional DJ when everyone praised my music choice. After everyone had gone (or gone indoors), I stretched out on a deckchair, drinking Rose wine, listening to the rest of the playlist, gazing up at the stunning blue sky and considering endless possibilities.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Current Mood: blank
Current Music: "All day and all of the night" - The Kinks
Jesus Christ! I've left another WEEK!! In fact, almost TWO weeks!! This is getting ridiculous. Although not as ridiculous as the realisation that I can let almost 2 weeks of my LIFE slip by without anything to remember them by. Absolutely NOTHING worthwhile happened to me. Fuck, things have GOT to change.
Let's see what I can remember:
Tuesday - Lisa and I went to Pizza Hut and saw "The Boat that Rocked." Since I can't possibly do it justice in a short recap entry, I will simply advise you to wait for the review. Because, my GOD, there will be one.
Wednesday - I had work. It was uneventful. Learnt a little more to say to the Deaf folks and felt very chuffed with myself.
Thursday - Lisa went back to Oxford. I was thrilled when the sun made an appearance. Went to the gym and actually enjoyed it, especailly walking home in the afternoon glow.
Friday - In a fit of enthusiasm for wanting to work in the media, I phoned every TV and radio staion in the local area, asking for unpaid work experience. A few of them even said "yes." So pretty much sent all day writing, printing and sending exciting CVs and covering letters.
Saturday - I got a shift at the rugby club. EVERYONE sat outside, whilst I was left completely alone in the lounge bar for AN HOUR. I drank free lemonade, listened to my Ipod and danced around the deserted room - occasionally looking out the windows to watch the lads do funnels. Actually came home early, it was that dead. Mum made a BEAST of a paella. Good times.
Sunday - Parents threw a BBQ. I made a summer/BBQ/60's playlist - inspired by "The Boat that Rocked" - and felt like an exceptional DJ when everyone praised my music choice. After everyone had gone (or gone indoors), I stretched out on a deckchair, drinking Rose wine, listening to the rest of the playlist, gazing up at the stunning blue sky and considering endless possibilities.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Current Mood: blank
Current Music: "All day and all of the night" - The Kinks
Sunday, 19 April 2009
More recaps....
Dear Diary,
Good lord!! Why do I keep leaving such big gaps in between blogs? This is RIDICULOUS!! So now I have to do those gay-arsed recaps in which I don't properly capture every emotion or feeling that was felt at the time - not to mention I have the equivalent of a whole bottle of Rose' wine inside myself, therefore typing may...... AMY (I mean, MAY) become a problem.....
THURSDAY
So, after sharing with the world exactly what 7 songs I couldn't get out of my head last week, I went to the BSL Open evening at the Deaf Centre in town. Dead excited, mentally running over what little I'd learnt from books so far, I strutted in, helped myself to an offered Diet Coke and sat down at the only table available - at the end of the room. Everyone (quite a mixed crowd, ranging from Boots workers to blatant community service folk) stared at me, as I sat there, feeling uncomfortable under their intense gaze. It was only when literally EVERY EYE in the place was upon me that I realised I was sat at the head of the room, and everyone thought I was the tutor. Typical......
After scurrying to a proper seat and making conversation with the neighbours, the tutor (who was deaf herself) came in. It was AMAZING, she signed everything she said, while her youngest (and quite cute) son interpretted - which was cool, as we were able to follow by example. Went through a massive slideshow explaining the course and the exam, demonstrating what we already knew (community service girl knew frigging LOADS) while I terrified-ly shot glances at my phone (Lisa was meant to be ringing and my phone was cut off due to bill issues, so had to wait to receive a call detailing when we'd meet in town). She eventually rang, causing me to run out the room. Luckily, I knew the signs for "Sorry" "Important" and "Phone call" - so at least I didn't appear rude.
Met up with Lisa afterwards, who was home for a whole WEEK from Oxford. Basically hung out in our old favourite haunt, obsessing about Alice's old flame, questioning what the bloody fricking hellfire that night with Kyle was all about, and generally catching up and enjoying each other's company.
FRIDAY
Was nothing to write home about. Well, I did nothing all day, I mean - got invited to a pub tea with Lisa and her old band friend, who is generally nice but usually makes me feel like a very thick and over-excited child. Oh well, I suppose it's a pretty accurate summary! Had a FINE-ARSE baguette, shot a bit of knowledge out on the quiz machine and eyed up the talent. Fun times!
SATURDAY
Was pretty boring. Got a shift at the rugby club. No funnels were involved. Lots of unrealistically gorgeous rugby players were......... who all went off into town afterwards. Grrrrr.....
SUNDAY
........ like Friday and Saturday, were boring as hell until the evening kicked in. Went back to the old haunt, only this time accompanied by several old friends, including Alice, who was home for a brief while. Chatted, hung out, caught up, debated with RockSoc (thanks Lisa!) about exactly WHY "Dark Side of the Moon" is fucking incredible, drank loads and generally basked in that delicious old-friends glow. Sweet times! Not to mention I somehow managed to get Ring-Watcher's seemingly mute fella involved in the conversation. NO awkward silences when I'M around!!! I simply don't believe in them - if you're not going to talk AT ALL you might as well not be there. Harsh, but there you go - I'm a perpetual natterer. Even won an award for it at uni! (*blushes*) It was a proud day.......
More tomorrow!
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Good lord!! Why do I keep leaving such big gaps in between blogs? This is RIDICULOUS!! So now I have to do those gay-arsed recaps in which I don't properly capture every emotion or feeling that was felt at the time - not to mention I have the equivalent of a whole bottle of Rose' wine inside myself, therefore typing may...... AMY (I mean, MAY) become a problem.....
THURSDAY
So, after sharing with the world exactly what 7 songs I couldn't get out of my head last week, I went to the BSL Open evening at the Deaf Centre in town. Dead excited, mentally running over what little I'd learnt from books so far, I strutted in, helped myself to an offered Diet Coke and sat down at the only table available - at the end of the room. Everyone (quite a mixed crowd, ranging from Boots workers to blatant community service folk) stared at me, as I sat there, feeling uncomfortable under their intense gaze. It was only when literally EVERY EYE in the place was upon me that I realised I was sat at the head of the room, and everyone thought I was the tutor. Typical......
After scurrying to a proper seat and making conversation with the neighbours, the tutor (who was deaf herself) came in. It was AMAZING, she signed everything she said, while her youngest (and quite cute) son interpretted - which was cool, as we were able to follow by example. Went through a massive slideshow explaining the course and the exam, demonstrating what we already knew (community service girl knew frigging LOADS) while I terrified-ly shot glances at my phone (Lisa was meant to be ringing and my phone was cut off due to bill issues, so had to wait to receive a call detailing when we'd meet in town). She eventually rang, causing me to run out the room. Luckily, I knew the signs for "Sorry" "Important" and "Phone call" - so at least I didn't appear rude.
Met up with Lisa afterwards, who was home for a whole WEEK from Oxford. Basically hung out in our old favourite haunt, obsessing about Alice's old flame, questioning what the bloody fricking hellfire that night with Kyle was all about, and generally catching up and enjoying each other's company.
FRIDAY
Was nothing to write home about. Well, I did nothing all day, I mean - got invited to a pub tea with Lisa and her old band friend, who is generally nice but usually makes me feel like a very thick and over-excited child. Oh well, I suppose it's a pretty accurate summary! Had a FINE-ARSE baguette, shot a bit of knowledge out on the quiz machine and eyed up the talent. Fun times!
SATURDAY
Was pretty boring. Got a shift at the rugby club. No funnels were involved. Lots of unrealistically gorgeous rugby players were......... who all went off into town afterwards. Grrrrr.....
SUNDAY
........ like Friday and Saturday, were boring as hell until the evening kicked in. Went back to the old haunt, only this time accompanied by several old friends, including Alice, who was home for a brief while. Chatted, hung out, caught up, debated with RockSoc (thanks Lisa!) about exactly WHY "Dark Side of the Moon" is fucking incredible, drank loads and generally basked in that delicious old-friends glow. Sweet times! Not to mention I somehow managed to get Ring-Watcher's seemingly mute fella involved in the conversation. NO awkward silences when I'M around!!! I simply don't believe in them - if you're not going to talk AT ALL you might as well not be there. Harsh, but there you go - I'm a perpetual natterer. Even won an award for it at uni! (*blushes*) It was a proud day.......
More tomorrow!
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Thursday, 9 April 2009
Another song list..... about songs
Dear Diary,
7 SONGS I CAN'T GET OUT OF MY HEAD AT THE MOMENT:
1 - "Sunchyme" (Dario G) - YES!!! I've rediscovered a dance hit from my youth! This song literally made me dance at a bus stop the other day (I was alone). So energetic and African and wonderful. See, us Brits really do produce some gold!
2 - "The Great Gig in the Sky" (Pink Floyd) - Listen to Clare Torry sing! Just LISTEN!!! Apparently they stuck her in a recording booth and told her to just completely improvise a tune "about Death." And this is the result. Over a piano. Oh my god, just listen to it. Bear with it until her voice kicks in, and then FEEL THE GOOSBUMPS.
3 - "Crazy" (Alanis Morrisette) - Oh my god! I fucking LOVE this song! So melodic and wonderful, and such an outstanding voice! And the LYRICS!! So true! Alanis, I officially love you. I SO get what everyone sees in you, now. Listen to this song if it's the last thing you do. And download the studio version if you can, the backing music is so much more luscious and spine-tingly lovely than it is live.
4/5 - "Suck my kiss/Sir Psycho Sexy" (Red Hot Chilli Peppers) - I've totally started getting into the Chillies. And damn, I'm glad I did. This band fucking RULES, and I feel nothing but regret for the fact that I didn't take any notice of them in the glory years (when I was growing up). The first song, as well as being catchy as anything and having one hell of a hook, makes me think of Kyle and his outstanding kissing techniques...... The second is just the sexiest song ALIVE. Or the most pornographic. Either way, it's all good. Those guitars! And the bass! And the drums! And the lyrics!! (*Shivers*) This is sex in song form, and the bassline makes you actually want to do a striptease (which makes public transport a pain in the arse, should it come on your Ipod). It's so sexy even the BAND felt the need to strip off at the sound of their own creation (see video link above) Absolute goddamn fucking GENIUS. Can't seem to find a studio version on Youtube, but for the love of god, download it and let the sexy times (rock and) roll.
6 - "Breathe" (Pink Floyd) - Possibly my favourite song EVER. It sounds so gorgeous and melodic and swoony, perfect for meditation, pondering, drifting off to sleep. And the lyrics are unbelievably true, if not slightly depressing (pretty much like the whole album) It sounds amazing live, but listen to the original CD/LP version first, because it is simply stunning (Skip forward to 1:10 ) Much more groundbreaking than Alanis, but again, listen to it if it's the last thing you do.
7 - "Single Ladies (Put a ring on it)" (Beyonce') - I couldn't stand this when it first came out, and now I CAN'T stop listening to it! And the video is just mesmerising to watch, considering it's just 3 women dancing in a non-descript room for 3 minutes. Although I heard that one of the women is actually a man - the choreographer who had to step in at the last minute because they couldn't find anyone good enough for the 3rd woman. Have a look - she's the one mostly on the left, with the darkest hair/skin. But as for the tune - damn catchy. And perfect when you're thinking about you're ex and you're in a "Fuck you" mood. Although Beyonce' seems to have a robot hand at one point.......
Basically, if you have time, look up the studio/album versions and lyrics for songs 2, 3, 4/5 and 6. If you can be bothered, and are particularly interested in what makes me tick. Or just want to look at (and listen to) masterpieces.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
7 SONGS I CAN'T GET OUT OF MY HEAD AT THE MOMENT:
1 - "Sunchyme" (Dario G) - YES!!! I've rediscovered a dance hit from my youth! This song literally made me dance at a bus stop the other day (I was alone). So energetic and African and wonderful. See, us Brits really do produce some gold!
2 - "The Great Gig in the Sky" (Pink Floyd) - Listen to Clare Torry sing! Just LISTEN!!! Apparently they stuck her in a recording booth and told her to just completely improvise a tune "about Death." And this is the result. Over a piano. Oh my god, just listen to it. Bear with it until her voice kicks in, and then FEEL THE GOOSBUMPS.
3 - "Crazy" (Alanis Morrisette) - Oh my god! I fucking LOVE this song! So melodic and wonderful, and such an outstanding voice! And the LYRICS!! So true! Alanis, I officially love you. I SO get what everyone sees in you, now. Listen to this song if it's the last thing you do. And download the studio version if you can, the backing music is so much more luscious and spine-tingly lovely than it is live.
4/5 - "Suck my kiss/Sir Psycho Sexy" (Red Hot Chilli Peppers) - I've totally started getting into the Chillies. And damn, I'm glad I did. This band fucking RULES, and I feel nothing but regret for the fact that I didn't take any notice of them in the glory years (when I was growing up). The first song, as well as being catchy as anything and having one hell of a hook, makes me think of Kyle and his outstanding kissing techniques...... The second is just the sexiest song ALIVE. Or the most pornographic. Either way, it's all good. Those guitars! And the bass! And the drums! And the lyrics!! (*Shivers*) This is sex in song form, and the bassline makes you actually want to do a striptease (which makes public transport a pain in the arse, should it come on your Ipod). It's so sexy even the BAND felt the need to strip off at the sound of their own creation (see video link above) Absolute goddamn fucking GENIUS. Can't seem to find a studio version on Youtube, but for the love of god, download it and let the sexy times (rock and) roll.
6 - "Breathe" (Pink Floyd) - Possibly my favourite song EVER. It sounds so gorgeous and melodic and swoony, perfect for meditation, pondering, drifting off to sleep. And the lyrics are unbelievably true, if not slightly depressing (pretty much like the whole album) It sounds amazing live, but listen to the original CD/LP version first, because it is simply stunning (Skip forward to 1:10 ) Much more groundbreaking than Alanis, but again, listen to it if it's the last thing you do.
7 - "Single Ladies (Put a ring on it)" (Beyonce') - I couldn't stand this when it first came out, and now I CAN'T stop listening to it! And the video is just mesmerising to watch, considering it's just 3 women dancing in a non-descript room for 3 minutes. Although I heard that one of the women is actually a man - the choreographer who had to step in at the last minute because they couldn't find anyone good enough for the 3rd woman. Have a look - she's the one mostly on the left, with the darkest hair/skin. But as for the tune - damn catchy. And perfect when you're thinking about you're ex and you're in a "Fuck you" mood. Although Beyonce' seems to have a robot hand at one point.......
Basically, if you have time, look up the studio/album versions and lyrics for songs 2, 3, 4/5 and 6. If you can be bothered, and are particularly interested in what makes me tick. Or just want to look at (and listen to) masterpieces.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Wednesday, 8 April 2009
Slightly frustrating Wednesday
Dear Diary,
Today was one of those strange days where you think everything is going to be positive...... and it all just turns out negative. Do you know what I mean? I HATE those days!
POSITIVE: I went to the JobCentre about getting help (i.e: FUNDS) for the BSL course.
NEGATIVE: I was told in no uncertain terms that they don't pay for people's courses unless there's already been a job offer at the end of it, and they have no idea who told me otherwise.
POSITIVE: I went to withdraw new-claim money to prepare for Lisa's visit (and pay bill)
NEGATIVE: My pissing claim hasn't gone through yet - therefore, no money.
POSITIVE: I promised Mum (and myself) I'd go to the gym today.
NEGATIVE: I didn't.
POSITIVE: I made tea.
NEGATIVE: It was ever so slightly terrible.
POSITIVE: Damien's gone home for a week.
NEGATIVE: We don't eat round the table together anymore.
POSITIVE: I wore my gorgeous red flats to work, to match my "sailor" outfit.
NEGATIVE: My feet were almost bleeding after an hour.
POSITIVE: The deaf punters came in.
NEGATIVE: I forgot to study my notes, and therefore had NOTHING to say to them.
It wasn't ALL bad though. I weakened, and got a Subway (yesterday was clearly a momentary lapse) on the way home. I sat and ate it whilst watching "Classic Albums - Pink Floyd." I was reminded just how much I bloody love "Dark Side of the Moon" and how I wish I had the money and resources to write, produce, and perform the whole thing myself. I watched "To Kill a Mockingbird" and remembered how fantastic a story it is, and how wonderful Gregory Peck was.
I got my super massive monster beast of a keyboard out for the first time in a YEAR and had an amazing time, pretty much jamming all afternoon. It was sweeeeeeeeeet. Especially when I taught myself how to play one of my favourites - "I'm not in love." Actually, that's no big achievement, you just press a button to start the backing beats, switch to a spacey synth-style setting (try saying that pissed), find the notes, and sing along. It sounded like a hybrid between the 10CC version and the Tori Amos version by the time I was done. Tasty!
Had a good shift at work, there were about 5 people in ALL night - so it pretty much flew by. Made good tips. Daydreamed/reminisced about that night with Kyle A LOT, wondering which emotion I felt more; guilt or arousal. Having said that, those two go pretty much hand in hand whenever I'm concerned! Thought about Gary, and decided I'm not arsed anymore. This has gone on long enough now, if it happens, it happens. If it's shit, I'll have learnt. Fuck it.
Got the open day up at the Deaf Centre tomorrow evening. Slightly nervous, but excited. And I'm going to ask if there's any discounts available for the course. If not, Mum's allowed me to dip into the Paris money. It'll be worth it, I suppose. My god, I always wanted to be an interpreter when I was younger. Imagine if I actually MADE IT?! Maybe not quite the translating I had in mind (French), but damn, it's an important skill. I'm EXCITED!! Or should I say....... (*waves clawed hands in opposite circles at either side of head*) See! I've done my research!!
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Current Mood: sleepy and hungry
Current Music: "Shackles (Praise You)" - Mary Mary
Today was one of those strange days where you think everything is going to be positive...... and it all just turns out negative. Do you know what I mean? I HATE those days!
POSITIVE: I went to the JobCentre about getting help (i.e: FUNDS) for the BSL course.
NEGATIVE: I was told in no uncertain terms that they don't pay for people's courses unless there's already been a job offer at the end of it, and they have no idea who told me otherwise.
POSITIVE: I went to withdraw new-claim money to prepare for Lisa's visit (and pay bill)
NEGATIVE: My pissing claim hasn't gone through yet - therefore, no money.
POSITIVE: I promised Mum (and myself) I'd go to the gym today.
NEGATIVE: I didn't.
POSITIVE: I made tea.
NEGATIVE: It was ever so slightly terrible.
POSITIVE: Damien's gone home for a week.
NEGATIVE: We don't eat round the table together anymore.
POSITIVE: I wore my gorgeous red flats to work, to match my "sailor" outfit.
NEGATIVE: My feet were almost bleeding after an hour.
POSITIVE: The deaf punters came in.
NEGATIVE: I forgot to study my notes, and therefore had NOTHING to say to them.
It wasn't ALL bad though. I weakened, and got a Subway (yesterday was clearly a momentary lapse) on the way home. I sat and ate it whilst watching "Classic Albums - Pink Floyd." I was reminded just how much I bloody love "Dark Side of the Moon" and how I wish I had the money and resources to write, produce, and perform the whole thing myself. I watched "To Kill a Mockingbird" and remembered how fantastic a story it is, and how wonderful Gregory Peck was.
I got my super massive monster beast of a keyboard out for the first time in a YEAR and had an amazing time, pretty much jamming all afternoon. It was sweeeeeeeeeet. Especially when I taught myself how to play one of my favourites - "I'm not in love." Actually, that's no big achievement, you just press a button to start the backing beats, switch to a spacey synth-style setting (try saying that pissed), find the notes, and sing along. It sounded like a hybrid between the 10CC version and the Tori Amos version by the time I was done. Tasty!
Had a good shift at work, there were about 5 people in ALL night - so it pretty much flew by. Made good tips. Daydreamed/reminisced about that night with Kyle A LOT, wondering which emotion I felt more; guilt or arousal. Having said that, those two go pretty much hand in hand whenever I'm concerned! Thought about Gary, and decided I'm not arsed anymore. This has gone on long enough now, if it happens, it happens. If it's shit, I'll have learnt. Fuck it.
Got the open day up at the Deaf Centre tomorrow evening. Slightly nervous, but excited. And I'm going to ask if there's any discounts available for the course. If not, Mum's allowed me to dip into the Paris money. It'll be worth it, I suppose. My god, I always wanted to be an interpreter when I was younger. Imagine if I actually MADE IT?! Maybe not quite the translating I had in mind (French), but damn, it's an important skill. I'm EXCITED!! Or should I say....... (*waves clawed hands in opposite circles at either side of head*) See! I've done my research!!
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Current Mood: sleepy and hungry
Current Music: "Shackles (Praise You)" - Mary Mary
Tuesday, 7 April 2009
Just another pleasant Tuesday at the Old People's home......
Dear Diary,
Tuesday was good. I actually DID things! Well, first I was up at the crack of 9:45, panicking like crazy as I had my Job Centre/claim appointment at 5 to 10. So I ended up throwing my clothes on and legging it down the street, my left arm swinging and flopping beside me like a crazy pissed-up slug (I fell asleep on it). Made it on time thankfully, and arranged a meeting for tomorrow to discuss me learning Sign Language professionally and whether or not they will pay for the course/exam (they'd fucking BETTER, I can't afford to spend £245 on something that will only MAYBE get me a job at the end of it all).
All inspired, I dropped into Home and Bargains for a pad and fountain pen (it was 59p and I had a nostalgia attack!) before hitting the library, and making notes out of their BSL books. Well, dammit, if they're gonna wait for me to have £13 to piss away on FINES before loaning out their books to me, the next best thing I can do is basically sit and copy them out. I think I know who's winning! And at least I have a little more to say to the Deaf Punters at work tomorrow
Stopped into nearby Home Wares store to visit Sue, had a long chat about Marie, i.e: exactly why she hasn't texted/rung/got in touch with anyone at all lately. Things didn't sound right. We decided to give her another week, before performing an intervention.
A very strange thing happened on my journey home. I took out a tenner and went to the nearby petrol station/Subway. I walked in and looked at the Subway. And then I TURNED AWAY....... picked up "Heat" and some crisps........ AND THEN WALKED OUT. (Obviously I paid as well, for those who thought I was a shoplifter) Oh my god, this is HUGE!! I've never walked past/ignored a Subway in my LIFE!! And there I was, walking home, making a sandwich out of what we had in the fridge, and being DAMNED HAPPY ABOUT IT!! This is a milestone day, definately. Something's clearly snapped inside me, I feel all peculiar and wrong.......
Shortly after lunch, I rather surprisingly and coincidentally got a phone call off Marie.
K: (*confused*) "Hello?
M: (*barely audible little-girl voice*) "Hi, it's me"
K: "Are you OK? You sound....... what's wrong?"
M: ................. "I just need a cuddle"
K: "What's he done now?"
M: "I've finished with him"
K: "Seriously?!"
M: "Yeah"
K: "Do you want me to come over?"
M: (*sniffle*) "Would you mind?"
K: "I'll be half an hour"
Rocked up at hers half an hour later with a big bag of Malteasers and hugs. Without going into details, he's basically crossed the line this time, and made it blatantly clear he doesn't care about her, whatever he says. He's ignored her, treated her like shit and plays subtle mind manipulation games, and while she couldn't help falling in love with him, at least she's finally seen HIM, and ended it before she got in too deep. Good for her, he was a dick. And by all accounts, everyone in the Trees was congratulating her on finally ditching the motherfucker. Anyway. We sat watching "Harry Potter" whilst discussing him and getting the whole story out, and by the time she went for a shower, she seemed to be (I hope) a little better.
She was due to appear in a show at 7, so I tagged along to watch. Well, when I say "show" I mean the group of dancers she was in were putting on a performance at an Old People's home. Couldn't really do much to help, so offered to look after one of the cast's little girl, who consequently didn't leave me alone all night. Not that I was complaining, she was ADORABLE. But I think the problem with me is, whilst I'm good at ENTERTAINING children, I think I'd be terrible at HAVING them. Because when I play with kids (that sentence looks SO wrong), I either completely regress to my inner child, or say grown-up things to try and filter into their sub-concious, but most likely confuse them. Par example:
Me: "Let's play the Jumpy game!"
Her: "Yaaaaaaaaaaay!"
(*10 minutes of leaping down the Old People corridor and lifting her up to touch the ceiling ensue*)
Me: "You can't jump in those big boots!"
Her: "Yes I can! LOOK! They've got heels!"
Me: "Wow, erm..... how old are you again?"
Her: "Five! And a HALF!!"
Me: "Gosh, bit young to be wearing heels, aren't you?"
Her: "My friend has higher ones than these, and she's SIX!"
Me: "Blimey..... well, don't let female competitiveness rule your life, it's not important...."
Her: "Look! I've got red painted nails!"
Me: "Oh my god, look, don't grow up TOO quick, will you? Maybe you should sack off the heels and red nail varnish, or at least don't wear it till you're over 20 - you've got to enjoy being a child while you can! Cos the quicker you grow up, the quicker you realise that the world is just.......(*realises the child is looking at me quizzically*) Erm..... let's play Superman!"
Her: "Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!"
Me: (*picking her up and running down the corridor*) "Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!"
Her: "Let's go play outside!"
Me: "NO!! No, we can't leave the building!!"
Her: "Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?!"
Me: "Because I'm a stranger!"
Her: "No you're not, you're my FRIEND!"
Me: "Look, I think we should just ask your Mummy first, you can't be too careful when it comes to kids these days, you can't do the SLIGHTEST thing without people thinking you're a.......... (*child is once again looking quizzical*) Well, yeah. Look, I can't take you out 'cos you don't technically know me."
Her: (*hugging me round the waist*) "But you're my frrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriend!!"
Me: (*heart melting, whilst trying to bat her away as an approaching nurse starts staring*) "OK, don't touch my waist.... let go...... How bout ONE more game of Spin-around?"
Her: "Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!!"
Me: "YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!!!"
Anyway, she came and sat on my knee through the whole performance, so at least I give off a trustworthy vibe, I suppose!
As to the performance, it was hilarious. Or maybe hilariously bad. Mainly because you could just tell that NONE of them were throwing anything into it. The lighting was shit, there were technical cock-ups all the way through, the old people would NOT shut up talking throughout (including one woman next to me who just yelled out everything, I was literally shaking with laughter). Only Marie and the Lead Guy were any good - as they obviously came from theatrical backgrounds. But the rest couldn't mime on time, forgot the words, and as for the "Cabaret" section - well, it was about as dark and sexual as an episode of the Teletubbies. I'm honestly not just saying this because she's my friend, but Marie pretty much stole the show. She was the only one who seemed to know what she was doing, and wow - I forgot how well she could dance. Not to mention she was in pretty much ALL the sexual numbers "Big Spender," "All that Jazz," "Mein Herr," etc..... I'd say she was hot, but she's also a friend, and incest isn't my style (besides, there was a Thandie Newton-a-like nurse for me to gawp at during the boring bits). But I can pretty much say that, if the dancing was anything to go by, "College-Marie" is back - and if that takes her mind off PrickTard ex-boyfriend, it can only be a good thing.
But back to the performance. There was a young chav lad watching, obviously visiting his nan, who was sat there looking highly uncomfortable, clearly thinking; "This is the gayest thing I've ever seen" (truth be told, I was thinking the same) - especially as Lead Guy strutted around the stage in nothing but his kecks for "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat." One of the old women actually GOT UP and tried to zimmerframe the hell out of there, except due to her extreme lack of speed, was stuck centre-stage (floor) as everyone tried to dance around her. I nearly cracked a rib trying not to laugh. Especially when she got outside and sat down, only for us (and EVERYONE) to overhear her saying "I am NOT entertained!!!" Comedy gold.
Afterwards, I hung outside, playing till I nearly had a heart attack with the little girl, when this old woman came up to me. It was damned scary, she glared at me for about 20 solid seconds, while I repeatedly asked if she was OK, and then got really close and yelled; "I NEED TO GO TO THE TOILET!!" Judging by the urgency and force with which she said this, I don't think it was a light threat, either. I panicked, as the little girl was occupying the loo behind me, so I tried to point the woman in the direction of another one, despite the fact that she LIVED here, and probably knew better than me. She made me accompany her into the room (while I PRAYED not to be asked to "help") and stand guard outside the door, which I did, until she still wasn't out 5 minutes later - so I ran for a nurse. Let's just say, she'd made quite a mess of the floor. I scooped the little girl up and ran like the wind down the corridor, trying not to audibly gag. So that was fun. For the love of god, I hope I don't end up in a home. Or at least not with bowel problems. It must be so awful.
Lead guy (who gave us a lift) dropped Marie and I back at hers, so I jumped on a bus home. I left the Malteasers in the fridge and told her to eat some everytime she thought of PrickTard Ex (hmmm..... that looks like the name of a package delivery firm or something). I hope I did a good job comforting her - yes, I've bitched a lot about her ignoring me when he's about, etc.... but at the end of the day, you need your friends at times like that. And I'm glad I was able to help her, or at least momentarily cheer her up.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Current Mood: exhausted
Current Music: "A + E" - Goldfrapp
Tuesday was good. I actually DID things! Well, first I was up at the crack of 9:45, panicking like crazy as I had my Job Centre/claim appointment at 5 to 10. So I ended up throwing my clothes on and legging it down the street, my left arm swinging and flopping beside me like a crazy pissed-up slug (I fell asleep on it). Made it on time thankfully, and arranged a meeting for tomorrow to discuss me learning Sign Language professionally and whether or not they will pay for the course/exam (they'd fucking BETTER, I can't afford to spend £245 on something that will only MAYBE get me a job at the end of it all).
All inspired, I dropped into Home and Bargains for a pad and fountain pen (it was 59p and I had a nostalgia attack!) before hitting the library, and making notes out of their BSL books. Well, dammit, if they're gonna wait for me to have £13 to piss away on FINES before loaning out their books to me, the next best thing I can do is basically sit and copy them out. I think I know who's winning! And at least I have a little more to say to the Deaf Punters at work tomorrow
Stopped into nearby Home Wares store to visit Sue, had a long chat about Marie, i.e: exactly why she hasn't texted/rung/got in touch with anyone at all lately. Things didn't sound right. We decided to give her another week, before performing an intervention.
A very strange thing happened on my journey home. I took out a tenner and went to the nearby petrol station/Subway. I walked in and looked at the Subway. And then I TURNED AWAY....... picked up "Heat" and some crisps........ AND THEN WALKED OUT. (Obviously I paid as well, for those who thought I was a shoplifter) Oh my god, this is HUGE!! I've never walked past/ignored a Subway in my LIFE!! And there I was, walking home, making a sandwich out of what we had in the fridge, and being DAMNED HAPPY ABOUT IT!! This is a milestone day, definately. Something's clearly snapped inside me, I feel all peculiar and wrong.......
Shortly after lunch, I rather surprisingly and coincidentally got a phone call off Marie.
K: (*confused*) "Hello?
M: (*barely audible little-girl voice*) "Hi, it's me"
K: "Are you OK? You sound....... what's wrong?"
M: ................. "I just need a cuddle"
K: "What's he done now?"
M: "I've finished with him"
K: "Seriously?!"
M: "Yeah"
K: "Do you want me to come over?"
M: (*sniffle*) "Would you mind?"
K: "I'll be half an hour"
Rocked up at hers half an hour later with a big bag of Malteasers and hugs. Without going into details, he's basically crossed the line this time, and made it blatantly clear he doesn't care about her, whatever he says. He's ignored her, treated her like shit and plays subtle mind manipulation games, and while she couldn't help falling in love with him, at least she's finally seen HIM, and ended it before she got in too deep. Good for her, he was a dick. And by all accounts, everyone in the Trees was congratulating her on finally ditching the motherfucker. Anyway. We sat watching "Harry Potter" whilst discussing him and getting the whole story out, and by the time she went for a shower, she seemed to be (I hope) a little better.
She was due to appear in a show at 7, so I tagged along to watch. Well, when I say "show" I mean the group of dancers she was in were putting on a performance at an Old People's home. Couldn't really do much to help, so offered to look after one of the cast's little girl, who consequently didn't leave me alone all night. Not that I was complaining, she was ADORABLE. But I think the problem with me is, whilst I'm good at ENTERTAINING children, I think I'd be terrible at HAVING them. Because when I play with kids (that sentence looks SO wrong), I either completely regress to my inner child, or say grown-up things to try and filter into their sub-concious, but most likely confuse them. Par example:
Me: "Let's play the Jumpy game!"
Her: "Yaaaaaaaaaaay!"
(*10 minutes of leaping down the Old People corridor and lifting her up to touch the ceiling ensue*)
Me: "You can't jump in those big boots!"
Her: "Yes I can! LOOK! They've got heels!"
Me: "Wow, erm..... how old are you again?"
Her: "Five! And a HALF!!"
Me: "Gosh, bit young to be wearing heels, aren't you?"
Her: "My friend has higher ones than these, and she's SIX!"
Me: "Blimey..... well, don't let female competitiveness rule your life, it's not important...."
Her: "Look! I've got red painted nails!"
Me: "Oh my god, look, don't grow up TOO quick, will you? Maybe you should sack off the heels and red nail varnish, or at least don't wear it till you're over 20 - you've got to enjoy being a child while you can! Cos the quicker you grow up, the quicker you realise that the world is just.......(*realises the child is looking at me quizzically*) Erm..... let's play Superman!"
Her: "Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!"
Me: (*picking her up and running down the corridor*) "Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!"
Her: "Let's go play outside!"
Me: "NO!! No, we can't leave the building!!"
Her: "Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?!"
Me: "Because I'm a stranger!"
Her: "No you're not, you're my FRIEND!"
Me: "Look, I think we should just ask your Mummy first, you can't be too careful when it comes to kids these days, you can't do the SLIGHTEST thing without people thinking you're a.......... (*child is once again looking quizzical*) Well, yeah. Look, I can't take you out 'cos you don't technically know me."
Her: (*hugging me round the waist*) "But you're my frrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriend!!"
Me: (*heart melting, whilst trying to bat her away as an approaching nurse starts staring*) "OK, don't touch my waist.... let go...... How bout ONE more game of Spin-around?"
Her: "Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!!"
Me: "YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!!!"
Anyway, she came and sat on my knee through the whole performance, so at least I give off a trustworthy vibe, I suppose!
As to the performance, it was hilarious. Or maybe hilariously bad. Mainly because you could just tell that NONE of them were throwing anything into it. The lighting was shit, there were technical cock-ups all the way through, the old people would NOT shut up talking throughout (including one woman next to me who just yelled out everything, I was literally shaking with laughter). Only Marie and the Lead Guy were any good - as they obviously came from theatrical backgrounds. But the rest couldn't mime on time, forgot the words, and as for the "Cabaret" section - well, it was about as dark and sexual as an episode of the Teletubbies. I'm honestly not just saying this because she's my friend, but Marie pretty much stole the show. She was the only one who seemed to know what she was doing, and wow - I forgot how well she could dance. Not to mention she was in pretty much ALL the sexual numbers "Big Spender," "All that Jazz," "Mein Herr," etc..... I'd say she was hot, but she's also a friend, and incest isn't my style (besides, there was a Thandie Newton-a-like nurse for me to gawp at during the boring bits). But I can pretty much say that, if the dancing was anything to go by, "College-Marie" is back - and if that takes her mind off PrickTard ex-boyfriend, it can only be a good thing.
But back to the performance. There was a young chav lad watching, obviously visiting his nan, who was sat there looking highly uncomfortable, clearly thinking; "This is the gayest thing I've ever seen" (truth be told, I was thinking the same) - especially as Lead Guy strutted around the stage in nothing but his kecks for "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat." One of the old women actually GOT UP and tried to zimmerframe the hell out of there, except due to her extreme lack of speed, was stuck centre-stage (floor) as everyone tried to dance around her. I nearly cracked a rib trying not to laugh. Especially when she got outside and sat down, only for us (and EVERYONE) to overhear her saying "I am NOT entertained!!!" Comedy gold.
Afterwards, I hung outside, playing till I nearly had a heart attack with the little girl, when this old woman came up to me. It was damned scary, she glared at me for about 20 solid seconds, while I repeatedly asked if she was OK, and then got really close and yelled; "I NEED TO GO TO THE TOILET!!" Judging by the urgency and force with which she said this, I don't think it was a light threat, either. I panicked, as the little girl was occupying the loo behind me, so I tried to point the woman in the direction of another one, despite the fact that she LIVED here, and probably knew better than me. She made me accompany her into the room (while I PRAYED not to be asked to "help") and stand guard outside the door, which I did, until she still wasn't out 5 minutes later - so I ran for a nurse. Let's just say, she'd made quite a mess of the floor. I scooped the little girl up and ran like the wind down the corridor, trying not to audibly gag. So that was fun. For the love of god, I hope I don't end up in a home. Or at least not with bowel problems. It must be so awful.
Lead guy (who gave us a lift) dropped Marie and I back at hers, so I jumped on a bus home. I left the Malteasers in the fridge and told her to eat some everytime she thought of PrickTard Ex (hmmm..... that looks like the name of a package delivery firm or something). I hope I did a good job comforting her - yes, I've bitched a lot about her ignoring me when he's about, etc.... but at the end of the day, you need your friends at times like that. And I'm glad I was able to help her, or at least momentarily cheer her up.
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Current Mood: exhausted
Current Music: "A + E" - Goldfrapp
Sunday, 5 April 2009
Kat the Maverick Bitching Barmaid
Dear Diary,
After Friday's late shift, I woke up about midday - damn it felt good to have a legitimate reason to lie-in! Ambled downstairs to share a little awkward conversation with Damien before spending basically 3 hours tarting myself up for my 4pm shift. And what a shift it was! There was another match on, so mostly dossed around, getting to know the other 2 (much more fun-seeming) barmaids and snaffling free Diet Coke. Amongst being rushed off our feet serving about 5000 people. AT ONCE.
It was an AWESOME night though - somehow, working there feels more like socialising than working, and what's even better is that John clearly doesn't give two shits. As long as you don't take the piss with it, and make sure there's always at least SOMEONE serving behind the bar, you can get away with murder.
Which I certainly did last night - when one of Shaun's mates, (all of whom were dressed up as nerds - dressing up to go out on the piss is a rugby tradition, apparently) Pez, asked what I normally drink. Touched, I poured a pint of cider, sticking it on the team's tab - whilst watching the team corner another victim for the "Beer Bong" (funnel) by chanting their name. Smiling, I reached for my pint, only for Pez to bat my hand away and pick it up himself. What was going on? Well, I found out 4 seconds later, as Pez started chanting my surname. The BASTARD!! The team soon caught on (despite only about 5 of them knowing who I am) and before long the whole room was ringing with chants of "O-DON-NELL! O-DON-NELL! O-DON-NELL!!!!" despite my half-laughing-half-pleading glares.
Casting a sheepish glance at the other barmaids and scuttling past John with a quick "Am I allowed to?" - I strode out from behind the bar, eyeing the funnel with an air of confidence (despite the fact that I haven't done one since uni and was actually terrified). And that is how on Saturday night, whilst at work, I came to be kneeling in front of my brother's mate, knocking back an entire pint as the room cheered me on - and back behind the bar in less than a minute. I'm a bloody MAVERICK!! Not to mention extremely professional - no swaying or anything. Not that I'm a lightweight or anything, but I did down it pretty bloody quickly...... Also got bought a Sambuca from one of the barmaids off into town. I'm getting PAID for this, people. This job fricking ROCKS!!!
Anyway, I'm back in next Saturday, and can't actually wait. Not to mention I get paid double from the Pub (from extra shift 2 weeks ago) tomorrow, my first claim comes through on Tuesday, AND I'll be getting rugby club wages on Friday! I'm gonna be RICH!!! AND I've just found out Lisa's home for a week on Thursday - this is the best week EVER!!!
Today was nice - we all (inc. Damien) went over to Grandma's for a pub lunch and a million more triumph-over-adversity stories, featuring Grandma as the "little guy" - battling corporations, establishments, and anyone trying to control her, basically. God, I love it. It was wicked to see her again, and lunch was GORGEOUS, not to mention the views. I SO need to get a place in the country when I'm a wildly rich script-writer.......
Damien's trying my patience, slightly. He's been with us for a week now, and it's so obvious he doesn't want to be here. Which is fair enough, he's in a country miles from home, he's only here because he HAS to be, he needs the work, and he doesn't have his own space. But for goodness sake, if I was staying at the house of family, however removed or distant, I'd at least make an effort. OK, he helps with the washing up and odd jobs, I suppose. But he's so QUIET, just keeps to himself all the time, and takes about half an hour to answer a question. It drives me mad.
K: "So how's the rennovation going back home, Damien?"
D: "........................................"
K: (*uncomfortable*) "Um........ OK........ Mum, have you got any.....?"
D: "Well, it could be better."
K: "??????????"
Then when we lay tea out, he just stands there LOOKING at the table, until everyone's sat down. Then he doesn't take ANYTHING himself, he waits till someone prompts him, or serves it for him. And then eats with his head bowed all the way through, as we try to engage him in the conversation and pretend the whole thing isn't massively awkward. I mean, god knows, he's a nice enough, hard-working man, and I appreciate that some people are probably shy. But come on, we've let him into our HOME. At least crack a SMILE every once in a while! Not to mention he's come from Switzerland, where he moved with his wife years ago, to completely rennovate an old mill, convert their house and make a B+B business out of it. We sit there and talk about what happened on Corrie the other night. You just get the impression he's looking at us all and thinking "What trivial lives you people have."
And another thing - it pisses me off NO END when Mum makes her usual jokes/comments at Dad/Dad's expense IN FRONT OF DAMIEN. I mean, for fuck's sake. It's alright to do it in private (well, if I'm honest, it's not, it drives me up the fucking wall). But to bring someone else into it? To make someone else witness Dad's little digs from his wife? I hate that. All Damien can do is mutter and smile uncomfortably while I shoot little glares at Mum.
And it's not just them - I've noticed this with other people. Other couples (often when in a big group) do this too, they make little digs and comments and jokes about their partners - who just stand by and take it - comparing marriage to a "life sentence" and saying things, which, if they were said in a serious voice, would probably be quite uncomfortable and upsetting. And then everyone laughs, as if it's the funniest thing ever. Are they laughing to hide the awkwardness of the situation? Or does everyone do this, and I'm just madly uptight?
It just seems to me that if you're going to enter into marriage (and therefore a LIFE together) it should at least be with someone you GET ALONG with, and dare I say it, LOVE. Otherwise it's no fun for anyone, least of all your children, who sit there blushing as you "jokingly" lay into each other in anybody's company.
Obviously, as a 22-year old with only one 3-month relationship under her belt, I realise I'm in no position to judge, or indeed, claim to know ANYTHING about married life. It's just thoughts.
Onto cheerier thoughts...... well, I don't have any at this moment in time. I can't stop thinking (translation: FANTASIZING and thinking) about Gary, and I get paid tomorrow. Which I think I told you. Gosh, what a fun little life I lead. I'm so on the verge of jacking it in and fleeing to Gary's for a dirty weekend. Not that we've planned it, but I'm sure he wouldn't really kick up a fuss.......
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Current Mood: chilled
Current Music: "Grace" - Jeff Buckley
After Friday's late shift, I woke up about midday - damn it felt good to have a legitimate reason to lie-in! Ambled downstairs to share a little awkward conversation with Damien before spending basically 3 hours tarting myself up for my 4pm shift. And what a shift it was! There was another match on, so mostly dossed around, getting to know the other 2 (much more fun-seeming) barmaids and snaffling free Diet Coke. Amongst being rushed off our feet serving about 5000 people. AT ONCE.
It was an AWESOME night though - somehow, working there feels more like socialising than working, and what's even better is that John clearly doesn't give two shits. As long as you don't take the piss with it, and make sure there's always at least SOMEONE serving behind the bar, you can get away with murder.
Which I certainly did last night - when one of Shaun's mates, (all of whom were dressed up as nerds - dressing up to go out on the piss is a rugby tradition, apparently) Pez, asked what I normally drink. Touched, I poured a pint of cider, sticking it on the team's tab - whilst watching the team corner another victim for the "Beer Bong" (funnel) by chanting their name. Smiling, I reached for my pint, only for Pez to bat my hand away and pick it up himself. What was going on? Well, I found out 4 seconds later, as Pez started chanting my surname. The BASTARD!! The team soon caught on (despite only about 5 of them knowing who I am) and before long the whole room was ringing with chants of "O-DON-NELL! O-DON-NELL! O-DON-NELL!!!!" despite my half-laughing-half-pleading glares.
Casting a sheepish glance at the other barmaids and scuttling past John with a quick "Am I allowed to?" - I strode out from behind the bar, eyeing the funnel with an air of confidence (despite the fact that I haven't done one since uni and was actually terrified). And that is how on Saturday night, whilst at work, I came to be kneeling in front of my brother's mate, knocking back an entire pint as the room cheered me on - and back behind the bar in less than a minute. I'm a bloody MAVERICK!! Not to mention extremely professional - no swaying or anything. Not that I'm a lightweight or anything, but I did down it pretty bloody quickly...... Also got bought a Sambuca from one of the barmaids off into town. I'm getting PAID for this, people. This job fricking ROCKS!!!
Anyway, I'm back in next Saturday, and can't actually wait. Not to mention I get paid double from the Pub (from extra shift 2 weeks ago) tomorrow, my first claim comes through on Tuesday, AND I'll be getting rugby club wages on Friday! I'm gonna be RICH!!! AND I've just found out Lisa's home for a week on Thursday - this is the best week EVER!!!
Today was nice - we all (inc. Damien) went over to Grandma's for a pub lunch and a million more triumph-over-adversity stories, featuring Grandma as the "little guy" - battling corporations, establishments, and anyone trying to control her, basically. God, I love it. It was wicked to see her again, and lunch was GORGEOUS, not to mention the views. I SO need to get a place in the country when I'm a wildly rich script-writer.......
Damien's trying my patience, slightly. He's been with us for a week now, and it's so obvious he doesn't want to be here. Which is fair enough, he's in a country miles from home, he's only here because he HAS to be, he needs the work, and he doesn't have his own space. But for goodness sake, if I was staying at the house of family, however removed or distant, I'd at least make an effort. OK, he helps with the washing up and odd jobs, I suppose. But he's so QUIET, just keeps to himself all the time, and takes about half an hour to answer a question. It drives me mad.
K: "So how's the rennovation going back home, Damien?"
D: "........................................"
K: (*uncomfortable*) "Um........ OK........ Mum, have you got any.....?"
D: "Well, it could be better."
K: "??????????"
Then when we lay tea out, he just stands there LOOKING at the table, until everyone's sat down. Then he doesn't take ANYTHING himself, he waits till someone prompts him, or serves it for him. And then eats with his head bowed all the way through, as we try to engage him in the conversation and pretend the whole thing isn't massively awkward. I mean, god knows, he's a nice enough, hard-working man, and I appreciate that some people are probably shy. But come on, we've let him into our HOME. At least crack a SMILE every once in a while! Not to mention he's come from Switzerland, where he moved with his wife years ago, to completely rennovate an old mill, convert their house and make a B+B business out of it. We sit there and talk about what happened on Corrie the other night. You just get the impression he's looking at us all and thinking "What trivial lives you people have."
And another thing - it pisses me off NO END when Mum makes her usual jokes/comments at Dad/Dad's expense IN FRONT OF DAMIEN. I mean, for fuck's sake. It's alright to do it in private (well, if I'm honest, it's not, it drives me up the fucking wall). But to bring someone else into it? To make someone else witness Dad's little digs from his wife? I hate that. All Damien can do is mutter and smile uncomfortably while I shoot little glares at Mum.
And it's not just them - I've noticed this with other people. Other couples (often when in a big group) do this too, they make little digs and comments and jokes about their partners - who just stand by and take it - comparing marriage to a "life sentence" and saying things, which, if they were said in a serious voice, would probably be quite uncomfortable and upsetting. And then everyone laughs, as if it's the funniest thing ever. Are they laughing to hide the awkwardness of the situation? Or does everyone do this, and I'm just madly uptight?
It just seems to me that if you're going to enter into marriage (and therefore a LIFE together) it should at least be with someone you GET ALONG with, and dare I say it, LOVE. Otherwise it's no fun for anyone, least of all your children, who sit there blushing as you "jokingly" lay into each other in anybody's company.
Obviously, as a 22-year old with only one 3-month relationship under her belt, I realise I'm in no position to judge, or indeed, claim to know ANYTHING about married life. It's just thoughts.
Onto cheerier thoughts...... well, I don't have any at this moment in time. I can't stop thinking (translation: FANTASIZING and thinking) about Gary, and I get paid tomorrow. Which I think I told you. Gosh, what a fun little life I lead. I'm so on the verge of jacking it in and fleeing to Gary's for a dirty weekend. Not that we've planned it, but I'm sure he wouldn't really kick up a fuss.......
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Current Mood: chilled
Current Music: "Grace" - Jeff Buckley
Friday, 3 April 2009
Calm after the storm
Dear Diary,
Having calmed down a little from before, I forgot something quite important I had to tell you.
I HAVE A JOB!! Maybe not a bona fide one with fixed shifts, and obviously don't know how long it'll last yet. But I have a job at Shaun's rugby club! Behind the bar, like. Simply rang up yesterday, John the manager got me in for a chat, and before I knew it, I was given a shift for tonight!
It went pretty well and all - apart from the one till cock-up and a few moments where I got all flustered. And the tips were shit, being that there were 5 of us on the bar. But apart from that it was awesome! Completely empty while the match was on, so we were allowed to doss around, stand outside and watch the match, even nab free food from the vendors. Pretty sweeeeeeeeeet. Slightly awkward, as I obviously didn't know any of the girls, but they were dead nice and eventually settled in, even if only in the "slightly obvious new girl" kinda way. And I have a shift tomorrow!! This is bloody brilliant. It's only minimum wage, but still. Every little helps! (And I can't believe I just quoted frigging TESCO)
So yeah. It's pretty great actually, as all this keeping busy stops me from thinking about how much I'd like to put David's testicles on a cactus and give him a dry bumming. WITH A LAMPOST. Some turn to drink, some enter depression - I get a new job and have a very long dirty conversation with Gary. Who, I forgot to mention, rang me at 1 oclock this morning. And I DIDN'T EVEN MIND. So started chatting to him online today, it turns out his phone wasn't able to send me texts (*curses bill not getting paid*). And before you know it, the conversation turned smutty, eventually making him late for lunch with his friends, as he had to wait for his bonk-on to go down. HA!
I'm not even going to copy and paste our conversation, it's that bad (or good). I would blush to know it's out there. But at least he's back on track now uni's finished, and seems just as keen about this one night we're gonna have as I am. Fuck knows, after this news about David I could do with a good and forceful shake (*cough*) to clear out the cobwebs and help me forget about it. And Christ, at least it'd be with a friend/accquaintance, so I wouldn't have to worry. Not to mention, from what he's told me, he:
Is unaffected by alcohol (downstairs)
Can "go all night" (once managed 2 hours straight)
Only takes 10 minutes to recover between shags
Enjoys nothing more than pleasing the woman
Is as freaky, experimental, and sex-mad as I am
Appreciates the need for excellent foreplay (not just a boob grab and a quick dive downstairs)
Is very very good
Two questions: 1) Is he shitting me??! Is he honestly being serious??! Or just exaggerrating as men are prone to do? And if not, 2) Is he a fucking MACHINE????!!! From everything he's said, he sounds like the best lay on Earth. He'd better be, I need a serious something-something to take me out this depressing lethargy. Fuck it, as soon as I get paid, I'm off. Even if just for a night. This ship is finally gonna set sail, and be taken for the ride of it's motherhumping LIFE!!!
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Current Mood: excited and tired
Current Music: "Crazy" - Alanis Morrisette. "We're never gonna survive, unless we get a little crazy....." Goddamn RIGHT, Alanis!!
Having calmed down a little from before, I forgot something quite important I had to tell you.
I HAVE A JOB!! Maybe not a bona fide one with fixed shifts, and obviously don't know how long it'll last yet. But I have a job at Shaun's rugby club! Behind the bar, like. Simply rang up yesterday, John the manager got me in for a chat, and before I knew it, I was given a shift for tonight!
It went pretty well and all - apart from the one till cock-up and a few moments where I got all flustered. And the tips were shit, being that there were 5 of us on the bar. But apart from that it was awesome! Completely empty while the match was on, so we were allowed to doss around, stand outside and watch the match, even nab free food from the vendors. Pretty sweeeeeeeeeet. Slightly awkward, as I obviously didn't know any of the girls, but they were dead nice and eventually settled in, even if only in the "slightly obvious new girl" kinda way. And I have a shift tomorrow!! This is bloody brilliant. It's only minimum wage, but still. Every little helps! (And I can't believe I just quoted frigging TESCO)
So yeah. It's pretty great actually, as all this keeping busy stops me from thinking about how much I'd like to put David's testicles on a cactus and give him a dry bumming. WITH A LAMPOST. Some turn to drink, some enter depression - I get a new job and have a very long dirty conversation with Gary. Who, I forgot to mention, rang me at 1 oclock this morning. And I DIDN'T EVEN MIND. So started chatting to him online today, it turns out his phone wasn't able to send me texts (*curses bill not getting paid*). And before you know it, the conversation turned smutty, eventually making him late for lunch with his friends, as he had to wait for his bonk-on to go down. HA!
I'm not even going to copy and paste our conversation, it's that bad (or good). I would blush to know it's out there. But at least he's back on track now uni's finished, and seems just as keen about this one night we're gonna have as I am. Fuck knows, after this news about David I could do with a good and forceful shake (*cough*) to clear out the cobwebs and help me forget about it. And Christ, at least it'd be with a friend/accquaintance, so I wouldn't have to worry. Not to mention, from what he's told me, he:
Is unaffected by alcohol (downstairs)
Can "go all night" (once managed 2 hours straight)
Only takes 10 minutes to recover between shags
Enjoys nothing more than pleasing the woman
Is as freaky, experimental, and sex-mad as I am
Appreciates the need for excellent foreplay (not just a boob grab and a quick dive downstairs)
Is very very good
Two questions: 1) Is he shitting me??! Is he honestly being serious??! Or just exaggerrating as men are prone to do? And if not, 2) Is he a fucking MACHINE????!!! From everything he's said, he sounds like the best lay on Earth. He'd better be, I need a serious something-something to take me out this depressing lethargy. Fuck it, as soon as I get paid, I'm off. Even if just for a night. This ship is finally gonna set sail, and be taken for the ride of it's motherhumping LIFE!!!
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Current Mood: excited and tired
Current Music: "Crazy" - Alanis Morrisette. "We're never gonna survive, unless we get a little crazy....." Goddamn RIGHT, Alanis!!
(no subject)
I am so angry. I can't even believe what's happened. It's so upsetting, I haven't even been able to bring myself to write about it till today. And in the grand scheme of things - war, birth, death, etc... it's not even that important, just me probably "being dramatic" as usual. But this time it feels like an absolute sucker-punch. Let's just say, I found something out on Wednesday. And it was ironic that this happened on April Fool's day, as it's the biggest fucking joke I've ever heard.
David....... is ENGAGED.
Just read that again, and let it sink in for a minute. DAVID - who said he wasn't looking for a relationship with anyone, just a bit of fun, has PROPOSED to somebody. And she has said yes. What the fuck is WRONG with the world??!! He's 29, for Christ's sake!! This is just all wrong!
Started talking to him on Wednesday online, and after a while he brought up his "bird" - who I pretended not to know about despite Facebook-stalking the SHIT out of him for months. And that's when he dropped the bombshell. I literally felt like I'd been punched in the stomach - I know that's such a cliche'e, but that was the feeling I got. Instead of being normal and leaving the conversation straight away, I did the one thing that points out what a sick individual with a penchant for self-torture I am - I ASKED HIM ABOUT IT.
Turns out they've known each other for a year, and he proposed last week "'cause it just felt really right." And she was over the moon. I'll fucking BET she was.
And here's the worst bit - THEY'VE ONLY BEEN GOING OUT TWO MONTHS. Two frigging MONTHS!!! I've had ILLNESSES that lasted longer than that!! All I can guess is that his lonliness (which he's told me about, before anyone thinks I'm being bitchy) was getting a bit too much, they hooked up while they were still friends and that was that. I mean, TWO MONTHS??! I don't care how good she may be in bed, two months IS NOT enough time to decide to spend a future together. Maybe it's enough to fall in love, but not MARRIAGE. I have two friends who are completely in love, they have been since first year and we know they're gonna be together forever. But THEY'VE not rushed into getting engaged! They're still together, 4 years later, enjoying themselves.
I don't know, maybe he panicked about turning 30. Who the hell knows? He didn't say any of this. Not that I'd have noticed, I was too busy reeling. I couldn't even congratulate him. There was a pause in the conversation where he was clearly expecting it, and all I could say was "Wow, well, nice one!" I just couldn't congratulate him. Because god knows, I'm happy that he's found love, and I'm glad he's happy - but congratulating him would've implied that I was happy about it. Which I'm not.
Because all I can think is that some other woman gets to be with him now. There's absolutely no chance for me. Some other woman gets to hang out with him, hear his jokes, wake up next to him every morning for the rest of her life..... And that's why I feel completely gutted. Because I wanted that woman to be me. OK, maybe I'm a little young to be ENGAGED, but as a girlfriend - well, I think we'd have been good together. Amazing, even. Throw in the fact that I really REALLY like him as well, and....... well. I just feel like my heart's been ripped out, not that I think he even realised. My head's still spinning with anger and sadness, two days later.
The only way I could respond was to type a quick excuse and slam the laptop shut. And then spend the next hour crying my eyes out, clutching my teddy to death. I know that if his status's on Facebook start saying things along the lines of "David is so happy" or "David is looking at venues" etc.... I'm going to have to delete him as a friend. Because there is no fucking way I'm going to sit there and read all about him planning his happy life with another woman. It will KILL me.
And I feel so stupid to be so hung up on this - considering that I've not seen him in a year and only slept with him on two occasions. But we've just been chatting so much, and..... well, he made it quite clear what would happen if I actually lived in Liverpool..... God, I'm so fucking stupid. But I guess you can't help who you like.
I do this all the time as well, get completely obsessed with someone, even though in the back of my mind I know it probably won't work out. It happened with Lee, Aaron, all those lads at college, just about anyone I've ever met. I should be used to it by now. I should be able to just go out and get over it with the application of alcohol, someone else to fancy, or a one-night stand. Simple.
So why do I feel so sad about it?
xxxxx
Current Mood: devastated
Current Music: "Fuck you" - Rage against the Machine. Circumstances considered, I can be forgiven for listening to "Aaron music" just this once
David....... is ENGAGED.
Just read that again, and let it sink in for a minute. DAVID - who said he wasn't looking for a relationship with anyone, just a bit of fun, has PROPOSED to somebody. And she has said yes. What the fuck is WRONG with the world??!! He's 29, for Christ's sake!! This is just all wrong!
Started talking to him on Wednesday online, and after a while he brought up his "bird" - who I pretended not to know about despite Facebook-stalking the SHIT out of him for months. And that's when he dropped the bombshell. I literally felt like I'd been punched in the stomach - I know that's such a cliche'e, but that was the feeling I got. Instead of being normal and leaving the conversation straight away, I did the one thing that points out what a sick individual with a penchant for self-torture I am - I ASKED HIM ABOUT IT.
Turns out they've known each other for a year, and he proposed last week "'cause it just felt really right." And she was over the moon. I'll fucking BET she was.
And here's the worst bit - THEY'VE ONLY BEEN GOING OUT TWO MONTHS. Two frigging MONTHS!!! I've had ILLNESSES that lasted longer than that!! All I can guess is that his lonliness (which he's told me about, before anyone thinks I'm being bitchy) was getting a bit too much, they hooked up while they were still friends and that was that. I mean, TWO MONTHS??! I don't care how good she may be in bed, two months IS NOT enough time to decide to spend a future together. Maybe it's enough to fall in love, but not MARRIAGE. I have two friends who are completely in love, they have been since first year and we know they're gonna be together forever. But THEY'VE not rushed into getting engaged! They're still together, 4 years later, enjoying themselves.
I don't know, maybe he panicked about turning 30. Who the hell knows? He didn't say any of this. Not that I'd have noticed, I was too busy reeling. I couldn't even congratulate him. There was a pause in the conversation where he was clearly expecting it, and all I could say was "Wow, well, nice one!" I just couldn't congratulate him. Because god knows, I'm happy that he's found love, and I'm glad he's happy - but congratulating him would've implied that I was happy about it. Which I'm not.
Because all I can think is that some other woman gets to be with him now. There's absolutely no chance for me. Some other woman gets to hang out with him, hear his jokes, wake up next to him every morning for the rest of her life..... And that's why I feel completely gutted. Because I wanted that woman to be me. OK, maybe I'm a little young to be ENGAGED, but as a girlfriend - well, I think we'd have been good together. Amazing, even. Throw in the fact that I really REALLY like him as well, and....... well. I just feel like my heart's been ripped out, not that I think he even realised. My head's still spinning with anger and sadness, two days later.
The only way I could respond was to type a quick excuse and slam the laptop shut. And then spend the next hour crying my eyes out, clutching my teddy to death. I know that if his status's on Facebook start saying things along the lines of "David is so happy" or "David is looking at venues" etc.... I'm going to have to delete him as a friend. Because there is no fucking way I'm going to sit there and read all about him planning his happy life with another woman. It will KILL me.
And I feel so stupid to be so hung up on this - considering that I've not seen him in a year and only slept with him on two occasions. But we've just been chatting so much, and..... well, he made it quite clear what would happen if I actually lived in Liverpool..... God, I'm so fucking stupid. But I guess you can't help who you like.
I do this all the time as well, get completely obsessed with someone, even though in the back of my mind I know it probably won't work out. It happened with Lee, Aaron, all those lads at college, just about anyone I've ever met. I should be used to it by now. I should be able to just go out and get over it with the application of alcohol, someone else to fancy, or a one-night stand. Simple.
So why do I feel so sad about it?
xxxxx
Current Mood: devastated
Current Music: "Fuck you" - Rage against the Machine. Circumstances considered, I can be forgiven for listening to "Aaron music" just this once
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