I am not an Entertainment Box

I have an escapist streak, which has made it through to this page. I keep this log to help me escape and get it all out, but now that someone I know knows about it, I refrain from adding to it because I need to escape.

Today I have partially overcome this urge to run.

The Disaster is still hounding me. Being a scatty unfortunate has led me to recently lose my phone, for the third time in 3 months. Well, technically it is stolen, but not without a margin of carelessness on my part. I was riding home on the train, 10 minutes, and someone took it from my pocket. Immediately upon reaching the station I realised it was gone and phoned it, only to find it was switched off. Subsequent tracing calls to the railway authorities and my work all proved negative. The bloody thing was gone. Once again, I have not told my mother for fear of her "how do you lose everything you bloody idiot, you can't afford to lose everything!" Well I know that, and I didn't do it on purpose.

Anyway, the upshot is that my general irresponsible behaviour has probably led directly to this problem. So I need to pull myself together. Since beginning that job in the pub I am drinking less, which is definately a good thing. So I have pulled myself together a wee bit. Maybe I am just meant to be all over the place.

Yesterday was Brad's birthday, and I went for a pint. I got talking to a lovely fellow who is a graphic designer, but he kind of came on strong. He was very nice about it, but I was too tired to deal with it so as gently as I could pretended I didn't notice and made it clear I was intent on being single, even though that's a blatant lie. He took the hint, and we'd great craic. As usual he told me I was a bit off kilter. I was tired, and snapped that I was fine, and everyone else is uptight. Honestly, I wish sometimes that people liked something about me that didn't involve me being "weird". I am not a fucking entertainment box. I am a real person, sometimes I am BORING, sometimes I am GRUMPY, sometimes I am not funny and don't have ideas or opinions to express, sometimes I am touchy, sometimes I need some stupid time too...

As I was saying, the Disaster is still texting me, despite me having lost my phone. I got a new phone yesterday on my way to record my radio show for a second time. The first time, the record hadn't worked(I really had a shit day that day I lost the phone) so I had to do it all again but it worked out. I found a bayleaf tree in a skip and carried it around until finally giving in and presenting it to the station manager of the radio because I was tired of carrying it round. The Disaster has been texting me manically to find out if I listened to the CD he made me. Oh the irony. The thing won't work. Haha. I would have laughed bitterly if I'd cared, but it made me snigger with glee at the ridiculousness of it all. I texted him (foolishly) and let him know. He wants it back.

#1 It is my CD. You gave it to me
#2 It doesn't fucking work, you moron
#3 I don't want you near me or my home ever again
#4 No, and leave me the fuck alone.

So why have I not barred his number? Well I can't tell you that just yet. It's difficult. Suffice to say, part of the reason is cos I don't want to be mean. And part of the reason is for another date.

Anyway, it is my sister's birthday today, and my birthday on Sunday.Woohoo! This'll be my first birthday in this country for years, as I hate celebrating at home ever since I'd a boyfriend who thought he was being romantic and bought me condoms for my birthday years back. Thanks for ruining the subsequent years. My birthday is about me, not you. I have never felt so under pressure up til that point.

I plan to go with some of my friends to an island off the North County. It is one I am always drawn to, and I am looking forward to it. Meep says "What the fuck are you going out there for. It's fucking freezing and what are you going to do?" It's funny, cos she needs no reason to go for a walk in other places, but this place doesn't fall under the same rules.Maybe it's just far away for her because she's other stuff to do. If I remember I will bring a picnic.

Tonight I am meant to go to my grandparents, but I am not in the mood. Which is mean, as I have not seen them in a while. But instead I want to go out dancing. After reading. As a woman it is nice to be able to fix yourself up and feel better as a result. That is the flip-side of the pressure to wear makeup and all that....

Free Mojtaba and Arash Day

From the BBC website:
The month-old Committee to Protect Bloggers' is asking those with blogs to dedicate their sites on 22 February to the "Free Mojtaba and Arash Day".
It is calling on the blogsphere - the name for the worldwide community of bloggers - to do what it can to help raise awareness of the plight of Mojtaba and Arash as well as other "cyber-dissidents". "If you have a blog, the least you could do is put nothing on that blog except 'Free Mojtaba and Arash Day'," said Mr Hopkins. "That would mean you could see that phrase 7.1 million times. That alone will shine some light on the situation. "
Arash Sigarchi and Mojtaba Saminejad are both in prison in Iran. They have both been deprived of their liberty by the Iranian government for expressing opinions on their blogs.

Who Would've Thought..?

I couldn't help but notice how you peeled the lime away from it's rind with your teeth, as you looked left attentively. I never stop eating lemons when I am listening, and people comment on it so often that I was becoming accustomed to being the only one. I wanted to eat that lime as you held it.

You teased that we couldn't leave simultaniously because people would think something was going on. I didn't know how to answer, but I would now. I would say "Why, is there?" Because it is direct and honest, and you can deflect it without hurting me. But I don't think quickly in these situations. I just turned away and pulled another pint, and you followed me over to apologise for not helping me get off work early. You followed me over. It can't be that bad, can it?

I feel exotic.

Weekend catch-up

It's the end of the week and the details are fuzzy in my mind. I have put off writing lately because I am an escapist and was pretending nothing happened.

Remember that bit where I said the Disaster took everything well? Well he didn't. Yes, I am naive. On Monday night I got text messages every 10 minutes, culminating in "I don't NEED you" to which I merely wrote "OK" and it drove him berserk. Yes, I knew it would, but the preceding texts of " I want to f*ck your brains out" and such delicious sentiments were freaking me out and I had stopped answering. I told him I was out for the night with friends and was not going to write messages non-stop.

Okay so what happens next? Well, the Crow was feeling affectionate again and sat with me pretty much the whole night, between getting me up to sing with him and other stuff. And I met a lovely boy there who is as good a harmony-singer as I am, which though unmodest, is also very rare. His name is hilarious though. If you say it a certain way it sounds like "Up the Duff". That's the closest I can give away without using his real name. And I got a text message wishing me a happy Valentine's from my Estonian friend, so I was delighted with myself, got hammered, and danced and sang on stage to a song dedicated to me - I know other people will think it hilarious, but I enjoyed it even if I was on my tod.

I was pretty good the rest of the week, reading and going to bed early, and yesterday donating blood and going to a jazz gig I'd meant to attend for ages.

I know this journal entry is boring but I wanted to put it in before I forgot. I'll amend it later.

Confession #2

When you wink at me, I can't help but blush, and I know that you caught the smile before I ducked and burned deep red.
I still await my daffodil.
I wish I didn't like you, and my only comfort is that at least I have taste.

Confession

There is a reason I have not posted recently. It's called Guilt.

During the week I was reading an article in Focus magazine, which has become quite sensationalist lately. It is talking about sex addicts, and according to their test I may be one. I am not worried about that part. I am worried that I have a weird view about sex, in that unless it is with someone I know for a long time, I feel terrible and really dirty after it. It bothers me. To the extent that I can't even think about one particular ex-boyfriend of mine without feeling violated and hating him for it. That's not normal.

So suffice to say that on Wednesday night last I went to the pictures with Meep and Trains, and since the picture shown was Deliverance, they gave us sour mash to drink. Hmm. Civilsed people that we are, we went to the World Bar afterwards and drank the cheapest beer they had, which was 3euro a pint instead of 5, and got hammered. Somehow we got into the nightclub without paying (apparently they didn't bother kicking us out as they normally would cos we were to engrossed in laughing) and I decided it would be a great idea to go for a dance by myself.

Bopping away an hour later I met this guy I can't think of a suitable moniker for. He is a disaster. Well anyway, he was brushing his hair manically with his hand as he tried to engage me in a conversation. Typical Italian strawberry blonde with the typical high cheekbones - there is a type of redheaded Italian, and this boy was one, only he is Irish, of Italian parents. Anyway, for some reason he speaks like he is from Texas, and projects Problems, with a capital "P".

"You can take me home if you like"he told me. Not if you don't tell me your name, I countered. Eventually I told him to take himself and his problems elsewhere. But outside, I knew what was coming, and I begged Meep or Trains to stay with me. Nope, they were off southside, to their houses. I turned the corner to go home, and there was The Disaster. With his name.

Well, he stayed in my house, and although we didn't quite go the whole way we went far enough. Strange thing is that despite everything, he is a very handsome man and comfortable physically. But he is a broken shell in need of a friend and a mother more than anything. And I have spent my whole life trying not to be fake, and he is fake out of necessity because he is so hurt and insecure.

I decided I can't take care of someone again, and told him so. So much for St. Valentine. Happily, he understood what I explained to him, that I found him attractive, and that I just wasn't willing to take him on, but that doesn't mean I never want to see him again. So instead I start getting dirty text messages from him. Strangely flattered as opposed to my usual freaked-out by it, it is tempting to take him up on it. Very tempting. But I don't. Why? Refer back to the start of this rant.

I am very embarressed by my behaviour. It seems lately when I get drunk I get into trouble. Not surprisingly, I haven't been drunk since then.

On Saturday, I started my job doing bar work. Talk about training by fire! 10pm til 3.30am was my first ever shift, and the place was more jammed than I've seen it ages (I dance there most Saturdays). But all went well, and the staff were lovely with me. Bar work is so easy (and cheap, as it stops me getting hammered at weekends)and I don't know why I don't do it full-time. Well, aside from the gig thing.

Sunday I did my first radio show with my friend Piscin. We thought we might have trouble filling the time allotted, as it is chatting only, but we went way over, and had to cut stuff. Eventually, we'd like to do the show live, but for the moment we are pre-recording it. Several people who heard it thought it was good. For a first show, I am glad. We now know what we need to do next week, as we were a bit disorganised this week. Then we went to dinner for Piscin's birthday, and then for an impromptu gig, at which I played my own stuff, jammed with a band, and sand jazz standards. God love the audience...

Today is Monday, and normally that entails madness...

Now the Sausages Chase the Dog

"Well!" is what Stefan exclaims. He says it in such a way that you are convinced there is some sort of correct answer. But there isn't. His voice is deep and slightly breathless, and would sound like a come-on if it weren't dramatic. He is merely being playful.

Stefan is the violin player I have been rehearsing with lately. He is an old English tribesman type, despite the fact that he gets called a viking because he has reddish blonde hair. But he tans quickly and has a slight anglo-saxon line through him for sure.

On Thursday we met and went to my dad's exhibition on the canal in aid of Tsunami relief. We stopped along the way to buy a cup of tea for a homeless man who was rocking back and forth on his hunkers. He has beautiful green/brown eyes, and we had a lovely chat. I promised to find him one of these days and bring him to the national art gallery, as he has wanted to go but they won't let him in. I failed this weekend, but perhaps next weekend will work. What a nasty country this is - that a homeless person is so removed from society as to not be allowed into a FREE public gallery to view that which also belongs to him. Disgraceful.

Anyway, Stefan and I eventually made the exhibition, then rushed home to get in a quick rehearsal, then went to a session, and then tried to go to a gig, but didn't quite make it. The next time I saw him was yesterday, Sunday, when he arrived at my door sopping wet. "Well!" he exclaimed, as he gingerly edged through my door. "Snow! Imagine that!" Grin, grin. He makes me laugh because he is so polite-seeming, that he regularly catches me out with complete lies that he has fabricated spur-of-the-moment, and delivers in that same slightly-elevated manner. But it was snowing. In fact, at that point it had snowed, then hailed, then rained, then hailed some more. Luckily I seem to have missed all the nastiness.

Saturday was a nice day for me. I slept well because the night before I'd been to visit my grandparents, and I had simply gone to bed early (for a change). My gran was talking about women throwing themselves at men and making their own lives more difficult as a result. I must concur. She came up with a great expression - "once the dog used to chase the sausages but now it seems the sausages chase the dog". Apparently her Peruvian mother used to say that.

In any case, Saturday I met a friend for coffee, and went and bought cheap clothes for myself for the first time in ages. I needed underwear mostly, so that is what I started with, but for €120 I managed to buy underwear, 4 skirts (1 long one), 2 pairs of simple shoes (that have earned me the name Dorothy at work), and a wallet, which I think is not bad going for that kind of money. Then of course I had to go on the batter on Saturday night, which I did with Elbow and Leon, and I danced my socks off in a packed pub that had no space but I didn't care.

Sunday started off with breakfast with my old bassist, followed by a dripping Stefan appearing at my door, and then an exhausted Gwendoline, and we had a great session of my songs, followed by a gig which went remarkably well.

Crazy Goodfonuthin

I think about writing every day but it has been a while.

The wind that blows now is one of sense, but it carries under my feet and I feel like I can leave simply by thinking of it. I have the odd urge to hide, an urge which caused me to take over an hour in removing my coat and scarf in the Middle Ground yesterday. I hid in the corner with my book as protection, and even when dancing, the book came along. Until Elbow and Textboy and Moonface appeared and then I relaxed a bit.

I was chatting to an Estonian man who was like a black giant. True Caucasians have beautiful cheekbones and mouths and skulls. My father always says the I look at people like I'm a doctor, which is kind of true as often I try and imagine people's skulls. Imagine my delight then, to discover an exhibition of holographic images in Mexico City, which flicked between people's faces and their corresponding skull. I have a skull like a cat. Because I am of such mixed origin I often wonder which race I most resemble. My sister is definately germanic, as is my father despite his colouring, and my mother is hispanic looking. But I wonder what I look like? Lately I have had a lot of polish people approach me, which is apparently a compliment because, as one lad put it "All Polish birds are rides!" How unfortunate then that I don't resemble a Pole.

I have spoken of Seventeen before. He is actually 18 now, but I always think of him as 17, not because he is immature, but for reasons that will become clear shortly (I hope). Seventeen and I met after a gig I did with my band. It was a big gig for us and afterwards we came into the band lounge delighted and exhilerated. I perched on a seat looking across at the neon sign across the road contemplating smoking, and discovered a slight, dark scraggly-haired youth sitting beside me. I knew he was young, but he carried himself comepletely on his own. I recognise that person. This boy was like me.

I grew up being allowed to do pretty much as I wanted. Once when my mother smacked me (I was about 3), I told her to treat me like any other human being and tell me what I'd done, and not smack me. I remember her look of surprise, and fair play to her, she never hit me again.

When I reached 14, I was beyond controlling. My father met me one night in a pub and said exasperatedly "I don't know what to do! Should I be your father or your friend?!" Taking him for granted completely, I answered, "My friend of course!"

At 15 I would phone home to let my parents know I was not coming home for the night. "But you've school tomorrow! Come home right now!" they would yell. But I didn't. "You'll be in big trouble!" only served to make me refuse to return until they calmed down. Shouting over the phone made me hang up. When asked if I smoked or took drugs, I would cock my head to one side and answer "YES". Cold and thoughtful.

Seventeen has grown up in complete charge of himself. He knows who he is. He gets patronised a lot and tried not to get annoyed, but sometimes worries if he is being arrogant thinking he knows what he's doing. He is intelligent and funny and doesn't suffer fools gladly. He is insecure and hard-working.

One day last week he was telling me and a friend about how he had never slept with a woman as women inevitably became friends. But he had slept with men, despite the fact it seems, that he doesn't really like it. Then he nodded hard once and grimaced saying "I know. I don't look like a candy boy - everyone says that." He was explaining honestly how he wanted to be with a woman but it never worked out as he didn't want to push any girlfriends he'd had, but stopped after a few sentences and said "Oh fuck it - I'm probably over-analysing it, but it's so damned confusing! I just worry about it, that's all - it'll work out some day."

I could see he was feeling a bit insecure at having displayed his weakness to us, as though we might feel he was begging. I wanted him to know that I was certain it was no reflection on how attractive he was, as he is very attractive. I came out with one of my usual clangers, which made the other girl laugh really hard - I told him that if I thought it would help I would invite him home with me. That threw him, and I was genuinely amused when he said "Yes...no...yes...no....yes..." I reminded him that it would NOT be a good idea and I think he was relieved. I know myself well enough to know that I do like this guy and am far too demanding. Besides, I would crush him.

But in any case, it turns out that he is working in the bar that I am due to start in. And not only that but I have met him 5 out of the last 6 nights by chance, out on the town. I leave him do his own thing, and he me, but at the end of each night we have a nice chat.

Last night he was also very agitated, by which time I'd cleared up a bit. He started talking about his insecurities and without trying to be pushy I said I might understand where he's coming from, having also been the youngest in my peer group for ages but not the stupidest. He was relieved, and opened up a bit more. I like being able to connect and although last night our conversation was broken up by other happenings, I hope to resume it soon. He's a pet.

Tonight I go to visit Earnest and make some music. Kaptain Kat is a lot better and going crackers cos I still have to keep him inside and he's hating it. I'm reading a children's book at the moment called "Lirael", which I bought for my brother. I bought him the first one in the series as well. I really like it - it's about walking in death and seeing. I love Dianna Wynne Jones books as well, as they too feel tangible. I think in order to curtail myself I need to have one foot here and one foot in another place, because it keeps my mind occupied and stops me from putting constraints on my world. The word constraint in Irish is beautiful - SRIAN (pronounced Shree-ahn)....you can hear the woven silk bind your wrists....