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...
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...
posted by Green Glass Beads at 11:30
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