Wednesday, November 03, 2004

October 16 (Saturday): A Talking Junkie. Today is a bad day. I wake up around 5 AM in a panic, immediately springing out of my bed to make sure I managed to get my mobile phone home last night. I did. In fact, it appears I even had presence of mind to put it on charger. Sometimes, there are some things that are pretty wrong with me. I go back to bed.

I probably re-awaken around 7.30 and then 9.30 and both times I curl back up to safety with my head pounding more than ever. Next to my bed is a bottle of water but it doesn't last long and won't go far in the prevention of a hangover.

All morning I am in'n out of grace until finally Chris emerges strongly at 11 AM blatantly wanting to get/go home. I get up and attempt to pull myself together, easier said than done. I stagger around the flat with a sore head for a few minutes and then I throw up into the toilet.

Eventually around midday I manage to pull us both out and give him a lift home. This trip is really a dangerous mistake and I should not have done it. As we near Stanway and Chris' house, I have to actually pull into the Co-op car park and park up because I think I am about to throw up. Somehow for some reasons the gods smile on me though and I don't bring up. Once I drop off (dump) Chris back at his, I buy the Saturday papers, get some food and return to Bohemian Grove and go back to bed.

In order to clear my mind (and conscience) I put on the Football Factory and attempt to kid/delude myself that that was how I was acting last night and that I am THAT cool. Yeah, I turn out to be so cool that I just fall straight back to sleep again (feeb).

I hang suspended until 3PM hits and its football. Today Millwall are away to Sunderland (an away trip Stevo really wanted to make) and I spend the afternoon keep tabs on that. Around 4PM Tom hits me on MSN, at which point I am still too hungover to do anything. Strangely/fortunately, our exchange actually has some substance and surprisingly clears my head (which is a bonus considering I only have four hours to sort myself out before I take Sarah out tonight). Millwall however end up losing 1-0 to Sunderland by a Kevin Muscat own goal, a very shitty result.

The afternoon lingers and soon it gets dark and turns into evening as I find myself slow in getting ready. I run a bath but I take forever to get into it as people keep logging onto MSN and pestering me. Did I say pester? Don't mean it. First Dad comes online followed by Richard and then finally Sara. Sara turns out to be most interesting as it is 2AM in Australia (where she is on work) and she has returned to her hotel room off her tits on coke, flying high as a kite. Sara actually sounds in a real state and I kind of feel obliged to talk her down, be there for her while her head is blown off and she is in a room on her own. I don't know what happens, during over conversation I find myself distracted attempting to get ready for my own social life. She brings up the whole "I love you" thing and tells me that I don't have to tell that to her. Fine. However tonight though, she just craves attention. When I tell her that I am going out with Sarah, she gets really pissed off, telling me how I shouldn’t go and that I am an idiot for having anything to do with her. Jealous? Eventually I leave at 8PM after getting texts from Sarah going “you haven’t forgotten about me have you?�.

The night happens and it turns out to be another car crash occasion, that to be honest was on the cards in earnest. When I pick Sarah up around 8.15, she emerges from her house looking fairly pretty. We get in the car and head to town. Immediately there are chinks in the armour when she tells me that when she had those pops at me on MSN the other Friday they came at the end of a very hard week for her, one in which her doctor had offered to sign her off work for depression for two weeks. Why is this not surprising? Still emphasise with her and plod into town regardless. I park on the villain part of Crouch Street and we head towards Edwards with me telling her all about last night and my little flit/flirt with violence. I move paranoid with peripheral vision because the honest truth is that I would have no idea what the guy I started on looks like and personally I believe he would be fully entitled to just come up and smack me at the first opportunity. As we pass Sam’s Pizzeria (scene of the crime) there is a broken bottle (smashed glass) almost exactly where we stood last night. Sarah makes yokes (unfunny jokes) about me causing that commotion and I nervously laugh whilst at the same time still watching my back.

When we arrive at Edwards it is still relatively early and therefore still relatively laxed/relaxed. I buy the first round (me on cokes) and we begin talking/chatting, doing a general catch up. Very early on (almost too early on) I find my eyes rolling as she goes on about the situation between her and Randy Pan when Rarry caught them out. She tells me "I like him and he kind of likes me" no he fucking doesn't, he was taking the piss out of you you dumb fuck. For some reason (probably Drew's prize comments) she thinks that the people in our office think she is a bit of a slag when really I do not/cannot possibly think of or imagine a more tighter cunt (physically). This girl really thinks of herself as being much more interesting than she actually is.

Almost immediately then, the night is already a grind and I begin to wish I had stayed at home for some cyber love but I'm a good guy, I stick it out and put the effort in to stop the whole affair/night being one long drawn out nonversation (with the view to maybe getting some at the ending). That said though, soon I am very bored with it all: the company, the surroundings, the music, the ambience, the beverage.

Conversation shits to the hell night from July, a night she still holds in fine regards (sadist). She tells me how her work mates liked me (whereas I thought they were dull as dishwater and occasionally stomach churningly arrogant). I act surprised (as I genuinely am) and give her a sanitised run down of my opinions on them, mainly taking swooping pops at her managers, the jazzed up adults that reminded me of old nightmare people from my school days (daze).

As talk meanders further into work, I remember how Sarah had boasted to me that a manager-type from Capita's Manchester office had taken her out to dinner in London. I enquire further and it turns out that the whole affair was not really half as great as she had been selling it to me. Apparently the guy was past his forties and has since subsequently had a stroke, which in my mind is an understandable reaction to spending time with this mad Mcslim girl. One thing she however couldn’t get straight in her mind is/was how she led the man on. She tells me how innocent the whole meal was but my god, if he took her to dinner with no real reason/agenda, what else would he have been wanting/expecting? Still, she claims/pleads innocence when obviously the girl either knows what she is/was doing or she is the stupidest person ever (which, come to mind, kinda fits also). Then again, bare in mind this is a stifled Muslim girl who has never had freedom or a real social life until now and there is now stuck in a state of flux/limbo, a perpetual state of catchup, having probably only just reached her teenage/first time getting drunk stage.

Gradually the night wears on slowly and Edwards begins to fill up with Chavs and a shocking about of oldsters all dolled up in their appearance and still remaining looking shitty (applicable to both sexes). Sarah asks me if I have anything going on my love life. “Erm, I’m in fucking horrible Edwards with you on a Saturday night, does it look like I have?�. As I said earlier, dense. Still though, in a valiant attempt to keep thinks peachy (whilst really testing my patience) I ask her the same question back. She tells me that there is someone for currently which prompts me to bark back “well why the fuck isn’t he fucking here with you tonight then?�. More than likely it is some male Mcslim piece of shit, carefully bending his dogmatic religious rules/agenda to benefit his own end, to get his end way whilst this dippy girl gets lead on and half goes insane. Yeah, that little relationship/fling must be smouldering. Is it any surprise she says she was indecently assaulted.

And on the indecently assaulted front, she issue gets raised when she tells me how once she was “flashed� by someone on a Colchester road called Priory Street. The thing is, Priory Street is smack in the centre of the rough side of Colchester town centre and even I would not go around/near there late at night (then again Randy Pan got mugged/robbed there at knife point once, so its not all bad then). Sarah then tells me how the guy (the flasher) then tried to get in her car with her! And here she is telling me how she didn’t fancy him because he had a small cock! So, all in all, this brings about the question in/from me: “was that when you were indecently assaulted then?�. And at this point she curls up physically and mentally and replies “I don’t want to talk about that�. Shame that, I do/did.

The night gets old and she keeps knocking back the Alco pops as I get bored and fidgety as the fag smoke etc begins to get up my nose and back comes my hangover and general illness from all day. And then add to that I accidentally lean my white Black Flag shirt sleeve in some red wine (which never comes out).

Eventually conversation dies and I get to the point where I want to leave and when we don’t leave, I begin to act like a kid. And this becomes my turning point as I drop the best behaviour mask and begin to ask bored questions beginning with “when did you last have sex?� shortly followed by “have you ever had sex outside/outdoors?�.

We reach some kind of slipstream when she begins to tell me that I “have no confidence with girls�. Is this derived from the fact tonight I’m finding most girls in this Chav den repulsive or by the fact that I am not hitting on Sarah because tonight she really isn’t working for me. She adds that I need a girlfriend which makes me think “well if things (“dates�) continue like this, there isn’t much fear of that�. The final sticking the boot in turns out to be when she tells me that I should get a new image. She tells me that she did (got a new image) and……I’m not sold, she’s still a boring cunt it seems to me. She keeps telling me that I have lost weight when really I don’t think I have. I think/refer to the Rat Pack episode of The Sopranos when the wired contractor told the same thing to Tony a couple of times and such insincerity (sucking up) only served to spring him in Tony’s mind as an FBI rat and eventually got him whacked (my god, what a tenuous link).

When I go to the bar to get drinks, I look at my reflection and know I really shouldn’t be here. I know I look bad generally most of the time but tonight I look semi death warmed up with a real scowl and general air of negativity. When I return to Sarah I half expect to find some guy chatting her up and I relish the opportunity to converse like an arsehole. Then again, who the fuck is going to hit on that. Upon returning with drinks however I find her left, standing like a lemon staring vacantly into space (as is her general mindset it seems to me). I tell there that I half expected to return to find some guy hitting on her and she seems surprised by this statement (but nothing near as surprised as me with hindsight!). I tell her the truth though, how girls just have to wear low tops (such as her’s tonight) and stick out their tits and some guy will hit on them. And I look around at the people around, now pissed and acting obnoxious (basically me last night) and figure “beer goggles not on tonight�.

Bored by now and really wanting to go, I start to go out of my way to insult her. When I finally see a genuinely good looking girl (an Oriental one), I say to Sarah “look at that bamboo over there!� and she replies “don’t be racist� to which I reply utterly ignorant on purpose: “no way, she’s fit!�. I also begin asking really personal questions, probably stopping short at/of “do you shave your bush?�.

The sure sign of death to the evening is when I begin playing with my phone. I almost text Randy Pan to say “Azmei’s sister, fucking take her�. Instead though I hop onto the GPRS to see what is on TV at the moment and just what I am missing (out on).

As she finishes another drink, I make gestures to make moves (go somewhere else) but she makes gestures to get another drink. By now it has come around to my turn/round but I’ll be fucked if I’m going elongate this hell any further. She however doesn’t take the hint and goes and buys herself a drink, curiously a coke (her first non-Alco pop of the evening). I ask her “aren’t you bored?� as we near the third hour mark of standing around like lemons having half arsed conversation moments and people watch Chavs in action (a term which, by the way, she does not know). She tells me she’s not bored and that “I just like listening to the loud music and being here�. Vacant lot, I tell her “you’re a dull girl� and get away with it (I’m learning now you can’t treat Mcslim girls as bad as you want and they will take it, it appears to be in their culture and learning).

Around this point my phone vibrates/rings and it is Stevo calling me from god knows where for some reason. However with all this noise (the DJ etc) going on, I cannot hear a fucking thing and it takes Stevo two calls to realise this. This does however prompt much activity on my phone as I begin texting people, expressing my boredom to anyone that will listen (and hopefully reply).

Sarah begins to flag and whine eventually, strangely moaning like a child “my arm hurts� followed by “my tummy hurts�. I look in in disbelief and like its one big laugh comments/jokes “bet its like being around/with a ten year old� to which I respond “a ten year old would be more fun�. I think I bring up the indecently assaulted thing again with a comment like “if you get into this kind of state, no wonder……� and she curls up inside herself again and then suddenly goes “I’m going to be sick�. Whoops, did I trigger some psychosomatic? Whatever/regardless, she flies/disappears off to the toilets. I finally find some humour in the evening as the realisation/fact that only I could/would get a girl so drunk (with view to….) that she would throw up in the process. This is so typically me, especially with alcohol, the way I do/take things too far.

It is at this point that I look across the room (with a smirk) and see Rob (the Ipswich fan) from English class. I would have said “hi� were I not patiently waiting for Sarah to return from throwing.

As time carried on, thoughts appear in my mind of “what if she has passed out in a cubicle? How will I get home?� but eventually she returned after about a ten minute break, a break long enough for me to manage to finish drinking her drink. Upon arrival, wiping her chops, she moans that her drink (almost full when she left it) had gone but I begin to lead her outside telling her “I’m taking you home (but not to fuck or anything)�. She whinges that she doesn’t want to leave but then also that she doesn’t feel very well and that maybe she should have something to eat. Torn mentally, she shows some reluctance at leaving to which I respond “I’ll get you thrown out, I’ll tell the bouncers that you’ve been sick�. I however grab her cardigan that she is holding and lead her out of Edwards.

When we get outside things go even more pear shaped as Sarah now insists that she doesn’t want to go home (“it’s still early�) and begins bitching me out that now she will have to pay to get back into Edwards. By this stage, I have fucking had enough and I make up lies like “I’ve texted your sister and she says to take you home�. Undeterred, like a nutter, Sarah goes “you’re lying, how late is Yates open?� and she begins walking towards Yates. Like a div I follow her but also I begin texting Azmei saying “your sister is really pissed, what do I do?�.

When I get to Yates and attempt to catch up with Sarah, there is a really big bouncer on the door stopping people from getting in. I am completely happy/down with that however I really should be looking out for Sarah, I feel obliged. I text her saying “they won’t let me into Yates� and walk off back to my car pissed off, leaving her stranded in town. I don’t know what person ultimately is the more reckless/irresponsible but if this is how Sarah acts, no wonder she got “indecently assaulted� in the first place and unless she learns some common sense social skills, it may only be a matter of time before it happens again. Especially when arseholes like me leave her stranded in town, with their patience having been pushed through all limits.

I return home, hoping that Sara is still online and that I can speak to her some, it seems she cares for me more than Sarah ever will. Unfortunately though, there is no sign of her. Tom however is online and I speak to him about events in an effort to clear my conscience. He tells me that I appear to have acted responsibly. I glad I can convince him because I sure can’t convince myself on that issue.

So ultimately tonight I manage to get a female Pakistani Muslim drunk at the beginning of Ramadam? Is this as bad as it sounds? Ho ho.

On TV is the movie The Cell. I once saw this stoned around B’s house with her weirdo Colchester friends (well, nu metal semi Goths). I can’t decide if this film sucks as much as I suspect it does. It is fucking ridiculous, adding a sci-fi bent to a Hannibal Lector movie with a touch of S&M whilst having a pretty good cast. Vince Vaughan however does look a total mess while Jennifer Lopez all gothed up vampy looks the most amazing that she is ever likely to.

Around midnight, I text Azmei again telling her that I am really concerned about Sarah (lie!). I am actually semi surprised not to have been sent grief giving text messages or calls to pick Sarah up. Not good.

The night ends with the Peter Cook and Dudley Moore version of Hound Of The Baskervilles. It shouldn’t but it sends me straight to sleep.

np: Primal Scream – Swastika Eyes


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