Thursday, February 06, 2003

This Place Was Much Friendlier When The Mob Ran It

Most of you out there in DotCom land probably don't need to know this, but regardless of what time this arse-backwards thing says it is, it's just gone three in the morning and as I write this I'm sitting at my desk buck naked. Not a stitch - just a cross necklace, my wedding ring and my glasses. And yes I am very cold but after Monday I'm not sure I'll ever feel the cold again, I think I acquired peripheral neuritis.

So why write the 'Blog at 3am buck naked, VVR? Good question, faithful reading public. The reason is that despite being more flat broke than the overture to La Daniads (geddit? flat broke, flat baro-cque... sorry, musician humour) I went out to the Shagga tonight with Byron, Miss Lucy, and too many other people I know to count without.. well, stripping off. And it didn't cost me much more than the entry fee which is £2.50. Having discovered I can live on so little cashflow, I think I'll try it as a way of life from now on!

And to get to the point of this post, having danced the night away and been drinking solidly since 1PM, I am stone cold sober. Now I know people who are really really hammered say that, but I honestly am. I'm so sober I can pronounce "Ultrapneumosillicovolcanoconeosis" without stumbling. And I didn't just make that word up, it's the technical name for Miner's Lung. Also, people keep asking me two things;

1. "Are you alright? You look a bit depressed"

2. "Have you lost some weight?"

Now, (1) I have a brooding demeanor, it's something I've never broken myself of (well I say never, we all have our moments of leather trousers) When I'm in a crowded club, I tend to get a drink and watch people, absorb the atmosphere, and when I do this I apparently frown like a vampire and get a tortured glint in my eye. When this happens there are two explanations, (a) I'm brooding, leave me alone, or (b) I'm fine. Mostly it's (b) and tonight it definatly was.

And (2) have I? Well I know I bitch about my trousers not staying up and suchlike, but I don't think I have. But I suppose the scales don't lie.. we'll have to see what the Wife thinks when she gets up, though she is always telling me I have. It's an excuse to feed me I'm telling you....

Well anyway, that was the point of the post. I've drunk myself out the other side. I HATE it when that happens....

Wednesday, February 05, 2003

Riddle Me This...

Tell my Mamma and tell my Pa that their fine young son didn't get far. He made it to the end of a bottle, sittin' in a sleazy bar. If anyone who reads my 'Blog can tell me the song and the band, I'll be very proud of them. Though of course you can always look it up, and I'll only be proud if you knew anyway and can demonstrate this by singing it.

From <<>>>

No, Dearest little wife-of-my-heart, I remember very well thank you. Bitter, very very bitter. I didn't wake up next to a Random Chorus Girl, I woke up next to my Cousin actually. Don't you think you would have already recieved my sobbing confession if I HAD woken up next to a RCG? Well perhaps not quite sobbing, but definatly a confession. Besides there aren't many Chorus Girls to pick from, it wouldn't be so Random... or perhaps it would. Be Random that is. Now this is just going in odd directions that no man was meant to traverse, so I'll stop.

But anyway, as it says in the title, Riddle me this - what's more screwed than a demented genius with debts up to their ears and deadlines coming out of the woodwork? Someone who has all this, but minus the Genius part. Sometimes (And please please please nobody take this as either threat, promise or depressive rant, it's none of those) I compose suicide notes in my head;

"Dear Mamma and Papa. Sorry I wasn't the child prodigy you thought I was"
"Dear Tess. I love you, see you soon"
"Dear Byron. Sorry to leave you without a drinking buddy. Remember our pact - publish me"
"Dear World. Fuck you all, I was too good for you

Actually I kind of want that last one on my tombstone. Purely a pointless morbid exercise you understand, I haven't given serious thoughts to suicide for oooohhh... years I'd say. But it's interesting to see who you'd want your last Babble and Testament to go to sometimes. I'd better go. Listening to the Nygma Variations and writing my 'blog is a bad plan, even worse than listening to Mr E's Dance Card.

"Try fireman. Less to take off"

Monday, February 03, 2003

"Dear Papa. Send Cash"

The Rebirth Ritual went very well. Yes I know I never even mentioned it was happening but it did. I'm no longer President and am now Potions Master which is fun I suppose. And yes it really does figure that The Replacement Phantom is also Grim on the Grim and Evil character test. I mean, look at it... who takes care of my lovely Lady Wife's musical education when I'm away? Who's her snog-buddy? Who parades up and down saying "Ohhh Master Frodo"? Ok so I don't do that...

My brain is a little haywire at the moment. Wednesday and Thursday nights - drunk for no readily apparent reason, Friday night, PULSAR crawl, followed by waking up on Saturday feeling very mortal and spending a good portion of the morning slouching around looking like an extremly dishevelled Erik. Think this - if Erik had decided to do something about that whole being denied the joys of the flesh thing and gone out to the Moulin Rouge, got horrendously drunk and woken up next to some random chorus girl the next day and had to get back to the Opera House in his very crumpled suit from the next before, including the shirt he slept in. Got that image? That was my Saturday morning.

Saturday night I went to Manly Viking's sumble, got horrendously drunk and woke up Sunday morning smelling of bonfire, fully clothed in frilly shirt and tight trousers with a horrible hangover. Terribly familiar, all I was missing was the woman beside me complaining that I passed out on her. Sunday night, Imbolg do, smoked a hell of a lot of dope and sloped up to bed with my head spinning.

Argh... what a weekend. Got a lot of work done though - being sloshed makes me focussed for some reason. Oh, and I have now got two non-functioning bank cards and no access to my money, bills to pay, no pupils, a wife, and a father who's still convinced I'm some kind of genius. Gah, parents, who'd have 'em? I spent all day telling myself I couldn't borrow any more money (I'm getting better known as a debtor than anything else) and walked 3 miles through snow to get to my dissertation meeting in order to not spend the £1.60 which until this evening was all I had to my name. I now have £11.60 - many thanks to M'amselle for paying me back the £10 she owed me!

I suppose parading and saying "Ohh Master Frollo" would be more disturbing really.....