Starman, David Bowie. Still don't know any of the words. [To those it may concern: I just asked the Mac to say the word "Bowie", and it shouted "b-oh-ee" at me, not "b-oww-ee". Still. I remain unconvinced.]
So, yeah! Chicken came to stay for a few days. In short, she arrived with a relative grip on normality and went home with the mentalist twang characteristic of my group of friends, a happier perspective of life as a whole [I hope], purple hair and three slices of banana cake. It struck me as my mother and myself were driving to pick she and Anonymous up from his house on Monday that we haven't actually spent an extended amount of time with each other for - I'm not actually sure. A long time, anyway. I was curious to find out how the nights would pan out. Curious and excited.
When the three of us got home and piled into the spare room, I'm a little ashamed to admit that our main priority was to find a place to hide the booze. Mainly to stop my parents from finding out, but also to lessen the temptation for Anonymous. Bloody alkie. Hey! Alcoholic Anonymous! Black humour, lol. We deemed the bottom shelf of the wardrobe a suitable storage space in the absence of an actual minibar, and went outside with guitars and chocolate and snuggled up in fluffy blankets on the swingseat. It wasn't particularly hot or cold, and I remember feeling this deep, penetrating relaxing in my bones, like they'd finally flumped down on the sofa to watch crap telly with a hot chocolate after several months of neverending running - like Forrest Gump - and it was rather pleasant.
The next day, Ben, Rory, Curious and Alien came over to eat pizza and loiter around my living room like a loiterous bunch of scamps and make disparaging comments about my cooking/help me make a FUCKING GOOD dinner and meander across to the park barefoot in the rain and invade the spare bedroom and take a nap and attempt to play one of the millions of guitars we seemed to have kicking around and sing U2 [still not as good as White Stripes] and pose and take pictures and feed the cat floor pasta and give/receive beard/ear massages and all that.
Curious and Ben and Rory left us in the evening. Rory hugged me when he got picked up and thanked me with touching sincerity.
What happened after that isn't too clear. I know the following things: I had no idea how drunk I was until I tried to stand up. I was stuck somewhere between fury and hysteria upon pulling back the covers to my bed when Alien and I tumbled back into the room at 2am to find an enormous pile of empty bottles and cans in the place my body was meant to go. The fried eggs and bagels Anonymous made for us the next morning were the most welcome things I believe have ever entered my life. And the bottles and cans I kicked to the foot of my bed remained there for another three days because we were all too lazy to go to the recycling station.
We didn't do a lot the next day. We took a brief walk to the forest near my home and watched Zoolander. After Alien went home, us remaining three celebrated Anonymous's last night with us by watching the Rocky Horror Picture Show.
It's unnerving how a man in lingerie can be so hot.
It became apparent around this time that Chicken was going to be staying for longer than was initially planned; instead of three nights, she was staying for five! Dad drove the three of us to Anonymous' house to drop him off, and came back to the overwhelming stench of egg. As Chicken and I had spent the previous forty minutes being jiggled across crappy country roads in the back of a poorly ventilated car, our stomachs weren't able to handle the offensive stink lingering around the house like a... bad smell for long so we took to the garden, draped in a blanket and brandishing a cup of tea.
The egg was there for a purpose; Thursday was Maundy Thursday, or Passover, in accordance with the Christian calendar. Passover is an annual Jewish festival at which they remember Elijah freeing their ancestors from slavery in Egypt ["Let my people go", ten plagues, parting of the red sea, etc], and it was this that Jesus and his mates were celebrating the night before he died - the Last Supper was a Passover. It's not typically celebrated by Christians, but the reason some of us do is because our ancestors were those slaves also, according to our interpretation; basically if you imagine Judaism as Sims 2, Christianity is an expansion pack. Yes, I did just liken two of the major world religions to a videogame. So anyway, theology over, the egg is used to symbolise... something to do with the liberation of the slaves, I don't remember, I was too busy being offended by the sight of them. It was good fun, the Passover. Someone made some epic cakes.
It was on this day that Chicken and I discovered tea. I'm more of a black coffee person, and she's into hot chocolate, but on that day we had five cups of tea each. As my sister rightly snorted with some derision when we told her the next day, "that's nothing", but when you consider that, between us, we'd probably had less than five cups of tea in our entire lives until that point, we felt as if we'd both taken a big step up in the world. When I say it like that, it sounds a little sad.
On Friday Chicken and I took the train up to hang out with my sister and nephew, and to help keep him occupied while they sorted out their moving house arrangements and stuff, painting his room and transporting... stuff from the old house to the new one. It was a very pleasant day - we took him to the [bloody enormous] park right opposite and sat him in the swings for a while, looking very much like a lesbian couple with an adopted baby.
When we got back, determined to be in bed asleep by midnight at the latest to make up for the 2am gossip sesh the night before followed by an 8am wakeup, we stuck on The King's Speech while I dabbed at her hair with purple dye, cackling delightedly and unable to believe she was trusting me to not balls up and turn her bald or something impossible that I'd inevitably achieve. She went to sleep with half her hair wrapped into a testicle-shaped clingfilm parcel dangling next to her ear, and by the time I'd stopped giggling at the ridiculousness of it all it was the next morning and she'd washed her hair to be left with a streak of bright violet. It looks amaaazing. I'm biased, of course, but it really does look amazing.
And now she's gone and I'm sad ☹
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| I like these. |
Alex Day got to fifteen in the UK singles chart with Lady Godiva! I'm trying not to feel sad and pathetic at how genuinely happy I am for someone I'm likely to never meet. That he's on my bucket list is neither here nor there; probability dictates that I will be lucky to meet a fraction of a percent of the world's population, and, chances are, he won't be in that negligible total. Probability is the only thing standing between us commoners and YouTube bourgeoisie such as Alex. Not that he'd want to identify as such, really.
If you get the opportunity, get thylazyself to iPlayer and watch Simon Amstell: Do Nothing Live before it gets taken off. He's my favourite comedian, and another bittersweet reminder that the gay ones are always the cutest.
And, eh, I finally figured out how to use tumblr: click here for more unbearably smug megalomania.
Quote of the Day: My type is me, but better. So all I need to do is find someone like me but better, looking for someone exactly like himself, but much worse. [Simon Amstell]
NB - I don't know about you, but I find this truly inspirational.
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