Cushiness...

Since coming back from the UK, my ephedrine connection has been lost. Which means I'm not hyper all day anymore.

Which is ok, as my job isn't as insane as it was in London. I work normal hours, behind a computer, on a cushy office chair with numerous smoke breaks. After sic months, my system has learnt to deal with this and I now get some sleep.

Well, not really sleep. More like a snooze with intense dreams as my brain hasn't yet figured out how to shut down when I close my eyes. Also - not having internet at home, means that I can't surf until the sun rises - which i'll totally do.

Its a bit of a double edged sword really - stay up all night only to crash at 3pm at my desk or go to bed at a reasonable hour and still crash at my desk by 3pm.

Maybe its because I'm bored. Bored stupid! and my brain is trying to be proactive in keeping me on my toes until I'm intellectually stimulated again.

Who knows?

All I know is that at this moment, sitting at my desk, watching my inbox fill up really quickly, I would rather be at home sleeping on my couch with my cat on my stomach.

Go on...Push My Buttons

I have a lot to bitch about:

Like people not getting back to me about serious gigging.
Like teenyboppers stealing wristbands from me by lining up from 3am so I can't get to see a band I like.
Like my job pretty much sucking.
Like me feeling the empty part of being single.
Like missing my mates back home fiercely.
Like having to beg favours from my mates because my job pays so porly i can't afford to get my posters printed up.
Like nearly getting mugged on Sunday morning (I did punch the 7ft hoodie for his sad attempt at taking my cell before jumping back onto the bus. Mind you, I was a bottle of wine and a 12hr shift down)

But today's post isn't about me. It's about all the loonies I see everyday in the city, on my bus, muttering or ranting to themselves, smelling like a toilet and looking as though they've fallen through the cracks of the matrix.
And I wonder to myself - sure, London is a tough city. It's big, intimidating, unfriendly, harsh etc etc. But is that an excuse to go off the deep end and creep out tourists and old ladies on buses by telling them that the little purple men have taken over the government and HQ is in your left pinky?
I mean, really. Jo'burg is a far harsher place to live and therefore making it easier for a person to lose thier grip on this reality. But then where are we hiding all the Jozi crazies? And why isn't Ken Livingstone (mayor of London) not rounding the crazies up over here instead of tearing down major historical music sites (read:The Astoria) to replace them with railnetworks (which we frankly don't need).

Unless of course its the weather that is that final little nudge you need to fall into the mentally unstable abyss. If that's the case, then someone, please, bring me a straitjacket. I feel the madness approaching.

OCD ADD

Due to my sucker-for-punishment gene, I kindly obliged my boss on Monday night to stay on a few hours as Dave, one of the barmen couldn't come in. Ok, so he promised me £20 as well. I still need to see it - by the way. I was suppose to finish at 9. I finished after 12.
Let's recall that I only have one functioning arm.
I can't open a bottle of wine, carry heavy loads or flair bottles (not that I can normally, but it does sound cool)
So tonight, I had to work until close. I was fed up by 5pm already. So I suckered the asistant manager to let me go early -10pm.
I SHOULD be cleaning my room.
I'm watching the MCR concert from Projekt Revolution.
I SHOULD be writing cd reviews for my other website.
I posted a movie trailer instead.

I also realised, in a eureka moment spurned on by my slight red wine haze, that after trawling numerous websites and other emo related things, that DEPRESSION is not alqays the miserable child in the corner wearing black. Oh No!
In fact, depression is most commonly hidden by this little fucker:


So be warned..its the smiley fucking happy people of the world that are the most depressed.

And then the wheels fell off...

i'm not one to deny the fact that yes, I enjoy the good night out. However, London is not one of those places.
Saturday night started off all innocent...I shaved my legs, got all dressed up and made my way down to Carnaby Street to a club called Zebranos. Had every intention of leaving after one drink to go home and sleep. Yes, despite the getting dressed up!
Was a colleagues birthday party and well, one beer turned into two and I ended up having a pretty good time and was relatively sober when I left to catch the bus home.

However,

As I was standing waiting for the bus, wrangling with my mp3 player which has decided to die on me, I had the sudden and urgent need to pee. So I headed down teh street to my pub to use the facilities. As I was abotu to leave, the bouncers said I shoudl go downstairs and join the Rebel Rebel party night. Which I did.
I also met John Fratelli. Yep. Shook his hand, told him I had a great time at teh Apple Store gig and then went to get a beer.

After that, the night turns sketchy and all I really recall is some dancing, me throwing up, discreetly, then being bundled into a cab, arguing with teh cabbie for a reciept and waking up the next afternoon to discover a business card in my bra.

hmmmm...

And today the hangover hits me. Today. So am nursing it with coffee and doughnuts. Also woke up to a cold sore on my top lip.

So on the painful commute, I sat wondering...

Should I give up drinking all together?
It has led to most of my cringeworthy moments in life so far. But at the same time, i thoroughly enjoy that hazy feeling that a good glass of wine gives me. And I love tequila shots.
So no, I'm not going to give up drinking.
Well, only in public.
From now on, I'd only drink at home, where I know where my bed is, i don't need to wear high heels or deal with catching a cab.

Moving on...

Still flat hunting. Still job hunting.

Joyce is still crazy and P is still annoying.

will be funny and witty another time.

[UPDATE: Turns out, I gatecrashed John Fratellis Birthday Party. And the business card belonged to one of his mates.]