Yay social life!
I was at work today and I did work things and some light, begrudging cleaning and I really, really didn’t sell much at all. It was pathetic.
But: I did manage to work out how to get pandora on my work computer. In your FACE, international licencing. Booya.
So altogether I do consider today to have been a productive day. Hey, music makes me happy, which in turn softens the experience of shopping in my store for customers. What’s good for me, is good for business. But obviously for a while it was touch and go, and the complications of finding a vpn thingy that actually lets me choose a US proxy was a little stressful, so maybe I was a bit uptight with customers for a while. But tomorrow will be better. I’ll sell loads of shit.
Anyway afterwards I got the tram to my friend Andrea’s house.
She invited me over because she was making some traditional munch, and a couple of friends were coming along.
I gave myself a little mental pep talk:
Just keep it cool, keep it normal… be yourself, just not ALL of yourself.
Calm the fuck down and don’t mention your vagina, not even ONCE.
And don’t even think about if one of the friends winds up being hot, just leave it. You’re not going to score a hottie at a relaxed daytime meal in a friend’s house.
Normal, breezy… don’t say any weird shit.
I arrived all sweaty and looking pretty shit, because it’s fucking HOT here and I was misled by the overcast sky this morning when I rolled out of bed and into whatever clothes were nearby (damn I have to stop getting up at the last possible minute)… I wore floral tights and a very short dress so I couldn’t take the tights off later when it was too hot to breathe, and my hair weighs about a stone (I fucking HOPE. I watched the Fighter the other day… I totally recommend it by the way, awesome film… I only ever watch comedies but wow that was a good film. And anyway in the fighter, they weigh the boxers before a fight and say Mark Wahlberg weighs 10.5 stone and O. M. G motherfuckers, that’s what I weigh, and I don’t have a single ounce of muscle in there, and don’t be like, yeah you do, everyone has muscle, because I’m special, I don’t have any. And so it must be the hair, it must be.)
Anyway, fuck it, I ran up the 5 flights of stairs to her apartment, and became even sweatier and also out of breath as my hair clung in cobwebs over my face, and I panted nice to meet you to the three guy friends and we kissed cheeks and I probably grossed them out big time with my clammy, disconcerted red face.
We had food, we had beer (I know, I was meant to be giving up, but beer with friends is different. Moderation, baby. I only had two small glasses of beer and one of wine which was PUSHED on me so it’s ok.)
The guys were nice. I imediately sussed them out- one was really fucking hot, but small. Like, shorter than me and skinny, so I have to disqualify him on the grounds that I’m not a petite girl, even though I’m no fucking heiffer, I weigh the same as a professional boxer, for fucks sake. So he’s out. It’s not fair, this is why I’m jealous of petite girls- they seem to always act jealous of tall girls (which I’m not either) but really, they can fish for any kind of man they want. I’m stuck with the fucking big nets, the ones that lets all the smaller fish slip away… I’m limited to the bigger catch, and it’s annoying.
He was super hot. But anyway, too small. I was kind of relieved because this way I got the benefits of enjoying a hot guy’s company for a while (it actually recharges my batteries, I actually get happier by spending time with attractive people… so does everyone, maybe.) but there was no pressure for me to be attractive to him or to say the right stuff.
I loosened up a bit.
The other two guys weren’t offensive, but next to the hot one, they just didn’t do it for me. Hot one sparkled next to them, not like some paedophile vampire, but he was radiant with that hot person glow… the ease of movement, the assuredness that they can do and that they are right in doing what they want… maybe it was also priviledge and not just hotness I was sensing, but whatever…
The other two were comparitively too dull.
And when one was handed the laptop to put on some music, he chose Rihanna. Chose. Not out of a limited music library, but fucking youtube. Bam, you’re out.
The last one… meh… No. I’m scraping the barrell here and still no. Sheesh I’m relentless, I can’t even be around three unknown men without checking their looks and personalities on my fuckometer. Eventually I gave up and relaxed, and we had nice conversation and a few laughs. I was amusing people with some very, very tame little bits and pieces. I kept seeing cues for good entertaining stories, witty one liners, tongue in cheek observations.. but I had to let them all slip by.
Andrea is cool and we have had some very saucy convo on occasion, but always when drunk and always when it’s just the two of us.
These guys were clearly not used to that sort of shit, so I had to let all my awesome conversation bits float past me unused, and die as the talk moved somewhere else.
At one point, one of the guys said something about looking for a job. A few silly back and forths… and Andrea’s boyfriend, a nice but fairly straight laced guy, says “you could be a male escort!” Laughing ensues. Someone else contributes something. I see a window- I see a fucking window.
I mention how I came across something weird on the internet one time (read: while scouring the web for filth), and apparently there are guys who pay to go to a woman’s house, clean her house, and be insulted. I presented my little tidbit with raised eyebrows, incredulous.
It went down well, the conversation flowed from my petty contribution, we laughed, people threw other bits in.
But I knew: Man, one millimetre further into the filth and I would have been exposed, and they would not have liked it.
So, it’s ok.
I live to socialise another day with these people.
I did ok. I didn’t get drunk.
But…. it’s annoying being full of beans and having to tone it all down and restrain yourself because the company isn’t able for my full unrated self. I miss my ACTUAL friends, who I can talk to about a really impressive shit, or awkward sex stuff, or whatever… obviously the difference is not just the squareness of the company, but also the fact that we had only just met. Must remember that, though. I do tend to get very impatient.
Anyway. I got home later and saw my face, and my hair looks like a nest…
And my house looks like a sty.
And my face is erupting in punishment spots, all over, because I did a proper cleanse and the toxic holiday dirt is finally struggling to the surface of long-blocked pores. HOORAY! They burst forth rowdily, and I have to be strong and not pick them or I will be miserably spotty for a week or more.
I’m good. I only picked one, the one on my forehead that looks like a bindi. Worst case scenario, I stick an actual bindi on my head to cover it and pretend to be interested in another culture, when I’m totally not.
Anyway, I’m going to go stress myself out trying to do the thing I did with pandora, except this time with BBC iplayer (helluvalot harder, by the looks of it)