I feeeeeel good!
So good, in fact, that I went to put on some James Brown. Discovered I don’t actually have any James Brown on my work computer so I am currently downloading some, and THEN when that’s finished I will listen to it and my happiness will be complete.
Today is the first day of the rest of my life. Like, really!
I woke up feeling rough as the backs of my calves, but as soon as I made the leap from bed to clothes and tooth brushing and getting outside into the crisp autumn day (finally some crisp motherfuckin weather!) I felt like a new woman, and like I had way more sleep.
Apart from waking up separated from my ex, I also woke up with the most amazing possible type of hangover: the “damn, I have to wait all next week to party again” kind of hangover. I don’t feel like ugggh my head, or ugh my behaviour, or ughhh this guy beside me (there was no guy beside me), I just felt a pang of sadness because I had a really good time and now I won’t have any partying to do until next Friday.
Oh man, I feel good.
Damn that album is going to be 20 more minutes, what’s up with my dl speed?
Anyway. I am living proof that the worst most debilitating part of the hangover is the mental anguish. I feel amazing but I did get quite inebriated last night and also I slept about 4 hours, so my feeling totally human and acceptable must be down to the lack of regret and guilt and shame.
Of course I did say a lot of stupid shit to people and I was very drunk and silly by the end of things, but I was in a fantastic mood and importantly, the people I was with were much better fun than the usual crowd of jerks I come across. So my intermittent bullshit and weird unexplained humour were greeted warmly or at least tolerated.
It was a house party- a rare occurrence in Italy as apartments are small and neighbours are sensitive to sound, and Italians seem to like the showyness of the cocktail bar and the amateur-ish mixing of drinks and fruit syrup. (The true alcoholic proclaims himself by ordering a long island iced tea. It’s nearly all alcohol.)
So I didn’t know it was going to be a house party- I uncharacteristically showed up empty handed and knocked back my host’s beer all night.
I wanted to slowly slowly get ready taking pleasure in layering careful beige crud and coloured powders on top of each other until my face matched my ego’s idea of itself. Unfortunately I wasted about an hour of getting ready time panicking over my stupid outfit and the fact that I don’t have ANY suitable shoes for any occasion. I can’t even throw away my stinky black pumps because they are my only normal black shoes. I eventually settled unhappily on my nice green silky dress that gapes open at the front if I’m not careful. I had to kind of rush my makeup then but decided to mark the occasion of my separation by wearing fake eyelashes, which looked pretty awesome and weren’t excessively mad looking so it was only blatantly obvious to some women that I was wearing falsies.
I left the house and felt like oh no I look like CRAP but it was just because I hadn’t been sure of my clothes and as I was leaving I saw that my comfy slouchy boots that made my over the top dress look more casual, had practically departed from their soles, so I had to change boots and the other boots looked pretty shit and disjointed. But anyway. ONWARDS!
We went to this party, me and Andrea, who was so lovely and happy for me with my good news, we squealed like cheerleaders, I was totally elated to have a decent friend here with me who is actually really fun and cool.
I announced to her that tonight, instead of insisting on pacing myself and being good and then waking up the next day all regrets and self-flagellation, I was gonna get SERIOUS FUCKED UP DRUNK! She nodded and gave me a beer.
I knew some of the guys there- most people were Chilean and there were some Italians, but we had a little group of Chileans going on and it was good craic. The guys I knew were, I don’t know if you remember but one of them I thought was hot but too short, and the others were really easy going and interesting. So they were there, and short hottie was actually not short at all, I think I was wearing heels the last time. But he’s intimidatingly hot but in an innocent looking kind of way that makes me feel very unattractive myself.
I decided I would be extra interesting and smile a lot near him, and see if I got any good body language, and otherwise just chill with the other dudes who I liked better as people. Unfortunately liking someone’s personality doesn’t work for me like physical attraction paired with a shit personality. I feel like that may be my problem with men because it’s a bad formula for happiness and also, I have really lofty aspirations, but meh, I’m a strong personality, I’m boisterous, I should be one of those women who can catch men who are out of my league. I don’t mind if he’s a bit dull or stupid, I just want some hotness. In some way I’m a little bit afraid of the ones I actually like as people- I know I’m a delicate flower right now and I don’t wanna rebound onto anyone, so it’s actually sensible to stick to guys who bore or annoy me a small bit, at least I won’t try and move in with them or hold their hand or anything.
I began the evening by taking off my jacket and accepting a half glass of neat vodka, which I downed before the poor guy had time to get the mixer. In my defence, I thought when he offered me “vodka” that meant neat vodka, or if it was vodka and sprite he would have said “do you want vodka and sprite” because if you don’t like the taste of neat vodka then you will consider the sprite part to be its selling point.
But I managed to accept the sprite in my empty glass and drink that without him realising I had already finished the vodka part. I don’t want to appear totally dipso to these people, tolerant as they may be, an alcoholic is an alcoholic.
I drank my sprite chaser and switched to beer. I started getting these spring-break-esque bursts of euphoria that forced me to release energy in the form of clinking glasses with people at random, grinning massively, and occasionaly a woooooo! would escape my lips. I was like Aaron Carter’s crazy little party girl. Do you remember that song? Whatever happened to him, did he get all obese and shit?
So I’m partying around the world and this Italian guy pops his shaved little head into the group. He points around at everyone in the middle of our conversation about I think Steve Jobs and how (oh yes, this was one of MY conversation starters, how charming) it’s really depressing that he died because it proves that there actually isn’t a cure for cancer, when I always thought it was like aids and you can cure it if you have lots of money. (At this point people shake their heads and say, there’s no cure for aids either.)
So he points and pronounces us “Chilean!” one at a time. There are some nods. When he gets to me, I shake my head. Where? Where?
Guess… no wait, I realise that “guess” is an invitation to converse some more and I was standing talking next to the hottie so I wanted to get back into that groove.
I tell him I’m Irish. He’s like no way, wow, where in Ireland?
And I’m like, well do you know any place in Ireland besides Dublin?
He’s like.. no, I just wanted to sound like I knew.
And I’m like, that’s what EVERYONE says, but then when I tell you, you’ll inevitably admit you don’t know any place names in Ireland so you will be showing you DONT know….
He says he wants to know. I tell him.
He blushes and says, yeah I don’t know where that is. URGH I get this all the time. I try to extricate myself but hottie has sat down on a couch beside some little ferretlike Italian girl with a pile of curls pinned to the top of her head, who is not particularly attractive at all but has small features, the bitch.
Ooh my download is done, yay! Except I downloaded an album that doesn’t have I feel good on it. But it don’t matter. It’s good funky shit anyway. Get on up yeah…
Right so this shiny-headed bundle of eagerness starts yammering away about how GREAT my Italian is and wow how great my Spanish is too and oh my god wow. So I absorb the compliments but I’m getting bored of this guy. I want back in my clique of Chileans only. This guy may as well be reading his conversation from a script, it’s so exactly the same as everything every single Italian guy ever says to me. Yawn. He’s amazed by everything I do. Wow I’m so cool. He’s gushing. I’m annoyed. I mean thank you for the compliments but shut up now or let a normal conversation ensue so I can continue being witty and interesting, receiving compliments to my command of languages and my interestingness is getting in the way of actually talking.
I try the shoulder-out-oops wow I’m back in my circle again, but it’s way too subtle. The guy barges into the middle of the circle with a big happy smile. He says something jovial and then apologises, sorry I didn’t mean to interrupt. Then he continues talking. Then he apologises for interrupting again and looks around a little uneasily. It’s like he’s waiting for everyone to be like, no you’re grand, come join us! But I mean we’re not an unfriendly group, but we’re having the craic in Spanish and this Italian dude is so fucking over enthusiastic about how great spanish is, but then talks to us in Italian so the whole group has to to talk in Italian.
So anyway he manages to insert himself. We talk Italian. I keep furrowing my brow and seeing something in the distance I need to go inspect for a second to get some relief. I’m standing near this Italian guy and he’s SATURATING me with his company. It’s oppressive but innocent. Poor guy. I spot a… “oh I see is that a jar for coffee over there? That’s nice, I was looking for one for my kitchen……” and I excuse myself and start wading through the party to get a closer look at this jar, and then I squint at it and then when he’s talking to someone else I can rejoin the people I actually want to talk to.
I do this as much as I can without being really obvious but it’s not working and I’m having to do a lot of hopping around being a weirdo perving on door knobs and interesting floor tiles so I give up and resign to being worshipped by this guy for the evening. He’s nice and all but I hate the fucking gushing. It’s not cool, I want to just get on with the socialising and mingle, not stand in front of someone wh0’s waving a banner with my name on it.
At one stage the bathroom door is closed and I want to pee, but I can’t tell if there’s anyone in there. I creep up and peer through the keyhole. I thought I was on my own in the hall, but I hear squeals of pleasure behind me. It’s the Italian guy. I ignore and go pee, then come out to find myself face to face with him waiting for me, alone. He shakes my hand vigorously and tells me he was so impressed by me doing that, peeking through the keyhole, that it’s so fucking cool of me to do that, and that he would do the same thing! And I’m like, well what’s so impressive about that, I mean you just said you’d do the same thing. And he’s tripping over himself trying to make it into a reference to my awesomeness.
We rejoin the rest of the group and all sorts of good humoured party sillyness ensues. Someone has a camera and I am for some reason stuffing a scarf into my dress to make massive boobs and Andrea is pushing her boobs up, and everyone is laughing and then I take the scarf out and then some guy is tied to a bed with scarves and I’m egging them on to take his clothes and or wallet, but it’s not that kind of prank, it’s just some mild high jinx, and people think I’m a little too zealous about taking it further, and maybe somewhat creepy, so I shut up…and we are eventually sitting in a circle. Hottie is going home. There is a nice conversation going on. I for some reason announce that I hate the french, even though I don’t and I don’t even know what someone was talking about. It feels like I’m telling a joke, but it leaves my mouth and I’m like, what was that? But I shrug and move on, I’m not too good at digging myself out of a hole, especially when it comes to inadvertent racism, so I don’t bother. Plus there are no french people around, it’s just a weird thing to say out of context. Anyway.
Italian guy is so clearly into me it’s making me nauseous. Anything I do, anything, racks up points on the pinball machine of my awesomeness. He does the underhand, cowardly thing and tells the circle in general that we should all exchange numbers so we can ALL meet up again. None of us are able to reject that friendliness so he goes first to Andrea, then one of the guys, then me. He rings their numbers to make sure they are real which I think is a classless move, but it means I can’t fob him off. He laughs when I say “69” because my number has 69 in it. Also, because when I read out my number I get insanely proud of the 69 and announce it with a showmanlike flourish. Like I’m reading the last lottery number. Anyway I think he counted that as flirting. Man what a pussy, it’s such a wimpy way of getting a number, asking for the group’s. He was attached to me all night and it was fairly obvious. Ugh if only he was hot, but even still I don’t think hotness can make up for this little-dog-like enthusiasm. He’s jumping up at me yapping for me to throw the ball. Down boy.
Anyway hottie is gone home now as he was out last night too and is fading.. he shows his total incompatibility with me (if he was even interested, which he clearly isn’t) by saying that “obviously he was out last night… that’s why he didn’t change his clothes.” I’m like, well I don’t see anything wrong with the clothes, it’s not like you stink or anything (smooth moves I know). He’s like “well I would have worn something that MATCHED!” And I’m like, urgh. I’d prefer a smelly guy than a colour-matching one.
But heh, I would instantly forgive his lameness if only he wanted to match… our GENITALS.
Anyway once he’s out of the picture, I re-scan the room with my standards adjusted to make up for the significant drop in the hotness curve.
With the radar thus calibrated, a new contender begins to show on screen.
He’s a bit vanilla, nay VERY vanilla, but he’s tall enough for me to feel like a female, he’s inoffensive enough to kiss without irony and he’s not openly racist or interested in matching clothes or anything else that might make the clam snap shut.
I turn my attention to him and he seems interested if only mildly so. Maybe he just likes me because I am good for chatting to at a party. Anyway then he gives me a really obvious signal, he says do you like band i have never heard of,
and I’m like YEAH HELL YEAH! (I still do this. It’s sad. I know. And I always get caught out. But I still forget myself and pretend to love bands I don’t like or know to impress guys. Derp. I know.)
And he’s like ooh let me play you some music, come on, and he leads me to another room where a laptop is perched on a counter and starts going through music naming bands and I don’t even know what genre they are, I’m just agreeing I like their music like the spineless tool I am. I’m so in there anyway, this let’s go play some music shit is old and tried and true.
I tell myself I don’t care if he makes a move or not although he probably will, because I’m not that keen on him really and also I know if I decide I like him, then I will begin to try even harder and make a mess of things. So I relax totally and then for some reason go the other way, and begin ranting about how I love computers, because someone has put a full plastic cup on top of the keyboard and I’m freaked out because it’s a good laptop, and I’m like AAAAHHH I have computer empathy, and I go in and CARESS the laptop and I gush about my love for computers and how I would prefer to kill some sheep with my bare hands than… than see a computer break? And I can’t stop myself talking, it’s just spilling out, serious word vomit, and I panic and try to calm down but it’s too late, Mr. “I just decided is hot enough” has backed away and gone to fiddle with some little statues, which is MY trick to get away from people. And Italian dude springs up and starts enthusing about how refreshing it is to hear a girl talk about computers and how awesome I am and wow wow wow we should meet up and go computer shopping some time. And I’m like groaaaaan why do I do this to myself.
But it’s actually a good thing I didn’t score Mr. Barely hot enough, because later Andrea told me he had tried to kiss her, so it looks like I was Plan-B’ed. Although he was also my plan b, but that shit is hurtful. So I’m glad I didn’t succeed at flirting, because then I would have felt like the consolation prize.
I scanned Italian guy with a critical eye, hoping to find him attractive after so many more beers, but no. It’s not happening. He must be really unattractive, I can’t remember but I was DRUNK and still no way would I go there. I doubt personality alone could have stopped me from jumping his bones if he was hot.
I had actually been chatting to the Chileans earlier about how the main thing I didn’t like about Italians (they were talking shit about Italians too, I wasn’t just being a lone racist here ok) is that you have to add a laugh track or they don’t know you’re joking. At one point I’m talking to Italian guy and Andrea (we are CORNERED!) and he’s talking ad nauseum about Berlusconi, and he says he bought votes, and that buying votes is really common. And I’m like, hey if someone offered me a hundred yoyos for my vote, I’d be on board. I’m not every using mine. I’m like, I’ll sell ya mine for a hundred, come on! And he’s like, ha ha no I’d prefer a beer than your vote. And I’m like, awesome, well for a hundred euro I’d be more than happy to get you a beer. And he’s got this serious face on and he’s like “If I’m going to buy a beer I will buy one for 4 euro and keep the hundred, that’s too expensive.” GROAAAAAN. I mean I know, my drunken banter needs some work, I did talk a lot of shit last night but… man. What a humourless asshole. I had to say “joke! joke!” afterwards and I HATE when people do that. Italians do that when it’s really obvious they are joking. Like “ooh no this is all for me!” pointing at a pile of 6 kegs or something, then “JOKE! IM JOKING!” and it’s like, dude, way to ruin any subtlety in your witticisms. But it’s just a different culture. Then there’s something else I said that he took totally seriously, I can’t remember what it was… I mean you could tell an Italian you lived under the sea and shared a flat with some starfish and commuted every day to work on the surface because there is a recession under the sea, and he’d be squinting at you going, “what, really? Wow, I didn’t know people lived under the sea… really?”
Or like whenever I decide to flirt by telling someone I have corpses stacked in my house and somehow those army guys don’t want to come back to mine. One of the Chileans said the casserole took ages to cook because the rats were really hard to catch, and then the boneing is kind of fiddly. And the girls they cooked for were open mouthed, freaking out. Like they thought they were eating rat.
So I turned to the final possibility, a guy whose company I really like, who’s intelligent and interesting and funny and who clearly thinks I’m decent company too, and he’s not ugly or anything he’s just not… doing it for me. I mean I’ve thought about it, I would really enjoy fucking this guy. And I know I could… I’m pretty sure he’d go for it. Of course he would. He’s within my league. I chat to him for a bit and begin clumsily flirting. We’re talking about something to do with lesbians and I tell him vaguely about my recent lesbo enterprise. I don’t tell him much, but he’s well impressed. Sad that I’m still pulling these same amateur moves out of the bag. Like I haven’t had to flirt in years. Drugs faciliated getting into bed with people for years- now I’m clear of that shit I’m trying to remember how to pull a guy and my last memory of conversational flirting was when I was 15 and pretending to be a lesbian or announcing you liked porn was like the ace card, guaranteed way to impress a dude. It’s a bit pathetic now I’m all growed up though. I manage to pretend I didn’t mean to blurt that out. He buys it. He’s impressed anyway and gives me a high five. I like this guy. I don’t wanna ruin it by mushing up my face with his and exchanging saliva. The thought of it, and the of course diminished future conversations as well as basically pissing on my doorstep because he’s Andrea’s best friend, makes me just not want to fuck him any more.
I hang with him for a bit. I consider how I’d actually really like if he just made a move, grabbed the small of my back with authority and pulled me in for a kiss and then ground me up against the wall with an increasingly evident dick, and that would be so fucking hot, but of course he won’t, the same way I won’t jump on the lame but hot guy who was there earlier. It’s a massive risk, doing that shit. I might not even like it, in reality. That’s why it excites me so much, of course. Because any guy who does just go for it, grab me and TAKE without asking, he’s a seriously confident arrogant prick and oh I do like that…
Anyway I dismiss this unlikely scenario and just enjoy myself.
I had a really good night, being silly and young and all this non-serious horseplay that I have a shameful tendency to scorn.
I have to admit it, I actually do feel like I’m apart from most people my age because of all my responsibilities and shit,I do kind of think I’m the shizz and I do feel wise and mature and insightful because I spend all day thinking in depth about things and have leapt into a lot of shit most people don’t get to at this stage, so I’m wary of my happy go lucky 20 something compadres, because I presume their worst problems are getting their hair to look right or making up with a boyfriend who forgot their anniversary or getting a bad result in a test or something.
But now I’m like fuck it, I have to stop feeling superior to people for negative reasons like I messed up my life for a while. This stupid superior attitude is exactly why I never have any fun. In fairness most young people I meet here in Italy are mindlessly boring and simple, so I haven’t just pulled this idea out of my ass/ego.
Anyway just counting people in this city, I have one really good friend who is awesome and I have all these other new aquaintances some of whom are really cool and I can relax and have a good time and I can take stupid photos and sleep a couple of hours and go to work and I feel really good and like I got really shitfaced drunk to the point of being a tad ridiculous but I had fun and there’s no one to judge me because we all had fun. Damn this is why I should be hanging out with people my age, and stop being the kind of person I hate, someone who thinks they are superior because of things that have damaged or harmed them in some way like drug taking or bad decision making. Enough of this hypocritical snobbery. I think maybe it was just the shit I was dealing with with the separation that made me feel that way… like I felt pretty alienated from all these people around me. So now I’m gonna be good and have fun and stop talking about my separation because I’m over that shit.
But damn, I still can’t stand Italians socially.
Ooh also, didn’t smoke all night. YES!
I admit I did kind of want to last night. But I’m good. I was good. I was really drunk, but I was good.
In the taxi I kind of touched the knee of nice guy I like but don’t want to fuck because it would destroy my only decent social life I have gathered in 3 yearsm but I know guys don’t tend to be as sure of flirtation as girls are so it’s probably fine.
I feel GOOD.
I’m now listening to Erasure and I feel GOOD. And happy. And like I wanna go out and party some more and fuck it I would like to feel some hardness against me and hot breath against my neck, but I don’t wanna fuck someone in a car ; ) those days are over, baby… it was never good anyway. Is that a gearstick or are you just happy to see me? Oh right, it’s a gearstick. Sorry I’ll wipe that.. sorry… sorry oh it’s your mum’s car? Shit sorry.
And I’m not going to chase after someone who clearly isn’t interested (hot but lame guy) or one who likes Andrea more (this limits me considerably, she’s really gorgeous) and I’ll just sleep with someone when it happens naturally in a way that isn’t forced or set up or anything, and I’ll just enjoy the company of people who make me laugh.
Also ps: I know I only detail for you, every excrutiating detail of my social failures, but I wanna point out I was at that part for like 5 hours so if I only got 4700 words out of it (sheesh… maybe I am hung over?) then it means I did pretty well because I only behaved like a twat for about 40 minutes in total and the rest of the time I was on fi-yah! So there you go.
Oh just got a flashback of me doing my party trick as another form of flirtation I think. This is where I pull the ends of my hair back behind me and under my armpits so it looks like I have long armpit hair. It’s a desperate last ditch attempt to get a cheap laugh. I’d probably eat worms to get attention… also I’m such a sleazy weirdo when I try to flirt.
It was a bit of a stealth hangover. I’m fine, now, but I had a bit of a meltdown….
Was walking along during my lunch break- oh yeah sorry don’t judge me but I bought a pair of high heels. They are really nice and they were on sale so it’s… actually I can’t remember how I justified it so that I actually saved money by buying them, but it was very clever whatever it was. Anyway I was walking along and suddenly out of the blue, the FEAR. It hit me like a fist in the stomach. HOOOOLY CRAP, I’m walking like a freak. People are staring. I walk like a weirdo.
Oh man am I moving my arms way too much? My arms were swinging at my sides… it hit me, I look like Jar Jar Binx.
I realise I’m hideously ugly and I’m completely deluded. People aren’t attracted to me. People only try to get with me because I’m so clearly easy… I panic. Totally.
I’m still walking but it’s freaking me out, I can’t figure out how to walk like a normal person. The image of me as Jar Jar is really depressing. I’m horrible. I’m so fat…
Then I remembered it was a hangover day and I had let my guard down like an idiot, but obvioulsy the capacity for mental anguish is still strong. I realised I was seeing everything insanely grey because of the alcohol.
I really, really wish I could give it a rest with the obsession with peoples looks, including my own. It’s a huge source of depression for me, not being as good looking as I want to be. And it feels shitty seeing hot guys I’m attracted to and knowing that they won’t be attracted to me because I’m not on the right level… Some gypsy should put a Shallow Hal curse on me except without the Gwyneth Paltrow element. Actually I’m not that shallow with men so much as I am with myself. Gahhh…. What kind of a tool am I, allowing myself to chew all this sort of shit when I’m supposed to be hung over? I will stop now.
Holy crap I was actually much better since I got home from work, I’ve been fine all afternoon really, my colleague and I were bored at work so we did Ministry of Silly Walks walks in the shop and cracked ourselves up, and then I came home and called a pizza and the guy’s like “uh it’ll be at least an hour” and I’m like fuck that shit, so I made some ravioli and they were kick ass, and now I am drinking tea, real proper tea and I feel good again, just that writing about my meltdown made me all depressed so I will no longer talk about that because I’m HAPPY!
Best. Hangover. Ever.
P.P.S. Some asshole posted a photo on facebook. I am in it. I look bad. AAAAAAHHHH NOOOOOO.
p.p.p.s. Watched porn with a really attractive blonde girl with massive boobs that made me feel kind of insecure and a really muscular skinny guy that just kind of grossed me out. Somehow feel better anyway. Don’t think I enjoyed watching it or it turned me on or anything, but I do feel better. Good night. I’ll stop tacking on extra bits now I swear.
Sorry this is really long….