Oh well, more foreveralonetime for me.
Friday 9th March proved to be a date that shall long live in my memoirs; the fact that I have managed to get the material for an entire blog post in twenty-fours is quite impressive.
On Thursday, I got a text message from Gareth loosely conveying the following message for the forthcoming Friday evening;
Having no real valid excuse to respond in the negative, I reluctantly responded in the positive. Tim and Tommy had already arranged a Left 4 Dead night in, and combining our efforts we bullied Adam into partaking, and after some tense negotiations between Claire and myself, we agreed that we could stay over at myweekend retreat in return for a bottle of Smirnoff for Tim and Tommy, and drinks for Claire.
It worked out cheaper than a taxi back to Chesterfield, so t'was agreed, and Adam and Gareth were press-ganged into the bargain, much to their bemusement.
Upon meeting Gareth, the insults just seemed to be hurled in my direction, and the volume of which only seemed to gather momentum as our group slowly expanded. There's me, concerned over a mystery illness and coming to terms and accepting other things, and there they are, telling me I'm 'softer than a cotton cloud' and 'such a fag'. I was hoping that Claire might subdue their tirade, as she has been known to defend me before, and drunkenly exclaim loudly that I'm "SOOOOO CUTE!" when I'm asleep . . . obviously I'm not asleep to register this, and in my mind it's all
Ouch
True, she showed herself to be - and I do hate to swear, I really do, but I think in this circumstance it's justified - a calculated conniving cunt . . . but for a while she was my calculated conniving cunt. She was my best friend and there wouldn't be a day goes by without us phoning one another (well that's a lie, since we fell out every Wednesday and made friends again every Saturday) and it is fair to say that she and Lyla combined changed me for the better (I'm sure Grace will be more than willing to testify that.) And so, to answer the question; no, if she did suddenly re-appear, I wouldn't get back with her. How could I after what she did? That doesn't mean that I don't want her to come back into my life, because I hope that wherever they both are that they are okay, and I do miss them both terribly.
Anyway, onwards to Friday's tomfoolery!
So the night consisted of Adam, Gareth, Claire and myself, and after visiting 'the Bowery' - a pub owned by the drummer from the Arctic Monkeys - we ventured on to Corporation. We got in at around about 23:00, and Gareth disappeared by 23:15 . . . . on one of my many trips outside, I found him giggling to himself on a bench at 23:45. Quite how anyone can get so schmock-faced in a thirty-minute period is truly beyond my comprehension, but alas, this was the situation I was faced with.
Now, perhaps I am doing him a disservice, but I honestly do worry about Gareth's survival skills - he doesn't now how to cook bacon . . . even I know how to cook bacon and I've been a vegetarian since I was 13 - and he considered it a ground-breaking achievement once he had mastered the art of cracking an egg at the age of 24. So with this at the forefront of my mind, I whisked him outside and text Claire - our student nurse - that "I found Gareth, he is bloody obliterated. Halp! Come outside plz (:"
Claire always seems to get messages from me containing the word 'HALP!'
Adam and Claire arrived and believed that he was faking it . . . and then it all became apparent that he wasn't. Like a child with too much sugar in his system after his bed time, we couldn't get him to be still, and he spent the night prowling around Corporation. With Adam and Claire dancing, it sort of left me with a great deal of 'reflective' time outside . . . . until it happened.
A girl came up to me. An actual female! She reminded me of someone, but I couldn't put my finger on it. She said that my jumper was 'brilliant' - chicks dig woolly jumpers, fact! - and we were 'talking' for a while, all the time I was trying to place where I knew her from or who she reminded me of. Then, we . . . err . . . sort of kissed . . . quite a bit . . .
. . . and it was at this precise moment that my world collapsed and realised that she was an absolute Poppy-clone - angel-bite piercings and everything.
Now, I am no good at this whole 'being single' malarky. Despite Gareth's claims that I am a 'serial womaniser' I've only been in three relationships, and can probably count the people I've kissed on my hands, but what was more alarming is, after we kissed, she asked me "where are you staying tonight?"
And so with that, I blurted out "I'm staying at a friends house . . . . I should really go and look for them." And so I skulked off into a dark recess with a whole heap of regrets.
Gareth wasn't entirely finished though. I saw my good friend Rachel quite a few times and got one long lovely hug from her because I 'looked so sad', and just as she was leaving, she said "I spoke to your friend Gareth, he is sooooo funny." She left chuckling.
I found Gareth, strolling around . . . bleary-eyed . . . a big cheesy grin on his face, but I questioned him sharply about what he had said to Rachel. I would have preferred not to have known, but alas, hindsight is a truly beautiful thing.
We got him home without too much further trouble - although he did try and lick someone through a chip-shop window - but then the troubles re-started once we got him home. Immediately he was asleep on the sofa, and despite me asking so nicely if I could sleep at the end of Tim and Claire's bed like a dog, I got turned down (I attempted it anyway, but Tim being the cruel master that he is slapped me in the juggular . . . TWICE!) So I was confined to sleeping on the floor near Gareth, where I came very close to being vomitted on whilst I slept . . . TWICE!
Fortunately I used the sleeping bag as a cocoon against any onslaught.
Oh he was a sorry state the next morning, there are even photo's to prove it which he promised would never put them on facebook . . . . . nothing got mentioned about a blog though.
Consider it justice for calling me a 'soft fag and offering my genitals around >:D
Well that's me waffled out, the next one will be about the peach of an office prank I had played on me, unless something else crops up over the weekend. Buh bye!
But no.
"You can be such a twat at times," Claire de-claired.
Ouch
Why such abuse, you may be wondering. Well, t'was the first time I'd seen Gareth since me and Melissa broke up, and there were an awful lot of questions thrown about. I can't quite remember how it came about, but the whole Poppy 'fiasco' got thrown into the mix, and he seemed completely dumb-founded that I don't either hate Melissa or hoped that something bad had happened to Poppy for what she did.
(Neither were said with any malice I should add, but more trying to wake me up a bit and shake off any remnants of feelings I might have for either of them and establish how I'm feeling based on my reactions.)
And then, that question came;
"If Poppy re-appeared and wanted to try again, would you get back with her?"
. . . and because I paused briefly before answering he made his own answer of yes, and went talking louder than me to everyone about how I want Poppy back. In all honesty, I was a bit hurt how everyone believed Gareth - man man who is utterly convinced that 'chicks dig buttons' - on my previous relationship/friendship with said subject than myself. Well, since I know Tim, Claire, Gareth, Adam and Tommy read this, it's now my turn to explain, so firstly please . . .
No, I don't hate Melissa. Why would I? We crammed in a load of giggles in just over a month and we had some utterly hilarious moments in a short space of time (the 'that's what she said' moments in the lift were just brilliant.) I don't hate any of my ex's; me and Grace were together for six years and are absolutely best friends nowadays and it's great, and me and Poppy broke up in August but remained thick as thieves together up until December. I don't understand why people think that it is 'normal' to hate or just pretend someone you once thought the world of is no longer of any significance to you. I'm happy that Grace is doing well in her career and has someone who clearly adores her, and I'm pleased for Melissa that she is now with someone that makes much more sense for her to be with than me. Now, whilst I think it's good to have ex's still as friends, sometimes it gets a bit strange - Poppy was once messaging Grace to find things out about me, and the other day Melissa suggested that maybe me and Grace should give things another go.
And yes, that means I don't even hate Poppy.
True, she showed herself to be - and I do hate to swear, I really do, but I think in this circumstance it's justified - a calculated conniving cunt . . . but for a while she was my calculated conniving cunt. She was my best friend and there wouldn't be a day goes by without us phoning one another (well that's a lie, since we fell out every Wednesday and made friends again every Saturday) and it is fair to say that she and Lyla combined changed me for the better (I'm sure Grace will be more than willing to testify that.) And so, to answer the question; no, if she did suddenly re-appear, I wouldn't get back with her. How could I after what she did? That doesn't mean that I don't want her to come back into my life, because I hope that wherever they both are that they are okay, and I do miss them both terribly.
Anyway, onwards to Friday's tomfoolery!
So the night consisted of Adam, Gareth, Claire and myself, and after visiting 'the Bowery' - a pub owned by the drummer from the Arctic Monkeys - we ventured on to Corporation. We got in at around about 23:00, and Gareth disappeared by 23:15 . . . . on one of my many trips outside, I found him giggling to himself on a bench at 23:45. Quite how anyone can get so schmock-faced in a thirty-minute period is truly beyond my comprehension, but alas, this was the situation I was faced with.
Now, perhaps I am doing him a disservice, but I honestly do worry about Gareth's survival skills - he doesn't now how to cook bacon . . . even I know how to cook bacon and I've been a vegetarian since I was 13 - and he considered it a ground-breaking achievement once he had mastered the art of cracking an egg at the age of 24. So with this at the forefront of my mind, I whisked him outside and text Claire - our student nurse - that "I found Gareth, he is bloody obliterated. Halp! Come outside plz (:"
Claire always seems to get messages from me containing the word 'HALP!'
Adam and Claire arrived and believed that he was faking it . . . and then it all became apparent that he wasn't. Like a child with too much sugar in his system after his bed time, we couldn't get him to be still, and he spent the night prowling around Corporation. With Adam and Claire dancing, it sort of left me with a great deal of 'reflective' time outside . . . . until it happened.
A girl came up to me. An actual female! She reminded me of someone, but I couldn't put my finger on it. She said that my jumper was 'brilliant' - chicks dig woolly jumpers, fact! - and we were 'talking' for a while, all the time I was trying to place where I knew her from or who she reminded me of. Then, we . . . err . . . sort of kissed . . . quite a bit . . .
. . . and it was at this precise moment that my world collapsed and realised that she was an absolute Poppy-clone - angel-bite piercings and everything.
Oh for a really world-class therapist . . .
Now, I am no good at this whole 'being single' malarky. Despite Gareth's claims that I am a 'serial womaniser' I've only been in three relationships, and can probably count the people I've kissed on my hands, but what was more alarming is, after we kissed, she asked me "where are you staying tonight?"
 |
| Not sure if come-on . . . |
And so with that, I blurted out "I'm staying at a friends house . . . . I should really go and look for them." And so I skulked off into a dark recess with a whole heap of regrets.
Gareth wasn't entirely finished though. I saw my good friend Rachel quite a few times and got one long lovely hug from her because I 'looked so sad', and just as she was leaving, she said "I spoke to your friend Gareth, he is sooooo funny." She left chuckling.
 |
| Oh Cheesus now what's he done? |
"I said . . . I said . . . said 'Rachel . . . I said 'leave it with me Rachel. I'll make Michael get his nob out for you."
Gareth Smith. 9th March 2012
 |
| What? Duuuuuuuuuuuuuude! |
We got him home without too much further trouble - although he did try and lick someone through a chip-shop window - but then the troubles re-started once we got him home. Immediately he was asleep on the sofa, and despite me asking so nicely if I could sleep at the end of Tim and Claire's bed like a dog, I got turned down (I attempted it anyway, but Tim being the cruel master that he is slapped me in the juggular . . . TWICE!) So I was confined to sleeping on the floor near Gareth, where I came very close to being vomitted on whilst I slept . . . TWICE!
Fortunately I used the sleeping bag as a cocoon against any onslaught.
Oh he was a sorry state the next morning, there are even photo's to prove it which he promised would never put them on facebook . . . . . nothing got mentioned about a blog though.
Consider it justice for calling me a 'soft fag and offering my genitals around >:D
Well that's me waffled out, the next one will be about the peach of an office prank I had played on me, unless something else crops up over the weekend. Buh bye!
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