A blog entry in two parts, to make up for the lack of one over the past 48 hours.
SATURDAY:
Having a little taste of home here over the weekend, one with which I could go out and get absolutely gazebo'd, could not have come at a better time...essay season has dawned and all I want to do is hide under my bed and wait for it to go away again.
Lauren has been my best friend since we were four years old and, periods of non-communicado included, this will never alter - she's one of the few utterly bolshy, balls out genuine people I know and they are worth their weight in gold these days.
I don't remember an instance she hasn't told people, in a variety of colourful language, exactly what she thinks of them and I have seen her prove the courage of her convictions with some of the most hilarious kebab spilling street brawling.
She's my hero.
Spending a little time with her made me remember there's a huge chunk of myself I keep locked away on the naughty step, never to be let out in the vicinity of my academia and it's called 'ruthless immaturity'.
Two days as Harley Quinn gave it chance to stretch it's legs.
On Saturday night, after spending a few hours having vaguely dignified drinkies, we headed out to hit up the Studio 24 Trailer Park Halloween Party...Harley and Ivy, Tank Girl and Sub Girl reunited and ready to get so drunk we couldn't walk, see or chat straight.
For the record, we succeeded.
Post Friday (and the absolute emotional shitstorm in ended up as) I made another set of promises to myself - something along the lines of 'If you have your heart handed back to you, dust it off and try different wrapping paper next time'.
I was more social in the space of three hours than I can usually manage in a week, numbers were exchanged, faces were raped, Facebooks were stalked and all in all I was feeling significantly more hopeful than I have in a while.
That's the point things started to spiral.
I'll never get over the fact your entire life can change, full on arse-in-the-air nose dive, in such a tiny space of time up here.
I acquired a number of Jokers that night. I was, admittedly, fairly pleased with myself but I think the blond wig and lack of clothing on my upper half was doing the heavy work for me.
Yet, for all the posturing, posing and talking a good game, they turned out to be nothing more than little boys playing dress up.
There's a reason I chose Harley - she reflects (in a heavily magnified way) aspects of myself, the ones that people love for five minutes then have them clawing at the walls screaming in terror, Samhain has never been about going and hunting the demons down, it's all in aid of letting them out to play in a constructive and controlled way:
'Go mental for three nights a year and maybe you won't be pushing somebody under a moving vehicle next time they fuck you around...'
If you can't fill the shoes of your persona, don't wear them.
As a final note: One man who may not have filled his shoes (except with his own vomit some time Sunday morning) but claimed he could fill his trousers was the sadly unnamed Mexican Bandit, the first person the speak to me on Saturday, and as far as opening lines go his will be carved straight into legend; "Have some booze and by the way, my cock is massive".
SUNDAY:
The latter part of my Saturday ranting actually didn't fully develop until Sunday afternoon.
I have an inherent dislike for men who fall prey to their own conscience when they were given ample warning, positively beaten around the head with the goddamn safety manual, to avoid the incident on which they hang their guilt.
It did however give me cause to go wandering my local area wearing nothing but underwear and a fur coat, so not a completely wasted episode.
One down.
Over the course of the day, spent on the beach or in bed watching House, I was being gradually coerced into making it a long weekend and heading to The Hive that night.
Three 'Resolve'-type atrocities and far too little sleep later - my stomach seemed just about ready for round three.
I adapted my outfit, threw on some greasepaint and hit the town alone.
Two things of interest happened:
1) I met a man on my flatmate's course who (aside from the obvious dark and handsome) seemed quite sweet, we had a drink and a rather amiable chat abut our respective geekdom and agreed to meet up this week. One teensy issue, he's old enough to be my father.
2) Under the cunning guise of being significantly more pissed than I actually was, I candidly went out of my way to annoy the living shit out of everybody.
After having almost a blow by blow paraphrase of Friday's lovely speech delivered by a different person on the steps of the Bank Hotel around one in the morning and receiving many hugs from strangers because nobody wants to see the girl in the face paint crying, I thought it a humorous little endeavor
I am, apparently, a master of my art.
You see, Halloween is my free pass to scream, shout, swear and tantrum out a years worth of cocking it up - in the end, behind a mask you can say whatever the fuck you want because 'that' person, the one you become, isn't going to have to see the Little Red Riding Hoods, the Paramedic Zombies, or the Jokers ever again.
Two down.
Now where did Number Three go?
Annie.
<3
SATURDAY:
Having a little taste of home here over the weekend, one with which I could go out and get absolutely gazebo'd, could not have come at a better time...essay season has dawned and all I want to do is hide under my bed and wait for it to go away again.
Lauren has been my best friend since we were four years old and, periods of non-communicado included, this will never alter - she's one of the few utterly bolshy, balls out genuine people I know and they are worth their weight in gold these days.
I don't remember an instance she hasn't told people, in a variety of colourful language, exactly what she thinks of them and I have seen her prove the courage of her convictions with some of the most hilarious kebab spilling street brawling.
She's my hero.
Spending a little time with her made me remember there's a huge chunk of myself I keep locked away on the naughty step, never to be let out in the vicinity of my academia and it's called 'ruthless immaturity'.
Two days as Harley Quinn gave it chance to stretch it's legs.
On Saturday night, after spending a few hours having vaguely dignified drinkies, we headed out to hit up the Studio 24 Trailer Park Halloween Party...Harley and Ivy, Tank Girl and Sub Girl reunited and ready to get so drunk we couldn't walk, see or chat straight.
For the record, we succeeded.
Post Friday (and the absolute emotional shitstorm in ended up as) I made another set of promises to myself - something along the lines of 'If you have your heart handed back to you, dust it off and try different wrapping paper next time'.
I was more social in the space of three hours than I can usually manage in a week, numbers were exchanged, faces were raped, Facebooks were stalked and all in all I was feeling significantly more hopeful than I have in a while.
That's the point things started to spiral.
I'll never get over the fact your entire life can change, full on arse-in-the-air nose dive, in such a tiny space of time up here.
I acquired a number of Jokers that night. I was, admittedly, fairly pleased with myself but I think the blond wig and lack of clothing on my upper half was doing the heavy work for me.
Yet, for all the posturing, posing and talking a good game, they turned out to be nothing more than little boys playing dress up.
There's a reason I chose Harley - she reflects (in a heavily magnified way) aspects of myself, the ones that people love for five minutes then have them clawing at the walls screaming in terror, Samhain has never been about going and hunting the demons down, it's all in aid of letting them out to play in a constructive and controlled way:
'Go mental for three nights a year and maybe you won't be pushing somebody under a moving vehicle next time they fuck you around...'
If you can't fill the shoes of your persona, don't wear them.
As a final note: One man who may not have filled his shoes (except with his own vomit some time Sunday morning) but claimed he could fill his trousers was the sadly unnamed Mexican Bandit, the first person the speak to me on Saturday, and as far as opening lines go his will be carved straight into legend; "Have some booze and by the way, my cock is massive".
SUNDAY:
The latter part of my Saturday ranting actually didn't fully develop until Sunday afternoon.
I have an inherent dislike for men who fall prey to their own conscience when they were given ample warning, positively beaten around the head with the goddamn safety manual, to avoid the incident on which they hang their guilt.
It did however give me cause to go wandering my local area wearing nothing but underwear and a fur coat, so not a completely wasted episode.
One down.
Over the course of the day, spent on the beach or in bed watching House, I was being gradually coerced into making it a long weekend and heading to The Hive that night.
Three 'Resolve'-type atrocities and far too little sleep later - my stomach seemed just about ready for round three.
I adapted my outfit, threw on some greasepaint and hit the town alone.
Two things of interest happened:
1) I met a man on my flatmate's course who (aside from the obvious dark and handsome) seemed quite sweet, we had a drink and a rather amiable chat abut our respective geekdom and agreed to meet up this week. One teensy issue, he's old enough to be my father.
2) Under the cunning guise of being significantly more pissed than I actually was, I candidly went out of my way to annoy the living shit out of everybody.
After having almost a blow by blow paraphrase of Friday's lovely speech delivered by a different person on the steps of the Bank Hotel around one in the morning and receiving many hugs from strangers because nobody wants to see the girl in the face paint crying, I thought it a humorous little endeavor
I am, apparently, a master of my art.
You see, Halloween is my free pass to scream, shout, swear and tantrum out a years worth of cocking it up - in the end, behind a mask you can say whatever the fuck you want because 'that' person, the one you become, isn't going to have to see the Little Red Riding Hoods, the Paramedic Zombies, or the Jokers ever again.
Two down.
Now where did Number Three go?
Annie.
<3
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