...the Sunday last I cannot remember however I'm pretty sure I wrote about it somewhere or whatever, anyway, by midweek Wednesday I found myself scraping myself off the floor of despair and throwing myself mid air into the world of potential opportunity and let's just say one thing, going to the doctor's for your dangerously threatening depression when you feel amazing is very very difficult. I am surprised the woman didn't think I was trying to get some free drugs out of her. I did however clearly state that drugs were not the reason why I was there though yes I do like to enjoy them. No, I don't take drugs. I abuse them. I use them up more than they use me, and then the table turns and they get their own back. She suggested that along with normal cognitive therapy, I should see a drugs and alcohol counsellor. I couldn't help thinking the whole time 'you're crazy woman' yet all the while knowing that no, she isn't crazy. Or is she? Can you trust this woman here? She is the doctor that sympathetically nods while you rant on about drinking bottles of wine all to yourself before stumbling out into town to 'find the night'. And she's the same doctor my mother sees.
Yes... (Said in the same voice as Desperate Housewives narrator). Wednesday was a busy day and everything perfectly fitted in - after my doctor's appointment and after taking photo's of flowers on people's front gardens - something I will come back to later - I rushed out the door to town, whimsically, 'no time for breakfast, mother!' and got back to the squat, I mean flat, which I hadn't been in since my birthday I am guessing. The penis Mark made me for my birthday was still sitting proudly amongst the shit that seems to inhabit my room these days: empty bottles and cans, ash and lots of used tissues. I can't remember what or why I went there, but I had my haircut soon after- another thing I feel I need to address in some unknown sense of urgency. I thought about this prior. I need to write about this weird relationship I have with my hairdresser. I'm the only one who feels this, but I guess it's worth.... analysing... I keep writing things down during the week to examine. This is an interesting subject I feel that I only have 2 ways to discover the meaning of; through a K-hole or through a babbling repetitive rant that gets me nowhere. Either way, I'm left with scraps of thin crumpled paper, scribbled notes that I know I remembered would be key to me remembering the revelation I was having during a haze of utter boredom but now are meaningless. Notes that read:- ''haircut....Pippa...story bubble of shit....drunk.....a relationship and hair.....transition + importance hairdresser....compare''.
What I am trying to say here is that my hair has been a sort of narrative to how my life has been since I have had Pippa as my hairdresser. And in a distant, mechanical way, I have got to know this woman through the typical shit you feel inclined to talk about when you have your haircut. Except I've really enjoyed it because I do feel that out of all the people I discussed my problems with, and there weren't many, but they were varied, a hairdresser I barely know had the best insight. And one night, pissed, drunk on my bed, Mark in the background warbling to CocoRosie I'm texting Jemma Mason saying 'I can't wait for you to meet my boyfriend he is really nice' and there I have Pippa's voice in my head holding a pair of scissors saying 'Andrew, babe, you're so dick-whipped'. She is also brutally honest with my hair, and I think she's psychic... knows that I don't choose the haircuts i've had for myself. My hair looked nice once, but when my relationship failed, I bleached the shit out of it and it nearly burnt my scalp off. When I wanted my ex boyfriend back, I went for a style that you see so much around now, and it made me realise my hair is too fine to have it longer, especially as I dyed over it AGAIN. If my hair is the story of my life, then with it short and back to it's natural colour, I feel Pippa has finally pushed me through the right door and told me to fucking listen for once. So thanks for the fresh start.
Before my haircut I went and got a tattoo. I felt a certain affinity with Ross, my tattooist, and his ambiguous sexuality. I felt embarrassed having to take my top off infront of him, because I didn't feel like he was entirely straight. Does that make sense? I suppose it's the same for a woman getting her knockers out infront of a straight guy to get them pierced or tattoed or whatever ...anyway, while he scratched the shit out of me, we bonded over what seemed like ordinary subjects with someone who is giving you a tattoo: drugs and tattoos. I felt like I needed him in my life. He asked me why I wanted 'uncensored'... then I realised that I had forgotten. I don't ever think there was a true reason behind it except for that cover of Interview magazine. But I decided on this 10 years ago, and never got round to it. I guess now then, 'Uncensored' can mean this: As a person, what you see is what you get. If I was a magazine, nothing would be hidden. It would be pornography. I am a person who doesn't feel he needs to censor anything (anymore). Bastards. But I also like the idea of the future tattoo's on my body being a story. Using my body as a propaganda vehicle to the things I stand for in big block letters. But the tattoos will never be visible, partly because I don't want to jeopardise my future in finding a job, and partly because I love and even get turned on by the idea that you would never know I had anything on me, until you undressed me. So uncensored would be something along those lines.... all is revealed...when you win me over... which is ironic considering what I did later on that day.
I met up with my friend Lonz (can I even call him a friend), who I know in a totally fucked up situation... for him. I never really felt that inflicted with him. Anyway, I text him the other week when I was in Chic because it reminded me of that night that we sort of went on a rampage and didn't realise how actually wasted we were, and ended up in Chic. He was wearing a biker jacket and one of those weird neck adornments that Texan semi cowboys wear. He text back saying he was in Hong Kong - coincidence I said - my parents were there too. He then said, very specifically 'meet me on Wednesday at 7pm in Bar Room Bar'. How bossy of him, and to think that I have friends who have that amount of control over me, well I said yes of course. As I waited for him, taking photos of people who I thought were walking funny, he strode past, so I followed him into the bar where I proceeded to get VERY DRUNK. He took me up to the bar on top of that new weird Cube building where I got to take photos of Birmingham. We then went to Island and I got chop n wok which I stained my already over worn shirt with. Back at mine, the wine was dribbling like a horny cat lapping up sour milk from the floor. To some people, the dynamics of my situation would be a romantic turn on. But I know that we are all just actors. Especially me, who at the end of the day, couldn't care less, and no matter how good of friends we are, still feels like a piece of meat afterwards. Feigning the shared guilt but going along with it all anyway, like some crazed sexually frustrated sex starved down and out drunk. I ultimately learnt that I am not satisfied with casual sex, even with Lonz. He does take a good photo though (of me). I feel special when people realise I have a Leica and then want to start taking ...shooting.
I returned to my hollow of hell the next evening to pick up my toothbrush which I left behind anyway... drinks in Bodega with Andrew lead onto half a bottle of wine left over from my night before and then ultimately made me forget my toothbrush which to me for some reason is the worst thing ever when you realise you've left it somewhere despite me quite easily forgetting to brush my teeth. With Andrew I feel like I am an undercover alcoholic though I opened up to him a bit more about it. I think a lot of us are just functioning alcoholics. Sitting side by side on the sofa made me feel like something was supposed to happen, and as his arm crept nearer round the back of me I couldn't help feeling ashamed of the easy shambles I helped create the night before. I swiftly went home.
Can I just say here that when I 'date' if we want to get all 90210, then I will date more than one person, and have a selection before I choose who I want to concentrate on. This doesn't mean I am sleeping with them all. Being single and writing this blog hopefully won't turn me into a horror version of Carrie Bradshaw. I just want a good relationship, is that too much to ask? I want other things more but I would like a relationship that works. At work, Kyle made a new CD which we decided told the story of a relationship from the meeting point to the bitter ending. Reminded me of a painting me and Laura studied one night, stoned, on the living room wall. We named it 'Heathcliff's wrath, AKA the search for Cathy'. What a night that was....?
With ___ at a restaurant called Filini, I ordered , well had ordered for me, sorbet that tasted like the Body Shop and ate a lot of other Italian delicacies. Back at his flat we drank champagne from those glasses that look like a mini dish on a stick. A proper champagne glass I am informed. I had the urge to spill some over my hand whilst making a toast ala Marie Antoinette, making eyes at Von Axel the sexy bastard, I would of poured the whole glass over myself and crawled across that table for him. ___ is moving to London. I knew he was going to move away anyway. But then I never really thought about it. It's totally depressing.
I've decided to have a huge party at my flat before I move out.
Last night watched Amelie... felt like I was on the verge of tears just because I haven't seen it in so long. I am so emotionally crippled. You have a hard time with emotions especially when we are all living in the tumblr generation where we don't even know how to feel feelings anymore so we post photos of handwritten angst ridden 'expressions' to 'express' that we are feeling boredline suicidal.
spent the weekend sorting through the last bits of my flat, resenting the smell of 'past' on my clothes.
Decided to have an acid tea party with Bethan. We are going to recruit a driver at my party so we can go to the vintage markets in Derby. She tells me they're the best and I want some vintage tat.
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