my things
So much has happened in the last 2 weeks and when I go to write everything down I get frustrated for not updating more regularly because I have trouble remembering everything, but then, I look back and realise that I really want time to just hurry, and it really does. How the fuck has 2 weeks just gone by like it has? It's nearly fucking Christmas. Oh, by the way, I've decided to stop celebrating Christmas. This year I am not celebrating it in any way shape or form, but will from next year only celebrate Pagan holidays, such as summer and winter solstice, which to me seem to make a lot more sense. I'll talk to Rowett again on new year, he will explain it to me. It was him who made me realise that there really isn't a god. How I will ever try and tell my nan is beyond me, but born a catholic always a catholic. ANYWAY - i haven't smoked any weed much to my dismay since I last got some and I really want some more. I've done a lot of other drugs and have even re-ridden to dusky white pony twice in the same week, which was nostalgic. i've had to really think, and use text messages to remind myself what exactly I have done these last 2 weeks. I feel literally all over the place. Here goes:-
On Wednesday the 5th I got a new phone, I got an iPhone, a shiny new iPhone. I've never had one before and was a bit scared of it, its touch screen that I am not used to and I still wasn't sure what an app was... anyway I got it and bid that I not get obsessed with it like Leigh-Anne has (every time I see her she's hunched over it like a crack addict over his crack pipe). It's a shiny black thing, it's cute and I like it. The girl who renewed my contract was called Bobbie Pigeon, the best name I have ever heard of. I feel like I'd like to change my name to Coconut or Turkey or Greengrass. At Uni, I almost, in a dazed and altered state, nearly changed my first name to Coconut and my last name to Andrew to form 'Coconut Andrew', one of my nicknames at the time. Sometimes shortened to 'Coco', my other nickname was 'Fuck Face' or for short, 'Fucky', and let's just say I'm glad I never changed it to that.
On Friday the 7th we had a head office visit from _____, who I love because she reminds me of a random girl you may of gone to school with, who is a bit bizarre and slightly dazed but who you would want to be with all the time. I like her a lot. She brought with her some champagne, which I enjoyed with Katie and Kerry at the end, and we ended up going to the pub and getting absolutely slaughtered. I eventually went back to the Canadians in Selly Oak. However, I was so drunk and disorderely that I was being really obnoxious in the street, kicked up a fuss in Tesco, and then bad karma came around in the form of a punch in the face. I decided to learn from my mistakes, deal with the karma and write a poem to remember it by, which I haven't done yet. I impressed the Canadian with it's title 'Karma Kissed with a Fist' though it sounds awfully familiar. I wasn't so impressive when I came home to his however, drunk, angry and basically had a break down right in front of him. In the morning, I had to get to work, in the grey and the wet, with a fat lip and a sore ego.
fuck me
Ironically, the Canadian seems to be even more fond of me now. I would of ran a mile if it was the other way round. I think that when someone sticks around with me this long, they can't be right. I worked the weekend, gave my keys to the Canadian and said you can stay at mine as long as you want, as I am NOT going to Selly Oak. He'd said he'd clean my flat and make me dinner, which was an offer I was not going to refuse at the time. When we got back to the flat, I was nervous because I hadn't been back there in ages, god knows how long, and the longer I leave something the harder it is for me to do it. I didn't want to check my post or open my fridge, expecting the worst like a burnt out shell of a room or squatters. All there was really was a very cold, slightly mildewy, very smelly (mould from rotten food in kitchen) flat. I was a bit worried but we cleaned it out in no time and made it nice and warm. By evening, it was warm and cozy and we were snuggled in bed. Sunday saw me playing music to him and drinking coffee. It's still weird spending time with him. I'm not sure why he likes me sometimes. I still fucked him though, he seemed to enjoy it. On Monday night after work, I met him and we went to Ming Moon, where I over ate on meats and spent half the evening eating ALONE because he insisted on queuing for teriyake and saying that 'dumbass white people' eat the shit buffet food and think it's authentic. Blah blah blah. I found a piece of jelly in the deserts with a pube on it so I put it on his plate, which was funny.
On Wednesday the 12th I worked all day and then went round to Pussy Palace inexplicably without the realisation that I had no way of telling anyone I was coming because I still hadn't saved all my numbers into my new phone. I eventually got in and they were complaining about the condition of the place and panicking that the whole house had to be cleaned before an inspection the next day, so I stayed and helped Paris clean the whole place. I don't know why I am telling you all this. I am stoned and it's my day off as I write this now.
On Thursday I had to go to a funeral of a friend in Manchester. I was going to write about this in it's own entry and go into a lot more detail, but too much time has passed since for me to go back into the thinking stage of this person. What I will say is that Sam Dixon was a very good friend back in Manchester and was a wonderful person. You'd say that about anyone you knew who died, but this woman was a big part of a lot of people's lives for pretty much the same reason and that was acceptance and pure friendship. She was really there for me when I needed her at the time. I have many fond memories of her, and she did rock my life, she made me for a while believe in myself. I felt incredibly protected by her, and loved. She was a good person, with heart, who worked with disabled children and loved animals. She was a bit of a raver, a mad lesbian and a brave hippy.
Sam killed herself. She hung herself with the dog leads from the back of the door. I'm not sure why, or what she was thinking right before, but she did it. Her note only apologised and asked for everyone to forgive her for what she had chosen to do. I forgive her, she was a strong woman, and it takes a strong willed person to go ahead with that. She wanted out; she got out.
In Manchester I saw John and I saw 'Grandad'. It was great to catch up and the service was beautiful. The chosen song at the finish was 'Karma Chameleon' by Culture Club. Not many hippy or 'out there' types attended as I expected, but there were people there in rainbow flags. Afterwards we went back to a friend of John's for tea, and then went onto Canal Street for her after party, where I took some hoof dust in honour. It was a weird experience because John and my emotions were a merry go round of reflection, tears and enjoyment of the celebration. I went back home on the train and got home, had dinner late and slept like a baby.
At the funeral, Elsa read a poem:
Work the next day was a blur, I couldn't concentrate and couldn't stop thinking about Sam. If I wasn't thinking about Sam I was being paranoid that the mini Lush hitlers downstairs were bitching about me and concocting more sabotage plans and ways to make me look bad. After, I went to PP and had a well deserved, full on super party in my head (and with everyone else) in remembrance of Sam. They said at the funeral that a number of family members believed that for a second or so, last week shortly after she died, that they sensed she was there with them, like when a spirit or an angel visits. And they said that they sensed it was Sam because they could smell the strong odour or cannabis, as if Sam herself was there, with her ever-present spliff in her hand. I wondered if she'd visit me, and intended on looking out for the smell of cannabis and the cold air afterwards, but it might be harder for me because I smoke weed myself and my flat is freezing. But on Friday, I felt she was there in her own way. Two lesbians came round who were really nice, bringing with them a similar vibe that Sam had at parties, and I felt I was being encouraged by Sam to hang out with the lesbians and just let go, and I ended up having the best time ever.
Work the next day was a total drag and by the end I felt down and depressed, too bored with the concept of a staff party, drinking wine and being silly. The food was good and I was starving and I perked up after my first bottle of rose but then I just felt knackered and all the drunkeness began to start to annoy me as drunk people tend to grate on me a bit and I just wanted a cup of tea and to start my day off with collapsing in bed. I eventually got home from the drunken grasps of people who wanted to 'come to mine, get booze on the way and have a sesh'. Fuck that. I want to be alone! I had to pay 20 quid for a taxi, which was a lot, but didn't pay for a single drink at the party. so a night out on the cheap sort of levelled there.
I slept the whole of Sunday which must of been needed but had that dread feeling that I had wasted my whole day off by being unconscious I woke up at that part of the day where you know it's about to start turning to go dark... about half 3. I used to love that part of the day, and that appreciation of winter. But things are different now and I seem so anti Christmas this year that I couldn't romanticize the lack of light, and hurried to the shop for supplies so I could say I'd been out. I ended up going to see a friend who had just moved to Moseley, and watched the Chronicles of Narnia and a Simpsons episode called 'Lisa the Treehugger'. I jealousy spied my friends new flat, complete with everything I don't have in mine (washing machine, central heating, separate rooms, a bath tub, warmth, a Christmas Tree) and then started to hate my friend when he told me his time off for Christmas (2 weeks). I died a little bit that night, and hated Christmas even more, even when I couldn't hate it further.
There is something about Christmas this year, some sort of understanding that has made it void to me, and I'm not sure whether it's because I myself changed this year, or that I have forced the change and am resisting the twinkle and fancy and magic, but whatever it is, I am not liking Christmas, and this is someone who used to love Christmas, would decorate and make a fuss, and be the one who sent out cards and loved decorating the tree. I don't even have a tree. I don't have an advent calendar. I don't have tinsel or anything remotely Christmas. My flat looks like any time of the year, and I believe now that it is. The only good thing about Christmas this year is that Mr Kipling Frosted Fancies (basically Christmas version French fancies) are only a pound at Sainsburys.
I thought this year, initially, that I would appreciate Christmas 'properly' to make me still like it; by approaching it religiously. As a child, Christmas was all about the baby Jesus, and the story of the nativity, and arranging the nativity and of course presents and dinner and traditions. Not really for once do I ever remember believing in Father Christmas. As children, we didn't really give a shit, I think we were too smart, and I don't think my parents wanted to confuse us with Jesus and Santa. Who knows. But I thought this year, I'd go to midnight mass, light a candle, arrange the nativity and just think of good things, making changes and good will and all that. But there's one little problem: I don't believe in god anymore. So we are now completely as strangers, me and Christmas. Nothing can defrost me. There is no reasons to validate its celebration in my life, and there are a number of other factors now too such as being poor, being boyfriend-less, and bad memories of having a boyfriend during last Christmas which are putting me off. So bring on New Year, because I've always loved New Year, and I don't care, and I am going to a party in Sheffield and I am hoping Alphabet Zoo is there, because he is sexy and I want to kiss him again.
Other than that I have been listening to the joys of Crossover, Purity Ring and Nightfoxxx and planning my Big Boxing Day Night out with Manni. My brother has been in contact, but that can be next week's drama. Drama Llama has definitely made an appearance in that arena and has been trotting around ringing its bell.
On Thursday I had to go to a funeral of a friend in Manchester. I was going to write about this in it's own entry and go into a lot more detail, but too much time has passed since for me to go back into the thinking stage of this person. What I will say is that Sam Dixon was a very good friend back in Manchester and was a wonderful person. You'd say that about anyone you knew who died, but this woman was a big part of a lot of people's lives for pretty much the same reason and that was acceptance and pure friendship. She was really there for me when I needed her at the time. I have many fond memories of her, and she did rock my life, she made me for a while believe in myself. I felt incredibly protected by her, and loved. She was a good person, with heart, who worked with disabled children and loved animals. She was a bit of a raver, a mad lesbian and a brave hippy.
Sam killed herself. She hung herself with the dog leads from the back of the door. I'm not sure why, or what she was thinking right before, but she did it. Her note only apologised and asked for everyone to forgive her for what she had chosen to do. I forgive her, she was a strong woman, and it takes a strong willed person to go ahead with that. She wanted out; she got out.
In Manchester I saw John and I saw 'Grandad'. It was great to catch up and the service was beautiful. The chosen song at the finish was 'Karma Chameleon' by Culture Club. Not many hippy or 'out there' types attended as I expected, but there were people there in rainbow flags. Afterwards we went back to a friend of John's for tea, and then went onto Canal Street for her after party, where I took some hoof dust in honour. It was a weird experience because John and my emotions were a merry go round of reflection, tears and enjoyment of the celebration. I went back home on the train and got home, had dinner late and slept like a baby.
At the funeral, Elsa read a poem:
There was a time
And for a while
I wrote you poems
That made you smile
We helped each other
through good and bad
and cried together
when we were sad
So many walks
with Mrs T and a ball
So many laughs
You gave us all
Your Spikey hair
had to be just right
It took forever
to look good on the night
I'm sad I lost you
Something took you away
I tried to help
but couldn't make you stay
And now you've gone
And all we hear
Are echoes of laughter
As we wipe a tear
No more stories
For you to tell us all
But I think in heaven
They'll all have a ball
So say hello
to Mrs T
Give her a kiss
Just from me
I wish you peace and joy
whenever you are
and know that you were loved
Our Special little Star
Work the next day was a blur, I couldn't concentrate and couldn't stop thinking about Sam. If I wasn't thinking about Sam I was being paranoid that the mini Lush hitlers downstairs were bitching about me and concocting more sabotage plans and ways to make me look bad. After, I went to PP and had a well deserved, full on super party in my head (and with everyone else) in remembrance of Sam. They said at the funeral that a number of family members believed that for a second or so, last week shortly after she died, that they sensed she was there with them, like when a spirit or an angel visits. And they said that they sensed it was Sam because they could smell the strong odour or cannabis, as if Sam herself was there, with her ever-present spliff in her hand. I wondered if she'd visit me, and intended on looking out for the smell of cannabis and the cold air afterwards, but it might be harder for me because I smoke weed myself and my flat is freezing. But on Friday, I felt she was there in her own way. Two lesbians came round who were really nice, bringing with them a similar vibe that Sam had at parties, and I felt I was being encouraged by Sam to hang out with the lesbians and just let go, and I ended up having the best time ever.
Work the next day was a total drag and by the end I felt down and depressed, too bored with the concept of a staff party, drinking wine and being silly. The food was good and I was starving and I perked up after my first bottle of rose but then I just felt knackered and all the drunkeness began to start to annoy me as drunk people tend to grate on me a bit and I just wanted a cup of tea and to start my day off with collapsing in bed. I eventually got home from the drunken grasps of people who wanted to 'come to mine, get booze on the way and have a sesh'. Fuck that. I want to be alone! I had to pay 20 quid for a taxi, which was a lot, but didn't pay for a single drink at the party. so a night out on the cheap sort of levelled there.
I slept the whole of Sunday which must of been needed but had that dread feeling that I had wasted my whole day off by being unconscious I woke up at that part of the day where you know it's about to start turning to go dark... about half 3. I used to love that part of the day, and that appreciation of winter. But things are different now and I seem so anti Christmas this year that I couldn't romanticize the lack of light, and hurried to the shop for supplies so I could say I'd been out. I ended up going to see a friend who had just moved to Moseley, and watched the Chronicles of Narnia and a Simpsons episode called 'Lisa the Treehugger'. I jealousy spied my friends new flat, complete with everything I don't have in mine (washing machine, central heating, separate rooms, a bath tub, warmth, a Christmas Tree) and then started to hate my friend when he told me his time off for Christmas (2 weeks). I died a little bit that night, and hated Christmas even more, even when I couldn't hate it further.
o, christmas tree
There is something about Christmas this year, some sort of understanding that has made it void to me, and I'm not sure whether it's because I myself changed this year, or that I have forced the change and am resisting the twinkle and fancy and magic, but whatever it is, I am not liking Christmas, and this is someone who used to love Christmas, would decorate and make a fuss, and be the one who sent out cards and loved decorating the tree. I don't even have a tree. I don't have an advent calendar. I don't have tinsel or anything remotely Christmas. My flat looks like any time of the year, and I believe now that it is. The only good thing about Christmas this year is that Mr Kipling Frosted Fancies (basically Christmas version French fancies) are only a pound at Sainsburys.
I thought this year, initially, that I would appreciate Christmas 'properly' to make me still like it; by approaching it religiously. As a child, Christmas was all about the baby Jesus, and the story of the nativity, and arranging the nativity and of course presents and dinner and traditions. Not really for once do I ever remember believing in Father Christmas. As children, we didn't really give a shit, I think we were too smart, and I don't think my parents wanted to confuse us with Jesus and Santa. Who knows. But I thought this year, I'd go to midnight mass, light a candle, arrange the nativity and just think of good things, making changes and good will and all that. But there's one little problem: I don't believe in god anymore. So we are now completely as strangers, me and Christmas. Nothing can defrost me. There is no reasons to validate its celebration in my life, and there are a number of other factors now too such as being poor, being boyfriend-less, and bad memories of having a boyfriend during last Christmas which are putting me off. So bring on New Year, because I've always loved New Year, and I don't care, and I am going to a party in Sheffield and I am hoping Alphabet Zoo is there, because he is sexy and I want to kiss him again.
Other than that I have been listening to the joys of Crossover, Purity Ring and Nightfoxxx and planning my Big Boxing Day Night out with Manni. My brother has been in contact, but that can be next week's drama. Drama Llama has definitely made an appearance in that arena and has been trotting around ringing its bell.
Oh and I joined Instagram, the week that everyone starts harping on about leaving Instagram because of photo copyrights or whatever. Regardless, here are some stunningly amazing, 'vintage-look' shots of my cat and me, yawning.
Bobbie Pidgeon used to work in Lush Solihull with me before you worked there. Was she blonde with a slight husk to her voice?
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