Party time tonight! Oh man, it is not that I don’t dig the social invitations, but… where the hell were they all in, say, October, when I was desperate to be out of the flat? Now, I’m desperate to be in it. But it is not to be! I do, do so truly wish I had not had a nap last night, however. I woke up later than I had intended, wired to the moon and unable to do anything more productive except have a right flap at Cava when she phoned. So Saturday morning found me up bright and early, packing like a lunatic, cooking up three kilos of bacon-cabbage-and-mash (for the bargain price of about £3.50, I just made a whole week’s dinners!) and finally getting on with the first bit of New Sums since… Christmas. Bah!
And time for the train into town. Look who’s slacking off on the old Exercise thing again, but it was a truly lovely day, spring in the air, warmth in the sunshine, and the promise of me marinated in sweat should I have been foolish enough to plough five miles with a heavy bag in two jackets.
And Edinburgh, of course, was freezing. Still, I actually met Licorice for the bus over, this time, and we went to the Bull for cherry beers, back to Cava’s for raspberry wine (made by moi) and makeup and corsets all round and back into town. Woo! Off to the Auldhoose, where I had asked Rice Krispies to meet us, and where I regaled Cava’s mate with shaggy-dog stories (can’t take me anywhere) and which I realised was right around the corner from an old mate’s place.
As usual, the story herein shall now be derailed by a further story: many years, it has been, since I saw this particular old mate. He got back in touch just before New Year, thanks to the joys of Facebook, and was very enthusiastic about us meeting up. Now, I’ve met up with several blasts from the past thanks to this site – it got me my invite to the US of A, after all, and I’ve helped an old mate move house due to it (an old mate who knows this old mate, curiously enough) and it has been lovely to see them and find out that at heart they haven’t changed at all.
Then again, there have been some (thankfully, fewer) blasts from the past who have got in touch and I’ve been horrified to discover they haven’t changed at all either – one, for instance, dived straight in with an email announcing that it was Fate that made him find me (fairly sure it was a search engine, matey) so that now I could give him unpaid, unprofessional therapy following a semi-recent tragedy. He also pledged to come visit me immediately (for sex, which I hadn’t expressed any interest in having with him, thanks – hell, this was his opening email) while also telling me all about this other lassie he was simultaneously trying to cultivate romantically. Er, gee, sod off. I am not going to be your stop-gap shag, thanks for asking – oh wait, you didn’t even do that, you just assumed. Grrr!
So that was the budding reunion nixed before it could think about opening its petals, what.
I’m not saying this guy is anything like that guy. I’m just saying every silver lining has the potential for a cloud to be in the vicinity. Oh and hey, let’s not forget the Old Friend who sodding attacked me last year! Now I had no indication whatsoever that that was gonna happen, so these days, I’m trying to be sensible. Even if it’s just so people can’t say, Well what did you expect. Going round meeting (not actually) strange men (with other people present) you are bound to get in trouble, you great big slapper!
People have actually said this. People I know. I bet they don’t say it to people who’ve been mugged, is all. (“Well, if you will use a cash machine after dark-“)
This guy, to continue the story and quickly stop ranting about my fellow humans because I find it just as depressing as you do, honest (hey, and I have to live in my head with all this crap), has invited me for a flat-warming/ his debut djing event in a few weeks; it’s a pretty big deal to him and he’s trying to assemble ‘the Old Crowd’ for it. (To put this in perspective – the last time ‘the Old Crowd’ were all together for a party, Licorice was just starting primary school.) Um, the timing is not so good here. With Operation Frankenstein, financial penury and the potential for being trapped in a club playing music I neither know nor understand, hanging over me like the Three Corbies of the Apocalypse (or at least, of the Very Trying Evening), not to mention the Spectre of Very Bad Things lurking in the wings, I thought it provident to invite this guy out with us first, so I could at least discern if he’s sane or wot. Yeah, because I could totally tell that other guy was suddenly gonna haul off and pin me, not.
Me and Rice Krispies decided he is sane. Of course, we have already established that sometimes you just can’t tell until they strike, at which point it is Far Too Late, but I suppose one cannot tar everyone with the same brush and all that. Alas, my attempts to discover if he is getting any came to naught, partly because I didn’t want to give the impression I was looking for some (and how do you say, “Look, you are getting laid, right? Only the last time I met up with an old mate-“)
I am a little nervous, truth be told, and I know, I know, it’s silly – right up until it isn’t. So I still have two choices: bottle it and be vilified as a Man-hater (!). Or go, and if anything goes wrong (again), be vilified as a slapper who Should Have Known Better. You have to give everyone the benefit of the doubt at all times, donchaknow, until such time as you shouldn’t have, you hopelessly naive non-mind-reader, you!
Society needs a good talking to with the pointy end of a stick, methinks.
Anyway, back to the Proper story of tonight. Cheer! Laughter! Not being the sort of person who overthinks these things and then gets it wrong anyway! Everyone looked fab, me and Rice Krispies had a dance to unfeasibly difficult tunes (that is the first time I have ever attempted to dance to Welcome to the Jungle, for some reason) and it was a very cheap night, after which we had a lassies’ cake-and-cherry-brandy sesh at Cava’s until four in the morning. The Quick! Get OUT Of The Corsets! round was the funniest thing all night except for Rice Krispies threatening to kill me for infecting her head with Taking the Hobbits to Isengard. Oh look, you had to be there, alright? Tales of other people’s parties are never hilarious unless someone accidentally smashes the cistern or a wardrobe falls down while people are shagging in it (preferably, people with significant others who are not those they are shagging at that moment). And I am pleased to say that I have no tales of woe from tonight, and the schadenfreude will have to wait for another occasion.
It will probably not be long.