A gay indie boy living in suburban South West London recounts his trials and tribulations dealing with sex, sexuality, growing up and getting older

Saturday, July 28, 2007

If I Could Have Logged Into Blogger, I Would Have...

Well, my blogger account has been refusing to let me log in.

Anyway, it's been an interesting number of weeks, all culminating in the past couple of days. Have you ever heard of "The Secret"? Basically it's about positive thinking and cosmic ordering et cetera, so to change my fortunes, I decided to think positively.

It started off well; I got a job interview for one of my dream jobs (to be a music journalist) that went horrendously well. I thought I was a shoe in for a second interview. So I waited for them to call...

And I waited...

And waited...

And then my flat flooded.

So after fishing out my vintage shirts and brooches, and making sure nothing was damaged beyond repair, I took the night off work and went out drinking. Then I have a gap in my memory and woke up on my sofa. Then I went to Bristol the next day for a friend's birthday and started drinking again.

Return to London. Give up on job as it's now been 10 days when I finally receive an e-mail saying they wouldn't like to pursue it any further (thanks, guys). Resign myself to my mediocre and less than challenging job. Day off comes; I go for a drink with someone who's been hassling me from (hacking cough) Gaydar and, in light of the week's horribleness, I throw myself on him. I wake up and realise I have to go to work the next day in platforms and flares. I am ridiculed by work mates whilst still half drunk. Gaydar bloke texts me to say how wonderful I am; blood drains out of face when I realise I'm not *that* interested in him.

Another friend calls me to say she's broken up with her boyfriend, while I go out for work drinks and end up punching one of my work colleagues in the face. I run away to another bar for a whisky and coke to calm my nerves and bump into a random lesbian who invites me out. I go, and end up at said gay indie bar that I said I wasn't going to go to (you'll see that in a previous blog). End up spending the night with a music journalist from Manchester in an expensive hotel room.

Gaydar Bloke texts again the next day to see if I want to go out later. I agree until break up friend turns up and wants to cry on my shoulder. I tell him and he texts "So now two hearts are broken" and think to myself "Oh, shit. He *really* likes me. How do I let him down gently?" as I try to wipe the snot off my paisley shirt from crying friend.

Girl who's been escorted to Wolverhampton calls. Repeatedly. I stupidly ignore calls to avoid telling her she can't stay at my place if she runs away.

And for the third night in a row, I get blinding drunk whilst giving the "I hate men" speech to upset friend.

Wake up. Look around at the world and decide not to get up. Go to sleep. Wake up again and watch Kindergarten Cop and try not to consider how three days of drinking continuously has left a big pile of existential poo to deal with.

Go to work. Thank God I work nights and can have a night off from drinking.

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