Time has passed, much has happened. PSP seven has been installed and I'm starting on a Baldur's Gate bebo skin, my project specs are all done and ready to go, I'm fencing regularly now and I'm on the comittee for Sillicon again this year. Hurrah for trivial detail. I have also decided to learn how to juggle, do some simple magic tricks and put together a Harlequin troupe to perform, on Grafton street as buskers, such pieces as the seduction of Lady Anne by the Richard the Third and the Duel of Tybalt and Romeo wearing masks in the finest tradition of Helenistic theatre. On come on, it's a kick ass idea and you know it. Friday night I half Sarged, half just talked to a workmate of Erika's (Erika being Konrad's girlfriend) and got a number and a half-promise to come to Fibber's the next evening. She's a German Starbuck (new Starbuck, you pervs) look-alike who's fucking good fun to talk to and only in the county until April. Someone amusing to be around with no chance of permenance? Does that sound like exactly what I'm looking for or what? WIN! Now on to Saturday night:
I finally got around to letting a certain person know that no, I was not interested in continuing the relationship. Months of hinting did nothing so the good old blunt object trauma was called into play. Right. Job's a good 'un, no hard feelings (oddly...) etc.
Then I went to Fibber's that night. That very night a different, yet altogether too similar eighteen year old kid decided to hit on me awkwardly after much prodding from her drunken eastern European friend (who really just wanted to score her sister). Dear god people, take the fucking hint. After over an hour of obvious disinterest in her company which Eric and Peter inadvertantly abandoned me to I decided there was only one thing for it: I was going to have to apply anti-Game. What's anti game I hear you ask? Well, first you need to know what Game is. Google Neil Strauss and his book "the Game" or try http://www.mysterymethod.com for a grittier view of it.
Anyway, point is I took every little trick and tactic I had for the Game and threw it all into reverse. I became a fast-talking, jittery, sudden movement packed AFC with a severe case of One-itis for his ex girlfriend combined with as many neurotic tendancies as I could think of, a larcenous streak and severe depression. Not all *that* far from the truth I admitt but still, that's what Game is all about really. If nothing else I think I owe someone a debt of some form for giving me a good story of woe to chuck around and look pathetic during.
And after nearly THREE DAMN HOURS (total) of this she finally had to go home. I arrived at nine, she started work at about half past and finally left at about ten to one. Thank fuck for that but WHY couldn't it have been earlier? And as soon as she left I started having a good night.
Then one of the oddest things in my entire life happened.
I'm in the chipper at three AM, standing quietly in line as you do, when suddenly two rather large mutton-dressed-as-wrinkley-gold-plated-lamb skanger women burst in and start hurling abuse and demanding instant service. Every single person in the room is targeted, no borders of race or tact are sacred and no-one dares move lest they get a drunken ham-fist to the face. And strangely, amongst all the Chinese barmen trying to get some food after a hard night's work and drunken assorted Irish there is one veritable Island of immunity to this assault.
The goth guy. The skinny goth guy in a bad part of town at three AM wearing make-up and psuedo-bondage gear. What the fuck?
And then I find myself standing beside one who I shall refer to as "Viv" for an obscure reason. So Viv rounds on me, and demands my age. I reply honestly, starting to rise onto my toes in case a speedy escape is needed, remembering dodgy experiences with inebrieated older women in the past. She looks dissapointed and then tells me about her "angel." Apparently he's thirteen, and driving her mad. She worries he'll be out drinking and doing whatever the fuck else soon. I wonder how many car's he's stolen and burnt out already but hold my tongue. I'm still on my toes and my knees are dancing backwards and forwards in what I like to call my "I'm going to shit myself I'm so nervous" dance. Eventually, as she nears tears I have to say *something* just to try to distract her.
And so, in what must be absolutely hillarious for all those watching who are now, coincidentally, being spared her wrath, I begin to offer parenting advice.
Yep, you heard me.
I HATE children. Skanger children doubly so. Personally I'd like to torch the little fucker and roast marshmellows on his burning corpse while singing cheery songs about world domination and hell and suchlike but what's coming out of my mouth actaully seems to be sensible.
Eventually my food comes and I beat a hasty retreat. As I turn from the counter she tells me to enjoy the rest of my night. I reply in kind. As I walk back from the chipper with Brian and Eric, both of whom are utterly shocked and sputtering hows and whys, I announce loudly to the world in general "And *that* is what I mean when I say I'm a social chameleon....."
And no, Starbuck never showed or even had the decency to reply in the negative. Bitch. Ah well. Another week has started! another Thursday in Fibber's waits! For the Emperor! No prisoners! CHARGE!
Life is, if not good, at least fucking funny to watch.