‘I really want to sleep with you. I imagine its a lot like playing a championship final on FIFA…I know I’m going to get beat, but I’ll enjoy myself and probably learn something’.
This was one of many ‘compliments’ paid to me by Handsome on Friday evening, a charm offensive so hilarious that I let him continue for the duration of the long Bank Holiday weekend before I finally rejected him. Slim’s attempt to get into my bed was a little more direct with him simply repeating the phrase, ‘Can we have sex?’ at random intervals. Buzz had to save me from some creepy guy in a club who kept asking to touch my arse by pretending to be my boyfriend and Billy and I had a long and in depth conversation between shots about how we can never, ever have sex because we have such a great friendship and don’t want to ruin it. Now, the sudden barrage of male friends trying to seduce, and I use that term lightly, me over the last few days is not because I woke up looking like Elle ‘The Body’ Macpherson, no, but more because of the vast quantities of alcohol and drugs in their systems. It was Billy’s birthday after all and that meant taking things to extremes.
I kept up with them all, for the most part. I’d spent Friday afternoon catching up with some old teacher buddies, then met the Tattooed One for a quick joint and a chat. I didn’t get home until the evening, shortly before Billy, Jiminy and Handsome turned up laden with crates of lager, bottle of Jack Daniels and an air that proclaimed they were up to no good. Weston and I happily joined in the revelry. I’d been ill for nearly three weeks and needed to socialise, needed to enjoy my time with my friends, and the painkillers I was taking caused my pain to blur just enough so that I could.
Saturday was, more or less, a continuation of the night before. After some sleep and a shower, I met up with Adele to be her plus one at a work’s function in a neighbouring town. We didn’t stay long, particularly as Billy and all our friends were in the same bar having considerably more fun than us. We met up with the lads and managed to down a few drinks before being asked to leave the premises by some numpty bouncer with a beer gut and penchant for high visibility strips. Apparently Billy was too drunk and the rest of us would soon follow suit. After that, we weren’t really allowed in anywhere and so made our way back to our own little shire where the local landlords are considerably more weathered to us lot being out for the night.
Our local was pretty busy and I had drunk enough vodka to subdue any social anxiety I may have felt, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t apprehensive. After getting a drink at the bar I made my way outside for a cigarette. There was Perry, drink in hand and stupid baseball cap with sticker on on his ugly head. Adele looked at me with concern. She knew I was still angry enough to cause him some serious physical damage if he’d attempted to come anywhere near me. When he finally noticed me, it looked like his facial features had been slowed down; his automatic cheesy, fake grin melted slowly with the realisation that it was me he was smiling at, then there was a slight wobble of the lip and contortion of the eyebrows as he scrambled for a single thought that might help him. Finally, when panic set in, his face froze, eyes wide and jaw agape. I’m not saying he was afraid of some gobby, tipsy woman like me giving him slap, absolutely not, but he certainly had other reasons to fear me. Mainly, I don’t believe a single word of any of his bullshit. I know the truth and he knows it. This could explain why less than sixty seconds later, Perry was nowhere to be seen.
I also got to talk to Noel that Saturday evening. Its been several months since there has been anything more than an awkward half smile of acknowledgement between us. I was firmly under the impression that he despised me, because that is what Robyn had told me. With alcohol infused confidence bubbling underneath my skin I confronted Noel, in the friendliest and lightest way possible. He swears he never said anything of the sought and that he was surprised to hear that Robyn had claimed otherwise. I never thought she’d lie to me like that, but I guess the events that have unfolded since have proven otherwise. As much as I don’t want to be taken in by the lies of another man and trust Noel regardless, I think this particular case is a slam dunk. Robyn lied.
As is often the case, a rowdy rabble of drunk 20 and 30somethings made their way back to my house in the early hours of Sunday morning when the bars closed and the music stopped. Slim was nursing a pretty impressive black eye and series of cuts after some balding moron thought he’d show how big his penis was by punching an unprepared, unaware Slim in the pub garden. Slim had laughed in his face. It was priceless, up until the swelling kicked in and now Slim was whinging about the blood in his eye and potential scarring. Weston was waiting for us with his ex girlfriend, Star. She is such a sweet girl who clearly adores him, but I can’t help thinking that if she was a little harder on him and didn’t help him out so much, he’d realise life without her is pretty sucky and would make a commitment to her again. I’ve reassured Star countless times that I believe they are meant to be together and that Weston and I will not be sleeping together ever again. I mean every word because I couldn’t bare to break her soft, gooey heart.
Anyway, so there we were, this crazy, over excitable bunch of idiots. Slim, Handsome, Billy, Weston, Jiminy, Buzz, Star and me. All drinking into the early hours, chatting nonsense and laughing at each other. A wrestling match between Buzz and Weston resulted in several broken glasses but miraculously avoided any serious damage. Slim’s face was held together with Hello Kitty plasters and Handsome had become a one man joint rolling machine. We all merged together amidst a pile of cushions and blankets of the floor, the MDMA and marijuana smoke making the lounging in close proximity all the more comfortable.
I had made arrangements with Mr. Surprise to go to Notting Hill Carnival on the Sunday and was concerned that I hadn’t had nearly enough sleep, or indeed would even be sober enough, to thoroughly enjoy the day. I need not have worried. Mr. Surprise never showed up. He didn’t call, he didn’t text, he didn’t respond to any of my attempts at contact. He just stood me up. As I write this it is Tuesday evening and I still haven’t heard from him. I have given that man the benefit of the doubt far too many times and, quite frankly, I’m now bored. He may have been a decent fuck, but that is nowhere near enough to keep me interested long term. Turns out, he was a bit of a dick.
Billy and the lads headed off to Reading Festival on the Sunday, a sterling effort considering how utterly wasted they all were. All of my Sunday was spent watching movies with Star and Slim while Weston snored on the sofa besides us. Sunday ran into Monday and before we knew it, it was Monday evening and the reality of a fulls day work and adult responsibilities was fast approaching. Billy’s birthday weekend had really tested my resolve, and my kidney function, but after the last few weeks of concern and self pity, it was the very best of medicines.
Alcohol: Yes. And before you say it, I know its bad for me and my kidneys are hardly in a position to cope with a three day bender, but I’m alive and I feel fine and I now promise to be on my bestest behaviour with regards to my health.
Drugs: See above!
Sex: 0. I was trying this whole ‘Faithful to Mr. Suprise’ thing but it didn’t do me any favours, I am currently formulating a new plan where I actually get laid without having to put up with any bullshit. This plan may or may not involve Mr. Monster Cock.
Meat: 0. I’m loving being a vegetarian again. I know that is an obscure statement to make, but I am. Meals have become a lot more interesting and a lot healthier!
Physical Health: I’m still breathing. Recent ultrasound scans have revealed the need for more exploratory work in my uterus. I imagine little tiny coal miners marching into my vagina with headlamps and pick axes, but the medical professionals wishing to poke around in my uterus assure me this is not the case.
Mental Health: I’m not falling apart because I made a mistake with Mr. Surprise. That is definitely a move forward in my mental health. I am not blaming myself or internalising the rejection. I’m also very happy with work, my home life and my friends. Although contentment and success do not guarantee a night’s sleep free from nightmares or a day without the pain of depression, my environment is currently calm and conducive to a happy, healthy Lola.