Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Monday, November 13, 2006

Do What..?

Drinking to forget. What a noble pass time.

I woke up, surrounded by debris. And we're not talking a couple of pizza boxes and a your knickers hanging off the light fitting - pah! Such things are for amateurs!

I thought for a moment that the house's ghost had got a bit uppity in the night. Oh yes, we have one, though we don't hear off it much; it just knocks books off the shelves when there's nothing on telly, and it's easy to placate with a Rosemary and Thyme rerun. I don't really believe in unfriendly spirits. I mean, even in Poltergeist with all those ghosts stacking the chairs upside-down on the table? All they wanted to do was get them out of the way so they could do a little bit of hoovering under there. It's true.

But my head said otherwise. Oh, the pain William, the pain! I recall going out with the Very Paul Vyse and we talking over some problem and him being really sympathetic, and he found a cocktail menu and we'd decided to drink it all alphabetically. It started getting blurry around Cosmopolitan, though I did remember hacking up a bit of Mojito into an ashtray so clearly we'd gone on.

I wonder what I'd wanted to forget?

My memory's fairly appalling at the best of times. I can't even remember whether Madonna's in favour at the moment or not. The best I've been able to do is construct a little swiss-style weather barometer thing - you know, the little chalet with the two doors for when it rains or shines? One door has her in her pink disco leotard for the good days, and a black beret clutching a hand grenade and being 'all controversial' for the other side. Oddly, the grenade has just been swapped for a little coloured baby. One hopes she doesn't pop out start throwing that when the weather takes a turn.

I shifted around in the duvet, head like lead. I could feel something tickling my ear and I hoped that lump in the duvet next to me wasn't a stranger. It turned out to be a bucket of chicken and a feather boa. Oh, that means the mascara on the pillow was mine too, and - yup - there was the karaoke CD. I bet I'd been singing into a hairbrush (currently wedged in a place my old IT teacher was itching to get into during my sixth form final year) that well-known women-who'd-been-dumped hit 'All By Myself'. Which can only mean one thing - boy trouble.

Ah yes, the Boy. The guy who I was half seeing, which had got somewhat more serious than either one of us had expected. Although we'd reached an impasse in where we were going; he couldn't or wouldn't leave his boyfriend, and I couldn't (or wouldn't) wait until he did. I was meant to give him until the lease on his house was up. It was explained to me in appalling detail, but each time he left to go back to his boyfriend, a little more of me resented him for it the closer we got. He told me to wait for three months. 'It's nothing,' he said. 'We can do this for three months.'

Turns out I couldn't. Weak little me.

I've had to take a step back until he leaves his man. It's not fair on any of us. So I'm going to hold, three months, waiting in the wings like the Phantom of the Opera. Keeping my distance, watching him from afar.

And wondering.

And wondering whether I should have forgotten.


Dazskins said...

Christ, Lee - that's shitty. I feel slightly selfish that I logged on for my daily cheer-up reading your post, and now I just want to come round and make you tea and toast and watch repeats of 'Friends' till it all gets better...

...but from experience, if he won't leave him now, he won't leave him. You're worth more than the Phantom position. And when you realise that putting the histerical historical episodes of this blog into a book is going to make you a millionaire, then you'll look back and laugh at all this...


Owen Blacker said...

I hate to agree with a bearer of bad tidings, but how many movies have you seen where the guy leaves his wife for his mistress even temporarily without there being rabbit stew involved?

*hugs* and tea and toast and stuff. Come get drunk with us on Saturday and we'll help you forget some more :o)

kim said...

Tell me when you need to send the lesbians round to break his fickle little kneecaps for hurting our precious.

Also, cocktails. With Cherie, I think, don't you?


Limehouse Dan said...

From here, you've not burnt your bridges either way. And it feels as if you're well prepared for whatever February brings.

In the meantime, dance a bit in the wings. They're rather a grand place to be; you can enjoy the magic of theatre, but if you get it wrong nobody can see.


AndyT13 said...

Um...I was going to say "Fuck him."
BUt..uh...that's not right.
Look mate, and sod that would rather sod someone else clearly has no taste and shouldn't be given a second ride; at least not on your heart. Move on love.
He'll be loooking for you in the wings and you'll be on stage taking a star turn with such.
BTW I've 28 days off the sauce today and I'm here to tell you that things look quite a bit better without the hangover and you're far more attractive to desirable mates when not puking in ashtrays. Not to say I won't be in the corner kicking the cat and wishing I had a double dozen mojitos myself, but some sacrifices are worth making.
Just one git's opinion. Love you tons.

word ver: evtkfvcu
What do you make of it?

Snooze said...

I would last three days before I went and caused a huge scene outside his house. Good luck with the allotted time period.

Anonymous said...

Forget him sweetie. A catch like you deserves and requires to be the main act.

So there.

Anonymous said...

Oh god babe - that sucks! I can't say anything I've just sent a text that says " so long as you still fancy the arse of me I'm not sure I give a toss about anything else!"
- not very dignified huh?

Anonymous said...

Bad analogy... the Phantom doesn't end up getting the girl.

Except this one time in a gay bar called in Buenos Aires called The Titanic Club (appropriately named- full of creatures that had been lurking in dark water since 15th April 1912, not that I was complaining: one of those nights when I was plumbing the depths)

They put on a gay porn version that involved, among other things, Christina recalling how she gave her buffed-up childhood sweetheart Raoul his first blowjob.

Unfortunately, even in this version the Phantom didn't come up to scratch. However, when she runs off at the end, he took himself off to an orgy with the rest of the cast.

Hope that cheered you up.

Cuntin x

AndyT13 said...

Hey! Heard a great one today that made me think of you! :-)
"Man of Steel, Heels of Helium."
Sound familiar?

Cass said...

Tyranny and burnt toast!

Treat him mean and see if he comes grovelling in 3 months.

Hedge-betters suck.

Spike said...

What Owen said.