Saturday, 26 January 2008
If I was dreaming, you'd see me, I'd be understood
I'm never all that sure what to make of dreams, especially when they're really vivid ones that feature a person I should probably remove from my mind. When I came back from China, I remember wishing that I could just take my brain out, give it a good wash, remove all unhelpful thoughts and put it back in, ready to face the world, lobotomised, but happy.
Sunday, 20 January 2008
A night on the town
Now, before I launch in, let me make it clear that I love my housemates dearly. Over the years, I've had a mixed bag when it comes to living companions, so I know I'm lucky. But there's something amiss when we head out for a night on the town, and it's something I've found with previous housemates as well.
Last night, we wandered down to Clapham's bars after playing CSI:Miami drinking games. Gotta love Horatio and his sunglasses of justice. We went into one of the bars, which was blasting what I call dancey elevator music. i.e it's just non-descript beats and electronic noises. I'm not like a music snob or anything, sometimes I like dance music when it's house vocally type stuff, but the music last night did not impress. But here's what really pissed me off - they were playing it at a volume only appropriate in a club, and if you were dancing to it. We could only communicate by shouting at each other, and there was no way of striking up a conversation with the people (ok, men) next to you without acquiring a loudhailer. In circumstances like this, it can seem like a lot of effort to chat to the person next to you, who you see every day and only moments ago could discuss crime scene issues with so easily. So...and this is what really bugs me, we ended up, as we have so many times before, holding drinks, jutting our heads idly to the beats and looking around, looking every inch like bored girls out only to find men. I'm not even denying there might be an element of truth in that. Last nights main objective was CSI:Miami fun, then dancing our hearts out, but I'd say that none of us would have objected if Mr Right, or even Mr Right Now, walked into our respective lives that evening. But there's just something so...unseemly about standing there, with faces like smacked arses, waiting for someone to come and entertain us.
I tried to strike up a conversation, to give the impression we were having fun (after all, there's nothing more attractive than someone who looks like they're having a good time, natch), but to no avail. And I think this is essentially my problem sometimes, when out with housemates. If you're going to go somewhere so packed and loud that you can only talk to each other, and if you can only do that by means of projecting fully from the diaphragm into their ear, what's the point? What's the point when you could just hang out in the flat, talking at normal volume, playing bad 80's rock and eating creme eggs? Don't get me wrong, I love going out with groups of friends that I don't live with, chatting and catching up, drinking and dancing the night away. But when my flatmates and I go out, we always struggle. We get on like a house on fire in all other circumstances, they make me laugh like a drain. But when we're out? not so much. The only real exceptions are when friends join us, or we go to a houseparty, or we're in a bar playing music slightly below Ministry of Sound levels and we get the chat going with groups (read: groups of men) nearby. Then, we're witty, we spark off one another and I don't doubt that we're very entertaining (and modest with it ;).
I'm not sure what the answer is here. I can't very well go round asking bars to turn the music down, though actually my Gran would so maybe I should take a leaf out of her book. I don't know. What I do know is that I'm hungry, and the best thing to eat after the night before is a fried egg sandwich. See you in the kitchen.
Last night, we wandered down to Clapham's bars after playing CSI:Miami drinking games. Gotta love Horatio and his sunglasses of justice. We went into one of the bars, which was blasting what I call dancey elevator music. i.e it's just non-descript beats and electronic noises. I'm not like a music snob or anything, sometimes I like dance music when it's house vocally type stuff, but the music last night did not impress. But here's what really pissed me off - they were playing it at a volume only appropriate in a club, and if you were dancing to it. We could only communicate by shouting at each other, and there was no way of striking up a conversation with the people (ok, men) next to you without acquiring a loudhailer. In circumstances like this, it can seem like a lot of effort to chat to the person next to you, who you see every day and only moments ago could discuss crime scene issues with so easily. So...and this is what really bugs me, we ended up, as we have so many times before, holding drinks, jutting our heads idly to the beats and looking around, looking every inch like bored girls out only to find men. I'm not even denying there might be an element of truth in that. Last nights main objective was CSI:Miami fun, then dancing our hearts out, but I'd say that none of us would have objected if Mr Right, or even Mr Right Now, walked into our respective lives that evening. But there's just something so...unseemly about standing there, with faces like smacked arses, waiting for someone to come and entertain us.
I tried to strike up a conversation, to give the impression we were having fun (after all, there's nothing more attractive than someone who looks like they're having a good time, natch), but to no avail. And I think this is essentially my problem sometimes, when out with housemates. If you're going to go somewhere so packed and loud that you can only talk to each other, and if you can only do that by means of projecting fully from the diaphragm into their ear, what's the point? What's the point when you could just hang out in the flat, talking at normal volume, playing bad 80's rock and eating creme eggs? Don't get me wrong, I love going out with groups of friends that I don't live with, chatting and catching up, drinking and dancing the night away. But when my flatmates and I go out, we always struggle. We get on like a house on fire in all other circumstances, they make me laugh like a drain. But when we're out? not so much. The only real exceptions are when friends join us, or we go to a houseparty, or we're in a bar playing music slightly below Ministry of Sound levels and we get the chat going with groups (read: groups of men) nearby. Then, we're witty, we spark off one another and I don't doubt that we're very entertaining (and modest with it ;).
I'm not sure what the answer is here. I can't very well go round asking bars to turn the music down, though actually my Gran would so maybe I should take a leaf out of her book. I don't know. What I do know is that I'm hungry, and the best thing to eat after the night before is a fried egg sandwich. See you in the kitchen.
Saturday, 19 January 2008
A return
How times, they are a changin'. Or something. So I gave up on this blog, almost as quickly as I started it, which was maybe unfair. I think a paranoia about my flatmate at the time reading it kicked in. Anyway, so to conclude the previous posts...
I found a flat. It was still a huge stress to get in it, but i found one, and live now with one of the girls I was originally searching with, and a university friend. They both make me laugh like a drain, which I think is important with living companions.
The job... did not work out. I'm back at my old one now (there being the beauty with local government secondments). Turns out my new manager was a insecure, controlling bitch-troll-from-hell nightmare and I had to run for my life. At the time I was desperate for the phrase 'what goes around comes around' to be true, but highly doubtful that it would be in this situation. But now a few months have passed, and her reputation is slowly going to the dogs, which, as immature as it may seem, pleases me greatly. And this is not as a result of me telling everyone she's a nightmare, as much as I would have loved to. Alas dear reader, I am too professional for that, but it turns out I didn't even need to, as her behaviour does it all for me.
My knee...is still a mess. Mainly because I never do the sodding physio exercises assigned to me. But I did go to China and walk the great wall. Had my heart broken in the process but I think that's another post.
And my sister got married. Turns out the bridesmaid dresses would be the least of the drama, when it transpired barely 2 weeks before the big day that no one thought she should marry the guy. My sister found out and raged hell, we were all uninvited then re invited then uninvited again, before everyone took breath, took a truly British approach and just ploughed on as if nothing had happened.
I think it's true what my mum's friend said, diaries are the best way to remember how you felt at a point in time. I'll amend that to diaries and emails. I'm going to try and keep up with both.
I found a flat. It was still a huge stress to get in it, but i found one, and live now with one of the girls I was originally searching with, and a university friend. They both make me laugh like a drain, which I think is important with living companions.
The job... did not work out. I'm back at my old one now (there being the beauty with local government secondments). Turns out my new manager was a insecure, controlling bitch-troll-from-hell nightmare and I had to run for my life. At the time I was desperate for the phrase 'what goes around comes around' to be true, but highly doubtful that it would be in this situation. But now a few months have passed, and her reputation is slowly going to the dogs, which, as immature as it may seem, pleases me greatly. And this is not as a result of me telling everyone she's a nightmare, as much as I would have loved to. Alas dear reader, I am too professional for that, but it turns out I didn't even need to, as her behaviour does it all for me.
My knee...is still a mess. Mainly because I never do the sodding physio exercises assigned to me. But I did go to China and walk the great wall. Had my heart broken in the process but I think that's another post.
And my sister got married. Turns out the bridesmaid dresses would be the least of the drama, when it transpired barely 2 weeks before the big day that no one thought she should marry the guy. My sister found out and raged hell, we were all uninvited then re invited then uninvited again, before everyone took breath, took a truly British approach and just ploughed on as if nothing had happened.
I think it's true what my mum's friend said, diaries are the best way to remember how you felt at a point in time. I'll amend that to diaries and emails. I'm going to try and keep up with both.
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