Weekend Lover

Don’t you just love it when people enquire about your weekend activities on a Monday morning and as you’re about to launch into the riveting adventure tale that they ASKED you for, they cut you off and proceed to tell you, in minute detail, what they did from Friday to Sunday, often with asides to explain their level of involvement with all the characters implicated in their boring little yawn-fest of a weekend. Why do you hate me? Why? Did I do something to you and are you now exacting your revenge in some subtle psychological way?

Anyhoo. How was your weekend? Well MINE was fantastic…

One thing I must get off my chest though, we were out on Saturday night having birthday drinks with a mate of mine and there was a girl at a table behind us with a voice that puts nails and chalkboards to shame. The girl sounded like Dee Dee (from Dexter’s Lab) on helium…like Minnie Mouse on speed…I could go on. The thing was she was also LOUD. Patrons at tables all around us were turning around to see who’d made the obvious faux pas of switching the bar’s plasma screens from Fashion TV to Cartoon Network all of a sudden. How does she have friends, I wonder…? I mean they MUST know; they must feel the incredulous stares of bemused spectators boring into them everywhere they go. I bet she’s the one they plan to cut out of the circle. You know how there’s always that friend that you avoid seeing, but are forced to because someone takes pity on them and invites them out. That’s her. I’m telling you. And the saddest thing is that she really thought she was the life of the party, with her bouffant hairdo and her pikachu impression (I’m serious – she was doing impressions). Ugh.

Otherwise, nothing much to report. New Fella and I had some great conversations about life, music, memories and capitalism. He’s just wonderful. But I’m not going to turn into an enormous pile of marshmallow-ey goo and gush about him ad nauseum because that’s just unattractive. I had to sneak into my flat this morning (after sleeping over at New Fella’s place the entire weekend) in an attempt to avoid the disapproving looks of my flatmate, Commander Clean. Commander Clean is a neat and tidy little fascist. He borders on having O.C.D. and hovers around me whenever I wash dishes, trying not to twitch and holding himself back from giving me tips on whether or not wiping anti-clockwise is indeed the most effective method of cleansing cereal bowls. He also takes all the space in the fridge and freezer and recently (and this is truly the gravest transgression) he either helped himself to or threw out my left-over chocolate mallow mousse that I had so lovingly prepared for dessert when I was actually AT my flat (which is pretty infrequently). Supercilious little toad wart.

So here goes for another week. Woo.