Part One of the Crazy Chronicles.
I have always gotten along better with boys. Girls have this ridiculous ability to, for lack of a better expression, be a pack of bitches. And it's always so so petty.
Luckily, after high school, most girls move on from this. But, three years out of school now (I know, what?) I am discovering that this isn't entirely the case. The scary thing about girls who are bitches three years out of high school, is that they're really fucking good at it. And a little bit sociopathic. My logic is that in high school, most girls are just following the bitching trend, or releasing some pent up hormones. The ones that stick at it, they really enjoy it. Creeps.
So for this story to make any degree of sense, I'm going to have to outline some of the main players in my life to date. I currently live in a house with Cody and Josh, whom I love to bits. Cody had been in a longterm longdistance relationship with a girl for 18 months- since before he went away to uni. Our house has been "dating" another house. I'm worried about some of these names showing up on websearches (because I'm crazy like that) so I'm going to use psuedonyms for the more obscure names. The other house consists of Lucy, Josie, Kate and Elliot. I think we know them because Josh does some classes with some of the girls. I don't really know. I just know that somehow they all of a sudden exist in our lives in a big way. They just kind of appeared. Maybe they're aliens.
Anyway, they invite us to their parties, we invite them to ours. We have them over for dinner and vice versa. Lucy and Josh hooked up a few times and it really seemed like they were going to happen. Except that Lucy was kind of insane about it. She'd kiss him, then ignore him, then kiss him. She'd try to tell him what to do and when he didn't she'd start talking about boys she was in love with. It was really just a little weird. So thus ended that, and Lucy was unimpressed when Josh wouldn't play along anymore.
Enter Cody. So they have a bit in common. By which I mean they both like their drugs frequent and illicit. Don't get me wrong, the rest of our little gang isn't opposed to the occasional latenight spongebob with a joint session. They're just a little more intense about it. And so Lucy is all upset about Josh, and wanting to get high, and wanting Cody to stay over, and sleeping in Codys bed, and texting Cody all the time.
Josh and I are less than impressed at this turn of events, as Cody is seemingly oblivious to Lucys obvious efforts to break up him and ...erm, she's probably crazy enough to be able to find this if I make it too easy, let's call her Jill. Jill is not entirely stable. Upon moving in with Cody, Josh and myself quickly established this. She stayed here for a few weeks over the holidays. Kept a track of all our money and who owed who what, and called us out on it. This is, between the three of us housemates, no money involving her. Quite frankly, if I live with someone, and they owe me five bucks. I do not care. Because I'm probably watching their TV, or they're going to come home with MacDonalds and I'm going to steal half of it. And then when she was back in their hometown. It was the phonecalls. Freaking non stop. She's the only person I've ever encountered who will ring a homephone till it rings out and then ring it again straight away. Rinse, Lather, Repeat. Until something good comes on tv or something. And then there was the time she asked Josh over facebook what he was doing "me and Cody are just having a boys afternoon actually, it's really good having some beers and catching up, I only jumped on here to look something up. I'll talk to you later" and queue Jill ringing Cody and proceeding to talk to him about all the things upsetting her for over and hour. CAHRAYZEE.
Josh and I have a couple of chats with Cody along the 'anything going on with you and Lucy, you seem to be spending a concerning amount of time together, and you know, sleeping in the same bed' line. Of couse to no avail, they're just friends! It's fine! He loves Jill! Friends can spoon! And well, at this point Lucy has moved into the 'reason I don't like girls' category. It's not only the whole manipulating both my housemates thing, it's a lot of little behaviours that would take an essay to explain. I'm sure you trust my judgement. And BITCH IS TRYING TO BREAK MY HOUSEMATE AND HIS GIRLFRIEND UP OK.
So yes, Jill has a serious case of the crazies. But Josh and I are both pretty firmly feeling 'better the devil you know than the devil you don't' or, more to the point, 'better the crazy bitch that lives 3 hours away than the crazy bitch that doesn't.'
Sigh, I have things to do and drinks to drink, the saga will continue soon.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Appletinis and Mean Girls
I always do that thing where I say I'll talk about something and in turn don't actually feel like talking about it. But the mum scotch story is actually a bit of a funny one, so I'll bear with it.
My mother went to Malaysia recently, to visit my cousin and have a bit of a holiday. My sister is 17 now so she was home alone (much to my Mothers distress, who wanted her to go and stay with Dad). So I decided to go home for a weekend. Partly to spend some time with Bell, and partly to get away from ex-boyfriend-land for a bit.
Saturday night, my home crew got together, and we had appletinis and watched Mean Girls. It was one of those amazing nights where we talked and drunk all night. And in true teenager style, we ran out of vodka and raided the parentals closet. Goodness, can you believe it? Never in my underage years. Never in my teenage years. Never did I do the typical have a party because the parents are away and break into the grog cupboard.
Of course it didn't go down exactly like that. There were 5 of us including my self and Bell, and we were watching a chick flick. When our alcohol ran out, we reasoned that we could borrow some Scotch and return it when the bottle shops were open in the morning. Carefully noting the exact letter on the label it was full to. And naturally I forgot.
So back at uni and four hours away, five days later, mum texts to say she's landed and driving home. And then the crashing recollection. Of course, there is nothing to be done. My home crew are also no longer at home. My sister is still underage AND I managed to forget to leave my spare licence for her (if we can't work at the same place without everyone calling us the wrong name, we may as well use it to our advantage). So now I'm waiting for the phone call where she gets faux angry at me, I remind her how often she's gone into my room searching for the Scotch she knows I have in there and buy a bottle on my way home next for us to drink on the verandah.
Everybody wins really.
My mother went to Malaysia recently, to visit my cousin and have a bit of a holiday. My sister is 17 now so she was home alone (much to my Mothers distress, who wanted her to go and stay with Dad). So I decided to go home for a weekend. Partly to spend some time with Bell, and partly to get away from ex-boyfriend-land for a bit.
Saturday night, my home crew got together, and we had appletinis and watched Mean Girls. It was one of those amazing nights where we talked and drunk all night. And in true teenager style, we ran out of vodka and raided the parentals closet. Goodness, can you believe it? Never in my underage years. Never in my teenage years. Never did I do the typical have a party because the parents are away and break into the grog cupboard.
Of course it didn't go down exactly like that. There were 5 of us including my self and Bell, and we were watching a chick flick. When our alcohol ran out, we reasoned that we could borrow some Scotch and return it when the bottle shops were open in the morning. Carefully noting the exact letter on the label it was full to. And naturally I forgot.
So back at uni and four hours away, five days later, mum texts to say she's landed and driving home. And then the crashing recollection. Of course, there is nothing to be done. My home crew are also no longer at home. My sister is still underage AND I managed to forget to leave my spare licence for her (if we can't work at the same place without everyone calling us the wrong name, we may as well use it to our advantage). So now I'm waiting for the phone call where she gets faux angry at me, I remind her how often she's gone into my room searching for the Scotch she knows I have in there and buy a bottle on my way home next for us to drink on the verandah.
Everybody wins really.
Scotch and feeling sorry for myself
Well, it seems like it's time again for my yearly blog update. So Adam and I broke up, which is actually really irrelevent to this blog seeing as I've written one post since we started going out and it was about STI's. Hmm. Unfortunately, I'm used to being the one that ends the relationship. And I was always all "ohh it's so haaarrd. Its so emooootionaaal. I think its harder on the one that has to eeend it". Yeah, wrong. So wrong.
In fairness, it was kinda mutual in the end. But that had a lot to do with me realising I wasn't going to be happy knowing that he wasn't completely happy. And my dignity stepped in when it turned to drunken-break-ups-sober-make-ups territory. Of course, that dignity was glaringly M.I.A for the countless nights that we ended up in the break-up sex territory. And that one that we spent together, just cuddling. Well goodness, that one is just embarrassing.
I think the point I was making was something about the horrible aching loss that I'm not accustomed to that leads to the awful temptation to end up at his door at 2 am suggesting we try and work things out -and then expecting to climb into bed and live happily ever after. But who wants to talk about that? Me, after half a bottle of Scotch. But you don't have half a bottle of Scotch now do you?
Don't get me wrong I haven't turned into a complete Damsel. I was my completely usual independant, flirting, problem-causing-and-then-refusing-to-deal-with self throughout the relationship. But then in some horrible irony when things did end, and it was my fault because of all the things I'd done that I shouldn't have, well then I wanted to take it all back, and I lost everything, and it wasn't worth it and -well you'd just think I was a man or something wouldn't you? But I don't want to talk about all the things I've done. Atleast not until after half a bottle of Scotch. But you don't have half a bottle of Scotch now do you?
Speaking of people that don't have half a bottle of Scotch- my mother. But that's a story for tomorrow. Who knows, I might actually start writing this thing again.
In fairness, it was kinda mutual in the end. But that had a lot to do with me realising I wasn't going to be happy knowing that he wasn't completely happy. And my dignity stepped in when it turned to drunken-break-ups-sober-make-ups territory. Of course, that dignity was glaringly M.I.A for the countless nights that we ended up in the break-up sex territory. And that one that we spent together, just cuddling. Well goodness, that one is just embarrassing.
I think the point I was making was something about the horrible aching loss that I'm not accustomed to that leads to the awful temptation to end up at his door at 2 am suggesting we try and work things out -and then expecting to climb into bed and live happily ever after. But who wants to talk about that? Me, after half a bottle of Scotch. But you don't have half a bottle of Scotch now do you?
Don't get me wrong I haven't turned into a complete Damsel. I was my completely usual independant, flirting, problem-causing-and-then-refusing-to-deal-with self throughout the relationship. But then in some horrible irony when things did end, and it was my fault because of all the things I'd done that I shouldn't have, well then I wanted to take it all back, and I lost everything, and it wasn't worth it and -well you'd just think I was a man or something wouldn't you? But I don't want to talk about all the things I've done. Atleast not until after half a bottle of Scotch. But you don't have half a bottle of Scotch now do you?
Speaking of people that don't have half a bottle of Scotch- my mother. But that's a story for tomorrow. Who knows, I might actually start writing this thing again.
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