White Noise vs West Coast Eagles
A recurring theme of this blog is my ability to attract white noise. Those who have known me for any substantial period of time know this to be bang on the money accurate and not in any way exaggerated. For example, the neighbour of the first house I bought stole my front lawn, in the dead of night one full moon cycle. Then kicked out his flat mate for being anti social.
While at the time this was odd, I have grown to accept that this is just part of my life. Indeed if I don't get into a conversation with a complete stranger wearing foil on his head each day it begins to unsettle me.
So, I'm back in Sydney now as I've probably previously mentioned and my white noise reader has been unseasonably calm for a few months.
However this story should make up for my recent lull. Names and identities have been removed to protect the innocent, but the rest of the details are 100 per cent true.
So, two weekends ago I'm at the Sydney Festival Launch with a group of about 8 girlfriends. Random Boy comes over and asks if he can sit down. He's in a foot cast - having just had surgery on his foot - and so we take pity on him and let him sit with us. At the end of the gig we were watching, the group scatters, half go to another gig, some leave and Random Boy wants to kick on. So me and another mate walk up town to go drinking with him. Several hours and one disturbing conversation with the bar man who was into snuff rapping later and we're all legless. The bar shuts, so that would make it somewhere about 3am by my reckoning and I can't get a cab down town due to Sydney only having 3 cabs running at 3am. Random Boy asks us both back to his place to drink more... we're walking down town to his place, I see a cab, jump in it and so leave my mate with Random Boy.
Next morning, hung over like a dog and dreaming of fried chicken, I ring her panicking that I have so not been the cool friend and have left her with possible psycho who may have glad wrapped her in her sleep... she replies about 4pm. They actually watched football (she cares about sport less than I do!), fell asleep and then she went home in the morning. Seriously, the guy is such a social tool he passes on my mate.
Monday morning, I get a text from him asking me what I'm up to. So, he's taken my mate back to his, watched football with her and then called me! I (because I have friends) say "fully booked until Thursday". And figure that's the end of it.
He calls Thursday. I have no plans, we meet for drink. I pay for drinks. Seriously- he asks me out but has no cash. This guy is such a keeper!
So, very very drunk we go back to his to drink more... he puts on football (WTF?) We drink, we talk (he tells me the same travel stories he told at the Festival Launch, so after say 5 hours of conversation all up he's already recycling stories which weren't that interesting to begin with... I'm beginning to understand why the football is on) and so to stop the conversation we get down to business. It is exceptionally bad. So bad that I fake it to end it and then find my underwear and hop in cab to leave. Seriously. I needed to flee the scene of the crime. Bad in oh so many ways. And he gives me a HICKEY! Mentallist.
I send an email the next day to tell him I have a hickey and that that's NOT cool. Seriously I have to sit in a 2 hour meeting with my CEO the next day thinking "I have a hickey, I have a hickey" and it's been temperatures of mid 30s with 90 per cent humidity in Sydney recently, so not exactly weather for a polo neck.
He calls Monday, asks what I'm up to. I say farewell from job - so evening will be spent getting legless in a series of dirty boozers. He asks if it would be weird if he came along.
Inrternal monologue : Yes, you social 'tard it would. Don't you have your own friends?
I, because I am a nice person, say "no, come along" and tell him name of bar. I don't for a minute think he will as, you know, for fark's sake. Get your own friends.
He actually turns up. So, I'm with say 10 of my mates/former staff-we've been drinking shots since half 4. Random Boy comes into the bar and sits down. I introduce him and then go to play pool. So I leave him with my mates to make small talk, and can hear him saying things like "I'm hearing you" to my mates. Everything about this situation is horrifying. I seriously consider "going to the bathroom" and not coming back but it's my farewell. Why should I leave?
He comes with us from first pub to next and at some stage I guess he realises it's awkward. So he goes home. I stay on drinking (naturally.)
When he leaves the conversation degenerates into whether or not it was just bad the first time or bad per se. Given I was there I have money on the latter. But my mates all say he deserves another go. So when he sends a text in the morning (waking me from my hangover large enough to have its own postcode) I say I'll check my diary to find out when I'm free for another date.
So, we arrange date for later in the week. I go back to bed to lament the fact that the throbbing in my head appears to have taken on a sycopated rhythm similar to a De La Soul song.
A mate, indeed my best mate, rings me about 2pm and asks me Random Boy's last name and where he works. I tell her. Random Boy has seen her photo in the paper (it mentions where she works) and has COLD CALLED her for a date.
So, completely randomly, has hit on my best mate, after lining up a date with me.
This is the email conversation that followed:
Hey [Random Boy]
Can't wait for Tuesday, really looking forward to it. I'm hoping that I too get to watch the 1992 West Coast Eagles grand final, because both X and Y have told me that's your foreplay thing. Football doesn't really do it for me, though the eye candy on screen would make up for the lack of talent in the room.
Although, I may have to cut and run after dinner as my new year's resolution is "life's too short for bad s*x" and... well... the way I hear it from X you lack attention to detail, oh and rhythm, and skill, well let's just say everything. Actually the way I hear it from X she faked it to end it and then jumped in a cab as soon as she could.
Her actual description of the night was something along the lines of boring, none too bright, into NLP, bad in bed and lives in weird motel.
Sydney's a small town you twit. And we're all journalists. You do the math.
Don't come and play with the big kids till you're all grown up, till then have fun fcking your hand.
There are (say) 1 million single women in Sydney. What are the odds? Oh right - white noise. Odds on money, right?
While at the time this was odd, I have grown to accept that this is just part of my life. Indeed if I don't get into a conversation with a complete stranger wearing foil on his head each day it begins to unsettle me.
So, I'm back in Sydney now as I've probably previously mentioned and my white noise reader has been unseasonably calm for a few months.
However this story should make up for my recent lull. Names and identities have been removed to protect the innocent, but the rest of the details are 100 per cent true.
So, two weekends ago I'm at the Sydney Festival Launch with a group of about 8 girlfriends. Random Boy comes over and asks if he can sit down. He's in a foot cast - having just had surgery on his foot - and so we take pity on him and let him sit with us. At the end of the gig we were watching, the group scatters, half go to another gig, some leave and Random Boy wants to kick on. So me and another mate walk up town to go drinking with him. Several hours and one disturbing conversation with the bar man who was into snuff rapping later and we're all legless. The bar shuts, so that would make it somewhere about 3am by my reckoning and I can't get a cab down town due to Sydney only having 3 cabs running at 3am. Random Boy asks us both back to his place to drink more... we're walking down town to his place, I see a cab, jump in it and so leave my mate with Random Boy.
Next morning, hung over like a dog and dreaming of fried chicken, I ring her panicking that I have so not been the cool friend and have left her with possible psycho who may have glad wrapped her in her sleep... she replies about 4pm. They actually watched football (she cares about sport less than I do!), fell asleep and then she went home in the morning. Seriously, the guy is such a social tool he passes on my mate.
Monday morning, I get a text from him asking me what I'm up to. So, he's taken my mate back to his, watched football with her and then called me! I (because I have friends) say "fully booked until Thursday". And figure that's the end of it.
He calls Thursday. I have no plans, we meet for drink. I pay for drinks. Seriously- he asks me out but has no cash. This guy is such a keeper!
So, very very drunk we go back to his to drink more... he puts on football (WTF?) We drink, we talk (he tells me the same travel stories he told at the Festival Launch, so after say 5 hours of conversation all up he's already recycling stories which weren't that interesting to begin with... I'm beginning to understand why the football is on) and so to stop the conversation we get down to business. It is exceptionally bad. So bad that I fake it to end it and then find my underwear and hop in cab to leave. Seriously. I needed to flee the scene of the crime. Bad in oh so many ways. And he gives me a HICKEY! Mentallist.
I send an email the next day to tell him I have a hickey and that that's NOT cool. Seriously I have to sit in a 2 hour meeting with my CEO the next day thinking "I have a hickey, I have a hickey" and it's been temperatures of mid 30s with 90 per cent humidity in Sydney recently, so not exactly weather for a polo neck.
He calls Monday, asks what I'm up to. I say farewell from job - so evening will be spent getting legless in a series of dirty boozers. He asks if it would be weird if he came along.
Inrternal monologue : Yes, you social 'tard it would. Don't you have your own friends?
I, because I am a nice person, say "no, come along" and tell him name of bar. I don't for a minute think he will as, you know, for fark's sake. Get your own friends.
He actually turns up. So, I'm with say 10 of my mates/former staff-we've been drinking shots since half 4. Random Boy comes into the bar and sits down. I introduce him and then go to play pool. So I leave him with my mates to make small talk, and can hear him saying things like "I'm hearing you" to my mates. Everything about this situation is horrifying. I seriously consider "going to the bathroom" and not coming back but it's my farewell. Why should I leave?
He comes with us from first pub to next and at some stage I guess he realises it's awkward. So he goes home. I stay on drinking (naturally.)
When he leaves the conversation degenerates into whether or not it was just bad the first time or bad per se. Given I was there I have money on the latter. But my mates all say he deserves another go. So when he sends a text in the morning (waking me from my hangover large enough to have its own postcode) I say I'll check my diary to find out when I'm free for another date.
So, we arrange date for later in the week. I go back to bed to lament the fact that the throbbing in my head appears to have taken on a sycopated rhythm similar to a De La Soul song.
A mate, indeed my best mate, rings me about 2pm and asks me Random Boy's last name and where he works. I tell her. Random Boy has seen her photo in the paper (it mentions where she works) and has COLD CALLED her for a date.
So, completely randomly, has hit on my best mate, after lining up a date with me.
This is the email conversation that followed:
Hey [Random Boy]
Can't wait for Tuesday, really looking forward to it. I'm hoping that I too get to watch the 1992 West Coast Eagles grand final, because both X and Y have told me that's your foreplay thing. Football doesn't really do it for me, though the eye candy on screen would make up for the lack of talent in the room.
Although, I may have to cut and run after dinner as my new year's resolution is "life's too short for bad s*x" and... well... the way I hear it from X you lack attention to detail, oh and rhythm, and skill, well let's just say everything. Actually the way I hear it from X she faked it to end it and then jumped in a cab as soon as she could.
Her actual description of the night was something along the lines of boring, none too bright, into NLP, bad in bed and lives in weird motel.
Sydney's a small town you twit. And we're all journalists. You do the math.
Don't come and play with the big kids till you're all grown up, till then have fun fcking your hand.
There are (say) 1 million single women in Sydney. What are the odds? Oh right - white noise. Odds on money, right?
Including a period of temping in London for 12 months, I've worked for 3 organisations in the last ten years. Why, do you want to see my CV?
Great to hear my page is still up, but not sure why.
SW
Yellow Brick Road
Also, did you write the earlier comment re: TOGBSO? Because I can't verify that - it's horrendously wrong.
Yellow Brick Road
Awkward, no?!
Beers soon, yeah?