There are certain rules that one always must abide by in life. "Don't eat yellow snow" is one. "Never kick a sleeping bull in the testicles" is another. Possibly a third rule is "Never go to your ex-girlfriend's Birthday Party, no matter how many times you get invited". I was going to follow this rule myself, but then I realised that she still had my tent and I needed that sucka back to make a fort in the garden where I can smoke opium and listen to The Doors (no, not really, and it's better to just not imagine why she has my tent). Upon arrival at the house, all cranked up on acid and weed (read: blue porridge and apple juice), I found out that she hadn't bothered to get the tent out of the shed, and my primary mission for the evening had already been failed. I probably should have just cut my losses then and gone home to play three and a half solid hours of Resident Evil 4, but did I? Did I HECK. I'm made of sturdier stuff than that. No, instead, I wandered around, digging myself into a massive and seemingly bottomless hole with pretty much every female at the party.
The problem with girls at Tiffin School is that they have no sense of humour. I mean none. Well, I guess they probably laugh at jokes about Justin Timberlake or butterflies or pink things or something funny that happened to them at school at some point when I wasn't there or ponies or whatever the hell it is that humourically-retarded females laugh about during their slumber parties, but for some reason, they don't understand the simple concepts of irony. Or hyperbole.
EG: if I say "OH MY GOD, YOU'VE GOTTEN FAT, YOU UNHOLY WHORE OF BABYLON" to Steph (who does not go to Tiffin), she knows that I am being purposefully and playfully over-the-top in an attempt to teasingly play with gender stereotypes and the respective roles of males and females, with particular respect to taboo language and obesity in this increasingly PC culture. She doesn't take it as a literal comment, gasp, run off and tell all her friends, and then glower at me from the corner for the rest of the evening. This is because Steve is not stupid (just fat and ugly), and she has a sense of humour. Every other female at the party failed this very basic sense-of-humour test, which meant that after about twenty minutes, most of them wanted my dead. Well, I'm sorry if my sense of humour is too complicated for you, ladies, but you take everything far too fecken seriously. This meant that everything kind of exploded when Nat entered the scene.
As you all know, Nat is the guy who tried to steal my ex-girlfriend with a combination of MSN seduction and prolonged whingeing. For those of you who haven't met him, just imagine a scrawny 5ft2 jelly-baby, wearing a pink designer shirt, stupid gloves, an assortment of delightful bangles, £120 jeans specially aged by French monks, with an obsessively petulant whining streak a mile long, and probably a tear-stained teddybear called Mr Kiddlykissums whom he dresses up in an assortment of cute little sailor costumes in the middle of the night when the rest of his Halo Club have gone to bed. He's in love with my ex, and has the singular ability to NOT TAKE A HINT.
Anyway, about an hour after I arrived, he waltzed in like an infinitely less hard emo version of Dale Winton, to take on Paul, the second participant in tonight's comedy of errors.
How can I describe Paul? It's hard. Well, does anybody remember that episode of Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers when there was that really cool Power Ranger with the beamsword? The one with the healthy disrespect for females and the rules in general? The awesome tall Power Ranger with the amazing monster-slicing movez and the cool costume. Remember him?
Yeah, well, Paul is nothing like him.
Paul is an officious little prick whose level of over-niceness to girls is seen as sweetness and thoughfulness by the girl in question, and disturbing and annoying sucking-up by everyone else. He emotes. He is also roughly two feet tall. He wears pink jumpers, and in his spare time he enjoys writing wanky essays about basketball for the School Newspaper, baking cookies for his latest obsession, or wearing a leash and being walked around Norbiton. He's become best friends with Lucia, my ex, for reasons unbeknownst to everyone, and has apparently taken it as his solemn duty to keep her away from anybody who might be dangerous (people carrying sharp objects, those who talk slightly too loudly, anybody who isn't part of her cabal of female friends, and me).
I'm not sure why Nat and Paul decided to have a fight. Paul probably borrowed Nat's lipstick and didn't give it back, or something. Whatever.
Now you've met the two combatants, you can see why I found it so hilarious. It was literally the least manly fight EVER. It was like a battle between a pansy and a daisy to decide who gets to be the prettiest flower in the hanging basket. But everyone was dancing about sqealing as though fecken Martin Luthor-King himself had risen from the grave, fully roboticized with a wicked-awesome mecha suit (complete with missiles, a submachine gun, and some incendary grenades) , with the intention of defeating a fifty foot tall flame breathing skeletal dinosaur-king, Barray-Murteene, who was marauding through Norbiton, kidnapping damsels, stepping on cats, and raping teenagers.
Luckily, though, this powderkeg of explosive fighting power was defused without anybody being seriously hurt (But, seriously, the way that Paul was hiding behind two girls and hopping nervously from foot to foot... I swear, if he hadn't been held back he would have ripped poor Nat clean in two with his teeth). But it was a close thing. I helped to calm the situation by running around excitedly and cackling every time I saw Rocky (aka Nat), standing, fists (or as they are otherwise known, "The Duel Diplomats of Agony") clenched, smouldering in sexy rebellious energy.
After the situation was averted, Lucia failed to tell Gnat to fuck off, and was instead tried to talk him into calming down. This was a mistake, and pretty soon Nat was holding her hands and crying like a fecken woman. This in turn made her burst into to tears, which made me metaphorically stab myself in the left temple with a hypothetical pen-knife. While Nat was traumatising my ex-girlfriend with his own special brand of moronic whiny bullshit, Paul did the proper thing by running to hide in the house.
Then the SWAT Police arrived in a riot van, no doubt reasoning that the awesome battle of NatPaul had wasted half the neighbourhood and left hundreds dead. They looked pretty disappointed that the epic fight had been averted, and told everybody to stop hanging about outside. We were making the neighbourhood look scruffy. Well I wasn't, but there were a lot of ugly people at that party who would have made the monkey enclosure at London Zoo look scruffy, and it was a good idea to lock them inside the house, and possibly set fire to it.
This was the point that I made my primary mistake of the evening. Having been told by Lucia's totally thin and attractive sister to make everyone go back inside, I wandered about yelling at people until I came to the two high Witch-Queens of Lucia's Coven (her best friends, who are called Susan and Bez or Bex or Frank or some fucking stupid name like that). All of Lucia's friends hate me with a passion. I don't know why. I guess it's because I don't wear pink sweaters. The conversation went like so:
Me: Yeah, you have to go inside.
Bez or whatever the fuck her name is, I don't care: Why? I live here.
*She gestures to the house next door, which is where she apparently lives.*
My internal monologue: For fuck's sake. What I wouldn't give for a sledgehammer right now.
Me: Yeah, you live THERE. But this is MY TERRITORY, beeyatch. You gotta go inside. Whatserface, you know, uh, fat girl, sister... you know, her... she says go inside cuz of the police.
Bexyzzesxz: OMG YOU CALLED HER SISTER FAT!!!1111 !OMGFOMGOMGOM!111!!ONE!11! She's not FAT omg omg omg.
Me: Yeah whatever. Just go inside.
I can only imagine this female's internal monologue, but I guess that it went something like this: OMG HE CALLED HER FAT OMG WHAT A BASTARD! I'll GO AND TELL HER THAT HE SAID THAT! LOL!! Because that's what this situation needs... more stress!1!! I'm so smart! GO FEMALE LOGIC!
So, like, forty five minutes later, after I'd:
a: Hidden in the bathroom with some of the only sane people in the party to bitch about everybody else and to compare Lucia's sister to various large sea mammals in the Thames,
b: Tried to see if Lucia had stopped crying yet, but been repelled back by the combined hate-vibes of Lucia's bodyguard friends and Paul, self-elected King of the Lucia Fan Club. But I guess I can't complain. After all, he did go out with her for four months, having known her for an extra six first, whereas I'm just some creepy little guy who invited himself into the social group and attached myself to her like a limpet after meeting her three months ago and thus I have literally no right to say hello (Oh, the uncompromising levels of irony in that sentence would cause even the most steel coated superhero to implode!!)
c: Slowly fallen into a deep spiritual depression,
... I was sitting on the stairs with Cassie [Cassie is a sensible female, who looks like a short fat version of Joanna Dark], when Lucia's fat sister game barrelling down the stairs, in the kind of fury usually only seen in Greek Myths and The Shining.
Her: WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?
Me: Sup.
Her: YOU CALLED ME FAT! YOU'RE FUCKING FAT! YOU'RE FATTER THAN ME!!
My internal monologue: Perhaps I should take off my shirt and show her my six pack to highlight the fact that she is, in fact, far more obsese than I am. I mean, I'd have to recline back on the stairs to get the best lighting conditions but... Uh, maybe not. I had better say something diplomatic.
Me: *Stifled giggle*
*At this point she grabbed me and tried to throw me down the stairs. And, you know, she's a big girl, she probably would have been able to. And then, if she'd tripped and fallen, I could have been crushed, killed, even. Luckily, her hands were slippery, no doubt from the huge jar of extra-fatty bacon fat she'd probably been eating before our big confrontation, and I managed to wiggle free.*
Her: GET OUT. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU WITH A HATRED THAT BURNS INTO THE DEPTH OF MY ETERNAL FUCKING SOUL!
My Internal Monologue: Boy, she's really annoyed at me. Better not piss her off any more.
Me: *singing in a high soprano voice* You touch my sooooooooooooooul, baby!!! OH YEAH! Sing it to me!
At this point, she probably would have ripped off my face and eaten it (I guess she was still probably hungry), had Paul not entered the scene.
Paul: Right, everyone, go home. The police have been called again. So piss off. Especially you, Tom, I hate you.
Me: Can I PLEASE go and see if Lucia is alright, you officious little twerp?
Paul: No. Fuck off. I know what's best for her, and only I declare who may go and see her, and I do not count you as being worthy. Fuck off.
My memory of the conversation gets a bit hazy after I started singing to Lucia's sister, but I'm pretty sure that that's exactly what happened. Then everyone left the party, which was generally considered by all to be a roaring success by all the neighbours, seeing at it ended at like 1030 without anything being burnt down. It wasn't really considered a success by anybody else, least of all by Lucia's Sister, who has suffered the ultimate penalty: she can no longer count me as one of her close friends. I feel sorry for her, I really do.
The funniest thing about this entire situation is that her sister isn't even that fat. She's just a healthy size. However, as soon as she took that much offense to an untrue comment said in passing to someone else, I've decided to make it my life's mission to promote the "Lucia's sister is fat" message to the world. Because I'm obnoxious like that. But, if I'm going to be serious here, I don't see why she was so upset. It's not like I said it to her face. It's not like I said it as an insult. It's not even as though I meant it. And hey, at least I didn't make a picture and stick it on the internet, where it could be viewed by thousands of people, did I?
Whoops.
I do realise that, by writing this post, I have forever lost any invitation back to that house that I ever had, and I also will probably never see my tent again. God damnit, that's the last time I give a handy portable living space to a girlfriend.
(clam)
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