The "alone" part in my entry title is for two reasons: First, Kat left yesterday and is now in Europe at a conference, and Em left last week to visit Kat's parents, so I'm all alone in the old Marsh House. *sniffle!* Second is the meat of this blog entry. Please read on, and forgive the lack of photos; Kat took it to take pics in Europe.
I've talked a few times about going birding with Roana and Nan from the State College birding club, and how phenomenal they are at birding by ear -- listening, hearing, and identifying all sorts of birds just by their songs and/or calls. Tonight, on my way home, I decided to take the scenic route home and go through some of the routes in one of Roana's atlas blocks. As it was about 8pm and getting dark fast, I had to use my ears instead of my eyes most of the time. Here's what I was able to hear; I couldn't always ID it, but these are my best-effort transcriptions of what I heard:
1. preet preet peer peer reet-reet-reet-reet-reet-reet That last "reet-reet" part is a long, slow trilling, almost like a swamp sparrow does. The call was always the same, always these three distinct sounds, in this complete pattern, uttered fairly quickly but certainly slowly enough for me to hear note. At the time, I was next to a grassy area but could see no birds. I was in open and fairly flat valley grasslands and farmland.
2. dut-tweedully-tweedully-tzee-tzay That first part isn't shown very well, but it was a fast twittering with a sequence of a hard first note, then two quick triplets, then the see-say of the Savannah sparrow. Here again, I was still in the open grassland/farmland area. The only reason I even recognized this one is that Hillel at work called me the other day and asked me to come outside to the parking lot to hear one of these, but when I got out there, the bird had gone already. But that's how I recognized the call: his rendering of the twittering and then the see-say. A lot of the texts say that first part is more like zut-zut-zut, but my guy sounded like what I have written here. Who knows why.
3. witchety-witchety-witchety-witch This one, I know well: common yellowthroat. By now, I'd started going into the woodsier areas, where there were some fields and some large woodlots dividing them. I've yet to actually see a yellowthroat, but I think there's one nesting either in the yew tree outside my bedroom window or in Neighbor Ed's huge maple tree. He sounds like he's in the yew, though; he's LOUD. I want to see him, though; I think these birds are beautiful.
3. teakettle-teakettle-teakettle Now I was next to a densely wooded area, and for once I heard this song and the witchety song, one near the other. There was a distinct difference in the two songs, and I'm pretty sure this one was the Carolina wren's teakettle song. Either that or this yellowthroat was British and uppity.
4. pee-oh-wee An easy one: Eastern wood pewee. I like this song; it echoed out of the dense woods.
5. the crazy twittering and tweaking and mewing of a catbird; I had help on this one: he landed in the tree right next to the road at eye level, just next to a wheat field. Love that dashing little black cap! Of course, let's not forget I once had a close encounter with one of these guys, so I'm still a little shy around them.
I did actually see (but didn't hear) two birds I couldn't ID. The first was sparrow-like, flying away from me into a cornfield, and his tail was medium-length, broadly spread, and was brown with black edges. Anyone care to venture a guess on this one? It's a pretty meager clue to work with, but it's all I got. The second one looked like the ugliest robin I'd ever seen; no red on the chest, just splotchy brown and gray, two wing bars on dusky gray wings, gray back; otherwise, his body and shape seemed like those of a robin. Perhaps it was a slow-developing immature of some sort? I don't know, but I felt bad for this bird; if it's a male, he'd better forget about getting any action this year!
The rest of the birds I saw were pretty easy to ID: a lot of tree and barn swallows, some red-winged blackbirds, mourning doves, robins, grackles, etc. I was hoping to see an Eastern meadowlark but had no luck with that.
All in all, it was a very enjoyable 45 minutes spent birding by ear, alone.
OH--P.S. While googling things like "see-say" to make sure I remembered "Savannah sparrow" correctly, or "teakettle teakettle" is a Carolina sparrow, I found two great things:
1. A hilarious google response to witchety-witchety:
I'm throwing out all your shit, and changing the locks! Scrubbly grubbly scribbly wiggly witchety man! Witchety witchety man! ... www.outpostnine.com/forum/archive/index.php/t-5723.html - 6k - Supplemental Result -
I still haven't followed that link yet. I think it's perfect exactly the way it is, without finding out the rest of whatever this person said to this "scrubbly grubbly wiggly witchety man!"
and
2. a fantastic list of common mnemonics for bird songs! http://www.stanford.edu/~kendric/birds/birdsong.html Check it out!
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Katya Kalling
"So," said the mysterious stranger. "I'm South African. I'm 5ft7. I work out three times a week. And I have an HUGE nine inch long cock."
There was a few seconds of placid silence as he let this information sink in. I was stunned. I tried to think of something to say back. Only one thought sprung to mind.
"I'm actually taller than you."
There was another few moments of silence, punctuated only by the slow drip-drip-drip of rain against the window. A young boy cycled along the road outside. He was wearing a hat.
The hat was blue.
"Cool," said the mysterious stranger. "Want to have sex?"
* * *
Well, that is exciting. There's a cliffhanger for you. Another exciting example of the zany situations I get myself into. And I bet, having read that, you are now full of questions. What was I doing talking to a mysterious but well-endowed South African stranger? Why did he want to have sex with me? Did I consent? How did I get myself out of THAT situation? I am not going to tell you! Yet. You will just have to wait and see. But bear in mind - there is a twist in the tale. Let's see if you can figure it out. But I warn you - it's pretty cryptic. SOLVE MY RIDDLE.
I have spent some time this week on internet chatrooms, pretending to be a girl (oh, shit). Now you may think that this is a pretty sad thing to be doing with my time, but if you bear in mind that the other option was revising critical approaches to gothic literature (everything reflects contemporary anxieties, I get it already Kelly Hurley) I think that you will agree that the whole transgender thing was a much better way to pass the time. In fact, while you were all revising your surds and relative fractions, I was having the time of my life on teenflirt, so actually I'm pretty sure that that makes ME the cool one here. ALSO don't think that I was doing this off my own back; like I got up one day and thought "I know I will go onto an internet chatroom and pretend to be a girl,". Oh no, I was actually double teaming with my newbestfriend Emily. THAT'S RIGHT, A REAL GIRL.
I think I should briefly mention Emily for a bit as a large part of this story relies on understanding Emily's mentality. Which I don't. Of course, I don't really understand any girls at all, but I really REALLY don't get Emily. She is a mental person. She has piercings on her face and a pet hedgehog and she sends people mysterious letters with slogans like 'Today is the first day of the rest of your life' written in blood. I like her because she is interesting. Every single one of her stories or anecdotes end with some sort of weird twist, like 'Then he went off with my lesbian friend' or 'Then I got molested' or 'Time to purge!'. So it was no suprise really that when I started talking to her on msn her first words were along the lines of 'HEY TOM I AM BAITING PERVERTS ON THE INTERNET'. Of course, my ears pricked up at the words 'perverts', 'internet' and 'Tom'. We all know of my interest in internet perverts - after the Perverted Justice excitement of last year and the paedophile post way back in 2005 I have pretty much made my bed visavis the paedophile/pervert issue.
So after about a ten second consideration, I quickly loaded up the 'teenflirt' chatroom and set about getting myself some virtual cock. While it was loading on the computer Emily set out the groundrules. I should give myself a kind of slutty name - I wanted to go with Mildred but that was turned down so I settled with Katya, after everyone's favourite spoon-faced Neighbours character. Secondly, I should tell everyone that I was a virgin as apparently this turns on men. Thirdly, when somebody says 'asl' to me, I should not say '18, male, London' as apparently this blows the whole thing wide open and spoils the fun.
So with no further ado I entered the chatroom. It was jolly exciting, there were lots of bright colours and flashing lights. In the main forum bit, a chatter called like, 'Lady Japan' or something was talking about kimono dresses. I was like wtf is this WHERE ARE ALL THE PERVERTS THAT EMILY PROMISED ME. But then I realised that the kimono conversation was sandwiched in between about eighteen thousand pleas for cybersex. So it was like:
Lady Japan: I like kimono rags
Bob: ANY 15YO GIRLS WANNA CHAT
big_meaty_gregory: yo girls any 18yo girls wanna do some chattin
Lady Japan: But it's really hard to tie the knots on the back of them
IRVING: any hairy girls into pee and poo please talk
blackman: who wants to go on msn i have a webcam
Lady Japan: I like things
It went on like that. So I typed 'lol my names Katya' into the box. Did you see my clever use of 'lol' to blend in? Usually I would not write 'lol' ever as I consider 'lol' to be pretty much the most retarded acronym on the face of the planet. I HAVE SERIOUS RESERVATIONS AS TO WHETHER OR NOT YOU ARE ACTUALLY LAUGHING OUT LOUD you fucken dipshits. However in this context I figured, what the hell, might as well go mad and say lol and elide the possessive apostrophe in 'names'. I tell you I was like a man possessed, it was fucking scary how non-standard my grammatical formations were.
About three quarters of a second later, about four requests for private chats popped up. I was like woo I have never BEEN so popular. I decided to only answer three of them as I felt like turning somebody down for no reason just to slightly make him question his own sense of superiority. Plus, Katya is no slag who talks with four men at once. She is a LADY. An internet lady.
The three guys I had conversations with were vinnie_bruklyns_most_wanted, sexy_guy_hot4u and jamesuk. I chose vinnie_bruklyns_most_wanted because - seriously - how often do you get to chat to the most wanted guy in Brooklyn on the teenchat message boards? Hardly EVER and I wasn't going to let that opportunity just pass me by. I went with sexy_guy_hot4u because I figured that his name, rather like Polonius's "comedy pastoral religious" comment in 'Hamlet' was a satiric poke at the naming traditions of contemporary theatre genres, was like an ironic pastiche, a satire - if you will - on the common naming traditions of internet chatrooms. Turns out it wasn't. Finally, I decided to chat with jamesuk because I liked the cut of his gib. His name was James. And he comes from the UK. Simple, effective, gets the job done. I approved.
Well about ten seconds in I realised that these chaps were not interested in making small talk. I mean, I TRIED, I TRIED to engage them in conversation. I talked to jamesuk about Hamlet - asked him if he thought that the wordless submission of Ophelia and - to an extent - Gertrude was indicitive of the lack of sexual equality in Elizibethan England. His response? "lol i dunno much about that i know a lot about sex tho". I don't see why he was lolling, Ophelia is no laughing matter. Seriously. She's like the least amusing Shakespearean character of all time. I'd rather spend time with CANNIBAL than Ophelia, and Cannibal is like some little pig monster dude. At least he dances and beats up those drunk guys. But I'm digressing; the beautiful soliloquies of Shakespeare are tangential to the point in hand.
sexy_guy_hot4u told me about his penis in his second message. We then had the conversation that you read at the beginning of this post. Do you like the subtle way that I like, depth charged him in my response? He expected me to be really impressed that he did did all this working out and stuff but I managed to beat all that with the whole 'I'm taller than you' thing. I bet it really bugs him that he isn't quite 6 ft fall. No matter how much weight he pumps or how big his penis is, he's just a little short guy.
Although, talking of penises, it appears that nine inches isn't actually that impressive. If I was to believe what I was being told, in the three conversations I was dealing with a whole twenty seven inches of penal matter. Seems that nine inches is the new standard. Things have certainly changed since my day and I have to tell you, it did kind of make me feel a little ashamed of my paltry two and half. But then I realised - they all believed me when I said I had 16DD boobs ("What are they like?" "Well, my dad likes them")... maybe, just maybe... THEY WEREN'T TELLING THE TRUTH.
LIARS? ON THE INTERNET? I DON'T BELIEVE IT.
So maybe vinnie_bruklyns_most_wanted wasn't actually the most wanted man in Brooklyn. I mean I kept asking him what his crimes were and he was just like 'not tellin u lol u sound like da police'. And maybe sexy_guy_hot4u didn't really like eating cats (well, that's what I thought he said). Once this horrible realisation crushed down upon me - that the people I was talking to weren't nubile young bodybuilders - to be honest I couldn't get into the cybersex. I mean, they tried. sexy_guy_hot4u informed me that his 'cock was wet'. vinnie_bruklyns_most_wanted told me all about his huge balls. And as for jamesuk, the things he wanted to do to me *blushes and fans self*.
But really, I just couldn't get into it because I kept imagining that they were a bunch of bespectacled thirteen year old virgins with braces and really skinny chests who wanted to be strong so they borrowed their father's weights set and did bench presses with 7.5kg on each side and then drank that bodybuilder protein mix and then flexed in front of the mirror for about twenty minutes every day before squeezing their spots and wiping the pus on the shaving mirror and then going to their rooms to download jerky jpgs of Gwen Stephani and cruise teenchat for pussy before going totally mental and playing three or four hours of Halo online under the username of 'darth sauron' and then getting really mad when their mums come in and tell them to go outside and then they go outside really moodily and they kick over a flowerpot then their mums shout at them so they go to their rooms and check eBay to see if they're still top bidder of that signed picture of Courtney Love and then going back on teenchat in the vain hope that somebody will agree to have phone sex but nobody's on so its back to the Gwen Stephani jpg search before going to bed at 9.30 because they have nothing else to fill their lives.
It's not as sexy when you think of it like that. But some of them are SO CONVINCING; like, I asked jamesuk if he had ever kissed a girl and he was like 'Yeah loads lol' so I asked him what the hell he was doing on teenchat at 340 in the afternoon and he was just like 'i'm bored of the girls i Know so i wanna meet nu ones'. That's pretty convincing and I found myself getting sucked back into the web of lies, so I made a picture which I have pinned to my wall to remind me NEVER TO TRUST PEOPLE I MEET ON THE INTERNET. I think that it sums up the issue pretty well:
Anyway. After a bit I got bored of them trying to persuade me to a: talk about my boobs, b: give them my phone number or c: stop talking about Chaucer's use of extended irony, so I told all of them that I was eight and closed the private chat windows. Back in the main room, Lady Japan was still talking about kimodos to herself. Emily - or shall I call her by her chatroom name, Kirsten - was also there, so we decided to pretend to be lesbians and talk about our boobs IN THE MAIN ROOM. I got kicked out literally five seconds later for saying 'My right boob has swelled up to about eight times its usual size, you really shouldn't have injected it with all that bacon grease' (it made sense). Apparently such behaviour isn't tolerated in the teenchat main forum. I GOT KICKED OUT OF TEENCHAT FOR BEING TOO SEXUALLY EXPLICIT.
That's how rock and roll I am, man.
I should have gone back in and talked to that pee and poo guy. I bet he'd have some interesting tales to tell.
There was a few seconds of placid silence as he let this information sink in. I was stunned. I tried to think of something to say back. Only one thought sprung to mind.
"I'm actually taller than you."
There was another few moments of silence, punctuated only by the slow drip-drip-drip of rain against the window. A young boy cycled along the road outside. He was wearing a hat.
The hat was blue.
"Cool," said the mysterious stranger. "Want to have sex?"
* * *
Well, that is exciting. There's a cliffhanger for you. Another exciting example of the zany situations I get myself into. And I bet, having read that, you are now full of questions. What was I doing talking to a mysterious but well-endowed South African stranger? Why did he want to have sex with me? Did I consent? How did I get myself out of THAT situation? I am not going to tell you! Yet. You will just have to wait and see. But bear in mind - there is a twist in the tale. Let's see if you can figure it out. But I warn you - it's pretty cryptic. SOLVE MY RIDDLE.
I have spent some time this week on internet chatrooms, pretending to be a girl (oh, shit). Now you may think that this is a pretty sad thing to be doing with my time, but if you bear in mind that the other option was revising critical approaches to gothic literature (everything reflects contemporary anxieties, I get it already Kelly Hurley) I think that you will agree that the whole transgender thing was a much better way to pass the time. In fact, while you were all revising your surds and relative fractions, I was having the time of my life on teenflirt, so actually I'm pretty sure that that makes ME the cool one here. ALSO don't think that I was doing this off my own back; like I got up one day and thought "I know I will go onto an internet chatroom and pretend to be a girl,". Oh no, I was actually double teaming with my newbestfriend Emily. THAT'S RIGHT, A REAL GIRL.
I think I should briefly mention Emily for a bit as a large part of this story relies on understanding Emily's mentality. Which I don't. Of course, I don't really understand any girls at all, but I really REALLY don't get Emily. She is a mental person. She has piercings on her face and a pet hedgehog and she sends people mysterious letters with slogans like 'Today is the first day of the rest of your life' written in blood. I like her because she is interesting. Every single one of her stories or anecdotes end with some sort of weird twist, like 'Then he went off with my lesbian friend' or 'Then I got molested' or 'Time to purge!'. So it was no suprise really that when I started talking to her on msn her first words were along the lines of 'HEY TOM I AM BAITING PERVERTS ON THE INTERNET'. Of course, my ears pricked up at the words 'perverts', 'internet' and 'Tom'. We all know of my interest in internet perverts - after the Perverted Justice excitement of last year and the paedophile post way back in 2005 I have pretty much made my bed visavis the paedophile/pervert issue.
So after about a ten second consideration, I quickly loaded up the 'teenflirt' chatroom and set about getting myself some virtual cock. While it was loading on the computer Emily set out the groundrules. I should give myself a kind of slutty name - I wanted to go with Mildred but that was turned down so I settled with Katya, after everyone's favourite spoon-faced Neighbours character. Secondly, I should tell everyone that I was a virgin as apparently this turns on men. Thirdly, when somebody says 'asl' to me, I should not say '18, male, London' as apparently this blows the whole thing wide open and spoils the fun.
So with no further ado I entered the chatroom. It was jolly exciting, there were lots of bright colours and flashing lights. In the main forum bit, a chatter called like, 'Lady Japan' or something was talking about kimono dresses. I was like wtf is this WHERE ARE ALL THE PERVERTS THAT EMILY PROMISED ME. But then I realised that the kimono conversation was sandwiched in between about eighteen thousand pleas for cybersex. So it was like:
Lady Japan: I like kimono rags
Bob: ANY 15YO GIRLS WANNA CHAT
big_meaty_gregory: yo girls any 18yo girls wanna do some chattin
Lady Japan: But it's really hard to tie the knots on the back of them
IRVING: any hairy girls into pee and poo please talk
blackman: who wants to go on msn i have a webcam
Lady Japan: I like things
It went on like that. So I typed 'lol my names Katya' into the box. Did you see my clever use of 'lol' to blend in? Usually I would not write 'lol' ever as I consider 'lol' to be pretty much the most retarded acronym on the face of the planet. I HAVE SERIOUS RESERVATIONS AS TO WHETHER OR NOT YOU ARE ACTUALLY LAUGHING OUT LOUD you fucken dipshits. However in this context I figured, what the hell, might as well go mad and say lol and elide the possessive apostrophe in 'names'. I tell you I was like a man possessed, it was fucking scary how non-standard my grammatical formations were.
About three quarters of a second later, about four requests for private chats popped up. I was like woo I have never BEEN so popular. I decided to only answer three of them as I felt like turning somebody down for no reason just to slightly make him question his own sense of superiority. Plus, Katya is no slag who talks with four men at once. She is a LADY. An internet lady.
The three guys I had conversations with were vinnie_bruklyns_most_wanted, sexy_guy_hot4u and jamesuk. I chose vinnie_bruklyns_most_wanted because - seriously - how often do you get to chat to the most wanted guy in Brooklyn on the teenchat message boards? Hardly EVER and I wasn't going to let that opportunity just pass me by. I went with sexy_guy_hot4u because I figured that his name, rather like Polonius's "comedy pastoral religious" comment in 'Hamlet' was a satiric poke at the naming traditions of contemporary theatre genres, was like an ironic pastiche, a satire - if you will - on the common naming traditions of internet chatrooms. Turns out it wasn't. Finally, I decided to chat with jamesuk because I liked the cut of his gib. His name was James. And he comes from the UK. Simple, effective, gets the job done. I approved.
Well about ten seconds in I realised that these chaps were not interested in making small talk. I mean, I TRIED, I TRIED to engage them in conversation. I talked to jamesuk about Hamlet - asked him if he thought that the wordless submission of Ophelia and - to an extent - Gertrude was indicitive of the lack of sexual equality in Elizibethan England. His response? "lol i dunno much about that i know a lot about sex tho". I don't see why he was lolling, Ophelia is no laughing matter. Seriously. She's like the least amusing Shakespearean character of all time. I'd rather spend time with CANNIBAL than Ophelia, and Cannibal is like some little pig monster dude. At least he dances and beats up those drunk guys. But I'm digressing; the beautiful soliloquies of Shakespeare are tangential to the point in hand.
sexy_guy_hot4u told me about his penis in his second message. We then had the conversation that you read at the beginning of this post. Do you like the subtle way that I like, depth charged him in my response? He expected me to be really impressed that he did did all this working out and stuff but I managed to beat all that with the whole 'I'm taller than you' thing. I bet it really bugs him that he isn't quite 6 ft fall. No matter how much weight he pumps or how big his penis is, he's just a little short guy.
Although, talking of penises, it appears that nine inches isn't actually that impressive. If I was to believe what I was being told, in the three conversations I was dealing with a whole twenty seven inches of penal matter. Seems that nine inches is the new standard. Things have certainly changed since my day and I have to tell you, it did kind of make me feel a little ashamed of my paltry two and half. But then I realised - they all believed me when I said I had 16DD boobs ("What are they like?" "Well, my dad likes them")... maybe, just maybe... THEY WEREN'T TELLING THE TRUTH.
LIARS? ON THE INTERNET? I DON'T BELIEVE IT.
So maybe vinnie_bruklyns_most_wanted wasn't actually the most wanted man in Brooklyn. I mean I kept asking him what his crimes were and he was just like 'not tellin u lol u sound like da police'. And maybe sexy_guy_hot4u didn't really like eating cats (well, that's what I thought he said). Once this horrible realisation crushed down upon me - that the people I was talking to weren't nubile young bodybuilders - to be honest I couldn't get into the cybersex. I mean, they tried. sexy_guy_hot4u informed me that his 'cock was wet'. vinnie_bruklyns_most_wanted told me all about his huge balls. And as for jamesuk, the things he wanted to do to me *blushes and fans self*.
But really, I just couldn't get into it because I kept imagining that they were a bunch of bespectacled thirteen year old virgins with braces and really skinny chests who wanted to be strong so they borrowed their father's weights set and did bench presses with 7.5kg on each side and then drank that bodybuilder protein mix and then flexed in front of the mirror for about twenty minutes every day before squeezing their spots and wiping the pus on the shaving mirror and then going to their rooms to download jerky jpgs of Gwen Stephani and cruise teenchat for pussy before going totally mental and playing three or four hours of Halo online under the username of 'darth sauron' and then getting really mad when their mums come in and tell them to go outside and then they go outside really moodily and they kick over a flowerpot then their mums shout at them so they go to their rooms and check eBay to see if they're still top bidder of that signed picture of Courtney Love and then going back on teenchat in the vain hope that somebody will agree to have phone sex but nobody's on so its back to the Gwen Stephani jpg search before going to bed at 9.30 because they have nothing else to fill their lives.
It's not as sexy when you think of it like that. But some of them are SO CONVINCING; like, I asked jamesuk if he had ever kissed a girl and he was like 'Yeah loads lol' so I asked him what the hell he was doing on teenchat at 340 in the afternoon and he was just like 'i'm bored of the girls i Know so i wanna meet nu ones'. That's pretty convincing and I found myself getting sucked back into the web of lies, so I made a picture which I have pinned to my wall to remind me NEVER TO TRUST PEOPLE I MEET ON THE INTERNET. I think that it sums up the issue pretty well:
Anyway. After a bit I got bored of them trying to persuade me to a: talk about my boobs, b: give them my phone number or c: stop talking about Chaucer's use of extended irony, so I told all of them that I was eight and closed the private chat windows. Back in the main room, Lady Japan was still talking about kimodos to herself. Emily - or shall I call her by her chatroom name, Kirsten - was also there, so we decided to pretend to be lesbians and talk about our boobs IN THE MAIN ROOM. I got kicked out literally five seconds later for saying 'My right boob has swelled up to about eight times its usual size, you really shouldn't have injected it with all that bacon grease' (it made sense). Apparently such behaviour isn't tolerated in the teenchat main forum. I GOT KICKED OUT OF TEENCHAT FOR BEING TOO SEXUALLY EXPLICIT.
That's how rock and roll I am, man.
I should have gone back in and talked to that pee and poo guy. I bet he'd have some interesting tales to tell.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Random Girl's Party (15th June 2007)
"So," I said, nervously eyeing the cleavage of the fat girl. "Am I actually legally allowed to be here? There must be some kind of law against this."
????
That's your hook. There you go. There are your unanswered questions. You have NO IDEA where I was, what I was doing looking at a fat girl's cleavage, and/or if it was illegal or not. Am I going to answer those questions now? NO. Not yet. You are now going to have to read the rest of this blog to find out. EXCITEMENT.
* * *
I should really be revising right now. I have an exam tomorrow at 9 and I won't lie, I do not know enough about Metternich. Or Bismarck. Or, indeed, the Schleswig-Holstein Affair or the Hohenzollen Candidature crisis. I should have worked harder today. I shouldn't have played Trauma Centre for about an hour and a half this morning. Those damn tumours refused to just heal. But oh well. I refuse to work any more. I'm done with dat shit innit. This is because I'm pretty sure that all the information is already in my brain and I'll just be able to unpick it somehow. I hope. It is also because, well, I'm such a young ambitious teenage rebel.
I think we all agree that I am pretty damn rebellious. I mean, I consider it to almost be my job to skate on the very edge of what is 'acceptable' and 'expected' of me as a cool young teenager. I mean, some may be happy to settle for mediocracy and average and niceness and vague dragging senses of melancholy, but not me. NOT ME MOTHERFUCKER. See I just used a swear word for no reason other than the fact that I could. Free speech is bloody great, isn't it?
Anyway, what with me being such a rebel and a new-wave supremo master of every teenage subculture, I realised that in the past week I have experienced - pretty much - the whole sex, drugs and rock'n'roll scene in one magnificent whirlwind of emotion and hot firey magic. Let's make a list:
Sex. Well, what more can I say other than I turned on the TV the other day and what did I see? Two people HAVING SEX. It was a documentary about the pornography film 'Deep Throat' and it cut away before any unpleasantness was revealed, but I definitely saw a decent 70-80 per cent side-boob and I reckon if I had freeze-framed, there might have been a brief frame of urethra in shot. And then it cut to a woman speaking and she totally had a good few inches of cleavage on display! It was wicked. Admittedly, most of the people featured in the porn are likely to be dead/wrinkly by now, but it still got me very hot and bothered. So that's sex covered.
Drugs? Well, the other day I had a headache from revising too hard so I took some neurofens. But I didn't take them with water - HELL NO - I dry-swallowed those badass mofos. Then to show how much contempt I had for the 'rules', I didn't even bother to put the little silver tab thing back in the box properly OH NO I JUST THREW THEM INTO THE DRAWER AND LOUCHELY SLAMMED IT WITH A CONTEMPTUOUS FLICK OF THE WRIST. And THEN did I go back and do some more German Nationalism revision? Did I fuck. So crazed was I on my ibruphrophen binge, I fucking went and played Resident Evil 4 for about forty-five minutes, going a whole QUARTER OF AN HOUR past the end of my scheduled break.
And as for rock 'n roll... well, I'm not as rockin' as my wicked-cool friend Steve who is going to see both THE STREETS and MUSE (yes, BOTH OF THEM) and will probably be so overcome by emotion (and cheap ecstacy bought from Scotsmen) that she just STARTS CRYING FOR NO REASON. BUT I'M STILL STRAIGHT UP HARDCORE ROCK AND ROLL INNIT BLUD. I mean, I have that guitar that I bought off eBay for £44 (plus p&p), and I'm totally going to start learning chords when my exams are over. And on Thursday I listened to "Smells Like Team Spirit" on my iPod and I worked out what one of the words in the middle verse bit was (it was 'mulatto').
So that's sex, drugs, and rock n roll covered. I have found those barriers, and I have pushed them. And I have stretched them. And I have broken them. And this naturally brings me to last Friday, when I GATECRASHED A PARTY.
That's right. There was a guestlist. There were bouncers. Was I on that guestlist? No I was not. Did the bouncers - one of them was seriously a hefty motherfucker - know who the hell I was? No they did not. But did I end up in the party? YES I DID.
I'll just give you a few seconds to let that settle in.
And now. I will set the scene.
Basically, I was at a mini gathering at Abby's house. Now the majority of the readers of this blog don't know who Abby and and to be honest it doesn't really matter, she isn't that important in the grand scheme of things. In fact, the only reason I am mentioning her at all is because she recently discovered this blog (come on, where has she BEEN for the past three years? The literary wastelands, I'd say) and was like "TOM CAN YOU MENTION ME PLEASE". And I'm far too nice to turn down the request of a lady. For the same reason, I will also now say that the following people were also there: Kersh (girl), Irving (girl), Snaithy (boy), Stocker (boy), Alex (boy), and my little brother. Yes I was at a gathering with my little brother. And in fact he was invited before I was, as Abby - who is my age - has a fetish for 15 year old boys. SHE SHOULD BE FUCKING LOCKED UP. But anyway, we were all sitting in Abby's garden eating burgers that my little brother had cooked on her barbequeue. Well, I say 'Eating', I mean, 'Not eating' as they were disgusting and some idiot (me) had decided to make them into delicious cheeseburgers by ripping apart a Babybel and seeing if it would melt if placed on the burgers.
Fun fact: it didn't.
We were trying to have a civilised conversation. I was attempting to wow people by playing 'Baby Elephant Walk' on my phone ringtone and doing a comedy dance routine in which all my movements were in synch to the bomp bomp sound effects. But it just wasn't happening. This was because of what was going on next door. Yes. That's right. A PARTY. And not just ANY party. A GARDEN PARTY. With lots of girls in skimpy bikinis! I knew this because Abby had a trampoline and if you jumped on it and launched yourself sideways you got a good second's viewing over the fence and there was definitely a girl in a bikini. I did it about eight times. It was jolly exciting.
The only bad thing about the party was the fact that they were playing music really loudly. And it wasn't like it was good music, it was, like, GWEN STEPHANI and THE KILLERS and the problem was that the guy who was meant to be DJing (aka the owner of the iPod) kept either skipping songs at random, or playing the same one over and over again. After a bit I came to the realisation that 'Pump It' by those Black Eyed Peas is not that great a song and that if I wanted to enjoy the rest of the evening I would have to totally go over there and sort it out. So I pretty much kicked down the fence, beat up all the bouncers and then picked up a passing guitar and played "Leaving on a Jetplane" (It only needs three chords!) for the rest of the evening until everyone shut up. Then I played "Baby Elephant Walk" on my phone really loudly and did my comedy dance routine and everyone applauded me and carried me aloft on their backs chanting my name.
Alright that didn't happen. Basically my little brother and Stocker and Alex decided that the time was ripe to break into the party. So they started fiddling with the fence until it turned out that all the panels were totally loose and thus it was possible to simply SLIDE THEM UP, Star-Trek-Stylee, and casually stroll in. This was an exciting development and after a bit we all kind of rolled in behind a bush, ninja style, and nonchalently wandered through the oblivious crowd of 15 year olds.
Yes that's right, FIFTEEN YEAR OLDS. Turns out it wasn't quite the hip-hoppin' rave that I thought it would be. It was a SIXTEENTH BIRTHDAY PARTY. I was so unimpressed. And also confused - as an eighteen year old, was it legal or illegal for me to sneak a cheeky peek at the huge amounts of boobage on display? I decided to just keep my eyes to myself and press in closer between Kersh and Irving as we moved steadily through the crush, ignoring the cries of 'Who are you?' 'Who the fuck are they?' and 'I'm underage look at my boobs!' (I wasn't falling for THAT old trick, though) that came from all sides. Eventually we reached my brother and co, who were being chatted up by some girl who looked a bit like a broom with a wig. I was like dude wtf is it even legal for me to be here and he was like chillax bro have a beer and I was like omg stfu you n00b I'm driving home innit and he was like whatevs trevs.
A boy wearing a beady necklace walked past, glaring at me. I wanted to glare back but really I was too ashamed of myself. I started to re-evaluate my life. Here I was, an eighteen year old, at a birthday party for somebody I didn't know who wasn't even in the same year as me, watching my inebriated little brother being seduced by some broomwoman and another girl who had too much lip-flesh. 'Man', I though morosely. 'My life sucks. I am totally pathetic. I should be shot. Oh well, at least I'm not dead. Or Will Ferrier.' This thought cheered me up a bit. But suddenly, me and Alex were headlocked by some drunk fat fifteen year old who overflowed in all directions.
"I DON'T KNOW YOU BUT LET'S HAVE A PHOTO!" she gushed. I politely stabbed her in the chest with a wooden stake, cut off her head and filled her mouth with garlic but she didn't let go. So I tried to engage her in conversation instead.
"I don't know you either."
"WHY NOT!'
"I am not a fifteen year old and I wasn't invited to this party."
"OH!"
"So I don't know you."
"YESH!"
"I don't even like you that much. You look and smell weird. Leave me alone."
She laughed. It wasn't a joke.
About ten minutes later I had been involved in about ten photographs with various passing groups of girls. I don't think it was because I was particularly attractive or anything - although it has been scientifically proven that girls DIG my pale yellow self-sprayed Mickey Mouse tshirt - but more the fact that I was taller than them and not moving around. I was kind of like a landmark. Like a red phonebox in London. Something for them to cling onto. I like the idea that the next day, Facebook was filled with photographs of a load of happy smiling drunkards all clutched around a tall 18 year old with a yellow Mickey Mouse tshirt and a really angry frowny expression on his face. And all the guys will be like WHO THE FUCK IS THAT NEEGROW and I'll just be like not even tagged. It'll rule.
However, hardcore gatecrashing of parties is not all it is cracked up to be. Especially if you are an uninvited girl. Uninvited girls are generally hated. Like Irving was. Irving is blonde and she was sternly told off by a drunk girl. And as we all know, there is no sterner justice than angry-telling-off-by-a-drunk-teenage-girl justice. They just know how to cut into your soul with their 'I'm not angry, just disappointed' tone of voice and slightly doubled piercing gaze. Anyway, drunk girl rolled up to Irving and burbled scornfully: "Listen yeah? I don't know you but yet HERE YOU ARE drinking her parent's alcohol that like they probably paid a lot of money for and so yeah why don't you just leave yeah? Just go away nobody wants you. Innit."
Apparently, after being given this stern tongue-lashing, Irving turned to the girl next to her - thinking that it was Kersh - and said "Shall I fuck her up?" ironically. After she realised that it was just another random young'un, and at this point half the party was terrified of us/angry, we decided that it was time to go.
The important thing to do when leaving a party that you have gatecrashed is to look really confident. So, en masse, we bounced in time to the music back to the loose fence panel, shaking hands and patting people on the back. Then, slowly rocking back and forth in time to the music, I nonchalently slid up the fence panel and allowed the ladies to go first. This was not because I am a chivalrous person, but because I saw a huge snail on the fence and I wanted to stick it on Kershaw's back when she was bending to get under the fence. Which is what I did. She screamed and ran up the lawn hysterically. I laughed heartily. This is because I am, at heart, a three year old.
There was a flash of drama when I rolled under the fence. Firstly because I rolled into a patch of stinging nettles. Secondly because the fence panel fell on my leg and trapped it. I was like argh. Suddenly, I realised that in fact I wasn't leaving a PARTY but in fact a CANNIBAL ISLAND and as I lay there trapped there was a ravaging horde of angry cannibals running up the lawn trying to eat my face. Luckily I got my leg free just in time and ran away.
And THAT is the story of how I gatecrashed a 16 Year Old's Birthday party, in which the gatecrashing was done by somebody else and all of the exciting stuff pretty much happened to other people. The only thing that happened to me was that I got my photograph taken.
What an exciting life I lead.
????
That's your hook. There you go. There are your unanswered questions. You have NO IDEA where I was, what I was doing looking at a fat girl's cleavage, and/or if it was illegal or not. Am I going to answer those questions now? NO. Not yet. You are now going to have to read the rest of this blog to find out. EXCITEMENT.
* * *
I should really be revising right now. I have an exam tomorrow at 9 and I won't lie, I do not know enough about Metternich. Or Bismarck. Or, indeed, the Schleswig-Holstein Affair or the Hohenzollen Candidature crisis. I should have worked harder today. I shouldn't have played Trauma Centre for about an hour and a half this morning. Those damn tumours refused to just heal. But oh well. I refuse to work any more. I'm done with dat shit innit. This is because I'm pretty sure that all the information is already in my brain and I'll just be able to unpick it somehow. I hope. It is also because, well, I'm such a young ambitious teenage rebel.
I think we all agree that I am pretty damn rebellious. I mean, I consider it to almost be my job to skate on the very edge of what is 'acceptable' and 'expected' of me as a cool young teenager. I mean, some may be happy to settle for mediocracy and average and niceness and vague dragging senses of melancholy, but not me. NOT ME MOTHERFUCKER. See I just used a swear word for no reason other than the fact that I could. Free speech is bloody great, isn't it?
Anyway, what with me being such a rebel and a new-wave supremo master of every teenage subculture, I realised that in the past week I have experienced - pretty much - the whole sex, drugs and rock'n'roll scene in one magnificent whirlwind of emotion and hot firey magic. Let's make a list:
Sex. Well, what more can I say other than I turned on the TV the other day and what did I see? Two people HAVING SEX. It was a documentary about the pornography film 'Deep Throat' and it cut away before any unpleasantness was revealed, but I definitely saw a decent 70-80 per cent side-boob and I reckon if I had freeze-framed, there might have been a brief frame of urethra in shot. And then it cut to a woman speaking and she totally had a good few inches of cleavage on display! It was wicked. Admittedly, most of the people featured in the porn are likely to be dead/wrinkly by now, but it still got me very hot and bothered. So that's sex covered.
Drugs? Well, the other day I had a headache from revising too hard so I took some neurofens. But I didn't take them with water - HELL NO - I dry-swallowed those badass mofos. Then to show how much contempt I had for the 'rules', I didn't even bother to put the little silver tab thing back in the box properly OH NO I JUST THREW THEM INTO THE DRAWER AND LOUCHELY SLAMMED IT WITH A CONTEMPTUOUS FLICK OF THE WRIST. And THEN did I go back and do some more German Nationalism revision? Did I fuck. So crazed was I on my ibruphrophen binge, I fucking went and played Resident Evil 4 for about forty-five minutes, going a whole QUARTER OF AN HOUR past the end of my scheduled break.
And as for rock 'n roll... well, I'm not as rockin' as my wicked-cool friend Steve who is going to see both THE STREETS and MUSE (yes, BOTH OF THEM) and will probably be so overcome by emotion (and cheap ecstacy bought from Scotsmen) that she just STARTS CRYING FOR NO REASON. BUT I'M STILL STRAIGHT UP HARDCORE ROCK AND ROLL INNIT BLUD. I mean, I have that guitar that I bought off eBay for £44 (plus p&p), and I'm totally going to start learning chords when my exams are over. And on Thursday I listened to "Smells Like Team Spirit" on my iPod and I worked out what one of the words in the middle verse bit was (it was 'mulatto').
So that's sex, drugs, and rock n roll covered. I have found those barriers, and I have pushed them. And I have stretched them. And I have broken them. And this naturally brings me to last Friday, when I GATECRASHED A PARTY.
That's right. There was a guestlist. There were bouncers. Was I on that guestlist? No I was not. Did the bouncers - one of them was seriously a hefty motherfucker - know who the hell I was? No they did not. But did I end up in the party? YES I DID.
I'll just give you a few seconds to let that settle in.
And now. I will set the scene.
Basically, I was at a mini gathering at Abby's house. Now the majority of the readers of this blog don't know who Abby and and to be honest it doesn't really matter, she isn't that important in the grand scheme of things. In fact, the only reason I am mentioning her at all is because she recently discovered this blog (come on, where has she BEEN for the past three years? The literary wastelands, I'd say) and was like "TOM CAN YOU MENTION ME PLEASE". And I'm far too nice to turn down the request of a lady. For the same reason, I will also now say that the following people were also there: Kersh (girl), Irving (girl), Snaithy (boy), Stocker (boy), Alex (boy), and my little brother. Yes I was at a gathering with my little brother. And in fact he was invited before I was, as Abby - who is my age - has a fetish for 15 year old boys. SHE SHOULD BE FUCKING LOCKED UP. But anyway, we were all sitting in Abby's garden eating burgers that my little brother had cooked on her barbequeue. Well, I say 'Eating', I mean, 'Not eating' as they were disgusting and some idiot (me) had decided to make them into delicious cheeseburgers by ripping apart a Babybel and seeing if it would melt if placed on the burgers.
Fun fact: it didn't.
We were trying to have a civilised conversation. I was attempting to wow people by playing 'Baby Elephant Walk' on my phone ringtone and doing a comedy dance routine in which all my movements were in synch to the bomp bomp sound effects. But it just wasn't happening. This was because of what was going on next door. Yes. That's right. A PARTY. And not just ANY party. A GARDEN PARTY. With lots of girls in skimpy bikinis! I knew this because Abby had a trampoline and if you jumped on it and launched yourself sideways you got a good second's viewing over the fence and there was definitely a girl in a bikini. I did it about eight times. It was jolly exciting.
The only bad thing about the party was the fact that they were playing music really loudly. And it wasn't like it was good music, it was, like, GWEN STEPHANI and THE KILLERS and the problem was that the guy who was meant to be DJing (aka the owner of the iPod) kept either skipping songs at random, or playing the same one over and over again. After a bit I came to the realisation that 'Pump It' by those Black Eyed Peas is not that great a song and that if I wanted to enjoy the rest of the evening I would have to totally go over there and sort it out. So I pretty much kicked down the fence, beat up all the bouncers and then picked up a passing guitar and played "Leaving on a Jetplane" (It only needs three chords!) for the rest of the evening until everyone shut up. Then I played "Baby Elephant Walk" on my phone really loudly and did my comedy dance routine and everyone applauded me and carried me aloft on their backs chanting my name.
Alright that didn't happen. Basically my little brother and Stocker and Alex decided that the time was ripe to break into the party. So they started fiddling with the fence until it turned out that all the panels were totally loose and thus it was possible to simply SLIDE THEM UP, Star-Trek-Stylee, and casually stroll in. This was an exciting development and after a bit we all kind of rolled in behind a bush, ninja style, and nonchalently wandered through the oblivious crowd of 15 year olds.
Yes that's right, FIFTEEN YEAR OLDS. Turns out it wasn't quite the hip-hoppin' rave that I thought it would be. It was a SIXTEENTH BIRTHDAY PARTY. I was so unimpressed. And also confused - as an eighteen year old, was it legal or illegal for me to sneak a cheeky peek at the huge amounts of boobage on display? I decided to just keep my eyes to myself and press in closer between Kersh and Irving as we moved steadily through the crush, ignoring the cries of 'Who are you?' 'Who the fuck are they?' and 'I'm underage look at my boobs!' (I wasn't falling for THAT old trick, though) that came from all sides. Eventually we reached my brother and co, who were being chatted up by some girl who looked a bit like a broom with a wig. I was like dude wtf is it even legal for me to be here and he was like chillax bro have a beer and I was like omg stfu you n00b I'm driving home innit and he was like whatevs trevs.
A boy wearing a beady necklace walked past, glaring at me. I wanted to glare back but really I was too ashamed of myself. I started to re-evaluate my life. Here I was, an eighteen year old, at a birthday party for somebody I didn't know who wasn't even in the same year as me, watching my inebriated little brother being seduced by some broomwoman and another girl who had too much lip-flesh. 'Man', I though morosely. 'My life sucks. I am totally pathetic. I should be shot. Oh well, at least I'm not dead. Or Will Ferrier.' This thought cheered me up a bit. But suddenly, me and Alex were headlocked by some drunk fat fifteen year old who overflowed in all directions.
"I DON'T KNOW YOU BUT LET'S HAVE A PHOTO!" she gushed. I politely stabbed her in the chest with a wooden stake, cut off her head and filled her mouth with garlic but she didn't let go. So I tried to engage her in conversation instead.
"I don't know you either."
"WHY NOT!'
"I am not a fifteen year old and I wasn't invited to this party."
"OH!"
"So I don't know you."
"YESH!"
"I don't even like you that much. You look and smell weird. Leave me alone."
She laughed. It wasn't a joke.
About ten minutes later I had been involved in about ten photographs with various passing groups of girls. I don't think it was because I was particularly attractive or anything - although it has been scientifically proven that girls DIG my pale yellow self-sprayed Mickey Mouse tshirt - but more the fact that I was taller than them and not moving around. I was kind of like a landmark. Like a red phonebox in London. Something for them to cling onto. I like the idea that the next day, Facebook was filled with photographs of a load of happy smiling drunkards all clutched around a tall 18 year old with a yellow Mickey Mouse tshirt and a really angry frowny expression on his face. And all the guys will be like WHO THE FUCK IS THAT NEEGROW and I'll just be like not even tagged. It'll rule.
However, hardcore gatecrashing of parties is not all it is cracked up to be. Especially if you are an uninvited girl. Uninvited girls are generally hated. Like Irving was. Irving is blonde and she was sternly told off by a drunk girl. And as we all know, there is no sterner justice than angry-telling-off-by-a-drunk-teenage-girl justice. They just know how to cut into your soul with their 'I'm not angry, just disappointed' tone of voice and slightly doubled piercing gaze. Anyway, drunk girl rolled up to Irving and burbled scornfully: "Listen yeah? I don't know you but yet HERE YOU ARE drinking her parent's alcohol that like they probably paid a lot of money for and so yeah why don't you just leave yeah? Just go away nobody wants you. Innit."
Apparently, after being given this stern tongue-lashing, Irving turned to the girl next to her - thinking that it was Kersh - and said "Shall I fuck her up?" ironically. After she realised that it was just another random young'un, and at this point half the party was terrified of us/angry, we decided that it was time to go.
The important thing to do when leaving a party that you have gatecrashed is to look really confident. So, en masse, we bounced in time to the music back to the loose fence panel, shaking hands and patting people on the back. Then, slowly rocking back and forth in time to the music, I nonchalently slid up the fence panel and allowed the ladies to go first. This was not because I am a chivalrous person, but because I saw a huge snail on the fence and I wanted to stick it on Kershaw's back when she was bending to get under the fence. Which is what I did. She screamed and ran up the lawn hysterically. I laughed heartily. This is because I am, at heart, a three year old.
There was a flash of drama when I rolled under the fence. Firstly because I rolled into a patch of stinging nettles. Secondly because the fence panel fell on my leg and trapped it. I was like argh. Suddenly, I realised that in fact I wasn't leaving a PARTY but in fact a CANNIBAL ISLAND and as I lay there trapped there was a ravaging horde of angry cannibals running up the lawn trying to eat my face. Luckily I got my leg free just in time and ran away.
And THAT is the story of how I gatecrashed a 16 Year Old's Birthday party, in which the gatecrashing was done by somebody else and all of the exciting stuff pretty much happened to other people. The only thing that happened to me was that I got my photograph taken.
What an exciting life I lead.
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