That’s today. So, happy happy TR!
I’m not a good present buyer. In that I mean I find it hard to find the right thing for the right person. Some people are easier to buy for than others of course, but that doesn’t make it easier. Until yesterday.
I swung into Big Blue/Kitsch & Kool in Rosebank. (They’ve merged. I’m undecided whether this is fabulous or not.) Still, one of my favourite places to spend my entire pension fund in one afternoon on ridiculous knick knacks. I immediately found the perfect gift for Third Roommate.
1) A t-shirt with a neon sticker thing in the front, but wait for it – the shirt comes with it’s own remote control. Which automatically illuminates the neon sticker. Next time the man is jamming in a club, all he has to do is switch his shirt on, and hey presto! The chicks will find him in dark corners, the parking lot, under the bar counter…
2) Racing grannies. Complete with Zimmer frames. Two plastic wind-up gerry atricks complete with faceless expressions and wooly cardigans. There were nuns and rabbis too, but racing grannies would particularly appeal to his [twisted and acrimonious] sense of humour.
He loved it. Bless.
Last night three mates came over to commiserate with me pertaining to the state of our lives. P is having a career crisis (I can emphathise), J got dumped on Friday, and C, well C has no issues as such, except she pulled a bum muscle. J’s assholic dumper put things into perspective for me. It’s been four weeks to the button, and I’m ok. J, however, is not.
I was honest and told her that the first two weeks are hell, then you start to pick up the pieces of your collective busted ego, shattered heart and the remaining threads of your fucked-up dignity and slowly try to piece them all back together. Kind of like a work of art. A vase, if you will.
OK now I’m just talking shit.
I drank too much wine last night. One of my Warhols fell off the wall and landed on me while I dreamt about being lost on a construction site with millions of chameleons. I almost had an aneurysm in my bed, as it fell on my head. Marilyn is one scary bitch right up close.
Mental note: must steal more Prestik from work.