Went to a Goldfish gig in Norwood with E2, Doc, N, Forbsie and Ramone Allones. It was a good party, we all got hammered as usual, and I met the love of my life.
No but seriously. He just doesn’t know it, poor bastard.
That’s right, he’s my new boyfriend, except I’ll never see him again.
He turned around while I was doing an [embarrassing] little jig on the platform next to Goldfish, and he spoke to me for maybe five seconds, roughly after I sat on Forbsie’s shoulders and nearly bashed my koppel into the ceiling.
Love Of My Life turned around to smile at me, and the whole room disappeared. He wasn’t amazingly studly, but I was so attracted to him, perhaps as he seemed so...warm, hot, snuggly...I felt an incredible urge to pull his handsome little face towards mine in an executed lunge action. I also nearly lunged at a man who looked like a rabbi, with a long beard and everything, but let’s not go there. Doc yanked on the said beard, which went down like a lead balloon, as one can imagine. I didn’t see the love of my life again thereafter.
That aside, I had a staunch chat with a mate on the pavement outside. He claims Small Bum told him he broke up with me because I was looking for other men during our relationship/looking for something better/hung up over other people.
I was absolutely gobsmacked.
WHAT THE FUCK?
I think it’s plain to see and read how dedicated and loyal I was to the Small Bum cause, and how much I adored him. And still do, to a point, but am over it, because I have had no other choice but to accept his decision.
But WHAT? I have never heard such a ridiculous dribble in my life! He dumped me because He Was Just Not That Into Me. What kind of knob fobs a break-up he initiated as my doing? Good grief above. I never so much as looked at another man when I was with him. How can he say I did?
I was extremely fond of him, but seriously. This excuse of my looking elsewhere for loving is about as credible as the Serb genocide. It just doesn’t make sense. I guess he feels better and less guilty about everything if we're on good terms. I won’t be like his other girlfriends who are mates with him. I might’ve been as random and as situational, but I will not embellish this with a pseudo-friendship. Like the others did. No way. I cared about him too much for that.
The only thing I can think of is that I am friends with my ex’s. How dare he say I had something to add to the break-up because I wanted other men! When he knows fuck-well that was the polar-opposite of EVERYTHING I put on the table.
Its pants. The most absurd load of pants I’ve ever heard.
What goes through this man’s head, one wonders?
OK. Calming down, and moving right along, deep breaths. Deep breaths.
I smsed him yesterday and told the man I have two things of importance to discuss with him. This, and something else. We're meeting today after work. I'm shitting my doondies, but this has to be done.
On a better note, I spent Women’s Day picnicking with mates at Zoo Lake, playing a raucous game of dodgeball (or N’s and my version anyhow. Throw-ball-into-person’s-face.) We all sat eating ice creams, talking shit, playing chubby bunny with Ramone Allone’s 200 samoosas, and nursing our hangovers in the sun. Finishing off at Jolly with C and Doc, where I got to catch up with Moogs. And meet some British men. God I love the Poms. It was nice.
PS: I bought the Goldfish CD finally. And I haven’t stopped listening to it for the last 24 hours. It’s good shit. It’s brilliant shit, actually.
PPS: Tossing and turning the whole night last night. Insomnia of note.