run for covah muthahfuckahs…
the euphoria and sense of well-being i had earlier in the week, after returning from my stupendous trip to sydney and tokyo, was ruined by the theft of £4000 by a former friend. two sides to every story, of course, but i know that any court in the land with an ounce of common sense would see through the insanity of the situation.
whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and i feel iron-clad after this surprising setback. live and learn—as they say—and i, boy, have i learned. by friday, i’d solidified my new plan, and become quite zen-like, rising above the loss of this chunk of change and the people involved with the theft. friday afternoon, i started levitating as i chanted oooommmmmmmmmmmmmm… ooooommmmmmmmmm…
friday evening we had an absolutely heartwarming houseparty to celebrate my birfday. i think we crammed about 30 people into my tiny ghetto-fabulous apartment… we had porn stars and faggot rappers, my bestest friends, long-lost lovers, familiar faces and all sorts of scene queens.
my friends seem to have upgraded their alcoholisms, too. last party we threw, everyone arrived with a paltry bottle of £3.99 white wine in hand, most of which are still sat on our bar, covered in dust. this time, the boys brought bubbly, vodka, supersized alcopops and absinthe. i uncorked at least a half-dozen bottles of champagne, and enjoyed playing host. the smokers crammed out onto the balcony to gossip about the boys inside arguing politics [psyeah, right], whilst boys in the kitchen watched the boys in the hallway flirt and disappear into the bedrooms.
i got some wicked birthday cards [by wicked, i mean both touching and naughty], some very thoughtful gifts [a nightlight to help the queue to my bed find their way, for example] and it was really great to see my mates interact so pleasantly [and interestingly] with one another. around midnight, i realized that i’d slept with just about everyone at the party, and it was time to run off to .popstarz.
everyone else took the tube, but atif, angie and i decided a bus would be quicker. hopped on the 29, which of course goes nowhere near kings cross, and then switched to a taxi. bless chris on the door, who nonchalantly let my group of 20 into the club. i could pretend it’s because i’m fabulous, but it’s really just cuz simon knows that he can make a pretty penny off of my alcoh-hic!-holic friends ;)
although i hadn’t been to my fave club .popstarz in what seemed like months, it was still littered with exes, which meant enjoying my evening was like navigating a minefield. i have so many loose ends [aherm] strewn across london, and bouncing around the club, i felt angry evil looks being shot at me from all directions. i toot-tooted the whistle and drove the party train back to my flat.
on your birthday you get to have your cake and eat it, too. and, well, back home i put my new nightlight to good use. four, then breakfast. three, then lunch. then one. not that i’m that type of boy. generally. :twisted:
thanks to mitch, neil, atif, angie, mark, greg, wil, marcos, michael, daniel, gerry, markus, david, eliel, darian, chris and everyeone else who did their best to raise my blood-champagne-levels to new highs.
