dear catastrophe waitress

i've been picking up some extra shifts at work lately because i need the money.  this includes some closing shifts, which are basically night shifts.  it's a bizarre feeling to go to work before sunset and leaving after sunrise... apart from a 20 minute break, i feel like i missed the night. 

why anyone would come to party at my bar, i'll never know, but time and again they do.  the 'club' tends to consist of a bunch of shark-y loooking guys eyeing the few drunk young things who had the ill-luck to stumble in, as well as a hodge-podge of sort of business and older types who think this is a cool place to party.  the dj plays a really typical set list every week of crowd-pleasers and club hits, which never fails to excite.  watching drunk old people dance is like watching a really bad movie... you almost can't believe you're seeing something so ridiculous.  it sort of makes me want to rethink my own habits... because it's highly unlikely i look good when i dance, which means i possibly look really, really bad.  just before closing last night, an absolutely wasted 40-something year old woman with a younger guy decided to take her top off in the bar.  that was pretty priceless.  after the set, (the last songs being "don't look back in anger", "time of your life", and "closing time") the dj, whom i'd never met, started railing on about the "fucking disgusting old bird", which made me laugh quite a lot, but as he went on, i realized the dj was a horribly miserable person, which i attributed to his dj career being so much less than he dreamed it would be.  patrons of a place like that, or anywhere for that matter, have one perception of it, and once the lights turn on and everyone clears out, everyone takes off their happy faces.  i'm at an advantage perhaps, because i never had one, evident by the fact that everyone's always telling me to 'smile', because i look too 'serious'.  but, as i've tried to explain many times, my normal face is serious and a bit sullen;  not only that, but i'm trying to channel this image, which appears to me whenever the bar clears and i see my own reflection in the mirror:

she probably makes better cosmos than me though.

i'm addicted to electric pulses

i love the rough trade record shop. but i have a shy crush on it... i pop in now and then to awkwardly say hello, listen to a record, and run out again, feeling upset with myself for never sealing the deal. baby steps. someday i hope we'll be friends... maybe more?

http://www.roughtrade.com/

life outside the diamond is a wrench

Elope with me Miss Private and we'll sail around the world
I will be your Ferdinand and you my wayward girl
How many nights of talking in hotel rooms can you take?
How many nights of limping round on pagan holidays?
Oh, elope with in private and we'll set something ablaze--
A trail for the devil to erase

I had a lovely time in Barcelona.

well, love does furnish a life

i was walking down oxford street street yesterday and overheard this lover's spat:

(man cranes his neck to check out a passing woman)
woman: eh! come off it daniel!
man: wot?
woman: you're wanderin' round like a lovesick puppy, 'avin a look a' every blutty gell that walks by!
man: (shrugs) window shopping, in'it?

here's another song about a gender i'll never understand

For the past few saturdays at my work, there has been a 'workshop' in the basement bar for men trying to learn how to date women. Apparently, it's very expensive (600 pounds or so?), but also very thorough-- from getting her number to fingering techniques.... i fucking wish they made a take-home video. the whole concept makes me think of tom cruise's character in magnolia. this clip has my favourite line in it.



but these guys aren't quite that misogynistic... they're actually just a little sad. there is a bushy haired-man who runs the workshop who orders their dinners from me and is always very charming and polite. i'm really fascinated by someone who runs this kind of business, and wonder if he was once a totally insecure guy who couldn't get laid, but is now a believer in the program, or if he considers himself to be a successful ladies' man, and started the program to impart his wisdom on others. they also have sexy woman working with them who i think they do role-playing with... i was going downstairs to get ice, and i heard her (very authoratatively) say "no no no, guys! you're supposed to be saying 'i want you NOW... in my bed.'" i almost died.

but none of these guys are even that bad looking or anything, i mean, perhaps they're lacking in social skills... but i really hope i'm never that desperately alone. with my track record since i've been here though, it's entirely possible. i mean, it's a bit hypocritical to say, because i have rejected my fair share of pleasure-seeking gomos... and i have no idea what it is i actually want... but, like most girls, i'm never opposed to a little harmless flattery. seriously, most of the time when i'm at a bar, i'm just waiting, raw as an onion, for mr. right to come over and offer to buy me a drink. no instruction required.

i'm not as sad as dostoevsky

Maggie rushed away, that her burst of tears, which she felt must come, might not happen till she was safe up-stairs. They were very bitter tears: everybody in the world seemed so hard and unkind to Maggie: there was no indulgence, no fondness such as she imagined when she fashioned the world afresh in her own thoughts. In books there were people who were always agreeable or tender, and delighted to do things that made one happy, and who did not show their kindness by feeling fault. The world outside the books was not a happy one, Maggie felt: it seemed to be a world where people behaved their best to those they did not pretend to love, and that did not belong to them. And if life had no love in it, what else was there for Maggie?
[...]
Maggie in her brown frock, with her eyes reddened and her heavy hair pushed back, looking from the bed where her father lay, to the dull walls of this sad chamber which was the centre of her world, was a creature full of eager, passionate longings for all that was beautiful and glad; thirsty for all knowledge; with an ear straining after dreamy music that died away and would not come near to her; with a blind, unconscious yearning for something that would link together the wonderful impressions of this mysterious life, and give her soul a sense of home in it.

No wonder, when there is contrast between the outward and the inward, that painful collisions come out of it.

well, not until the next time

word to the wise: don't leave your large floral-printed school bag at your feet while you eat cookies in a coffee shop, pretending to be reading about ancient rome, but really just staring at the cute boys sitting in the window... some snake will probably steal that bag. then you'll embarass yourself in front of said boys while you jump up and freak about your missing bag. if you're lucky though, the thief will discard your library books and granola bars, (having a natural aversion to wholesome things) and only take your wallet and all of its contents.

my measly tips from last week... i hardly knew ye.

i travelled to a mystical time zone

It's springtime.

i had a nightmare and you were in it

i think i might be too lazy to write a new post... so i may just cut and paste a message i drunkenly wrote to some friends the other night.

ok... i have to relate this story to you guys, because it's just too funny to me...so, i saw the rakes play a really small pub show tonight, and it was amazing... like i was as close as you could possibly be, and they played a great set, mix of new and old, and i felt i was one of the few people who had actually heard the forthcoming album, which isn't released for another month (thanks drew)... and i kept making eyes with the two guitarists, which made me feel good. unfortunately, i was alone, and as much as i wanted to stay afterwards because it was a cool place, i felt like a big loner loser. as i was walking down the street though, i saw the one guitarist walking with a box of wine, and i said "great set", and he geniunely smiled and said, in true british fashion, "thanks, cheers!" i liked that. anyway, so i met up with my roommates, who were going to this very posh, members-only club to which ena knows the door manager, so that's how we manage to get on the list. i'd been there before with them when krystal was here, and quite honestly i hate the place, because it's lame, and all the people in it are lame, and it just seems like a stupid place to flaunt how rich you are, and everyone there knows i'm not. also, it's supposed to be a celebrity hangout, but i'd never seen anyone and couldn't see how anyone cool would want to be there. did i mention that the drinks are all about $20 each? they are. but anyway, upstairs the music isn't half bad, and there just happened to be two cool-looking guys there (the only ones in the club), and they looked just as bored as me, and, being a little tipsy and bored myself, i decided to go over and point this out. they agreed, and we started chatting. here is an abridged version of the conversation that followed:

cia: so what are you doing in this place?
cute man: well, i'm staying upstairs... i was here for the nme awards.
cia: oh, cool, was it fun?
cm: yeah, it was.
(awkward pause)
cia: so... are you in a band or something?
cm: yeah.
cia: what band?
cm: uh, well, we're called mgmt.
cia: ...oh fuck. ummm...did you win anything?
andrew from mgmt: yeah, i think best international band, and single of the year.
cia: oh fuck.
(two girls walk over, one pretty, one fat, sit on the guys' laps, and they all proceed to ignore me)
cia (to emma): well, it looks like i just got shafted, and one of them is fat.
emma: well, one of them is peaches geldof, and the other is her best friend.
cia: oh fuck.

so, as it turns out, there were some celebrities there. and as usual, regardless of where i am, my life is just a long sequence of one embarassing moment after the other. god forbid someone cool should ever willingly talk or flirt with me, i just get assholes grabbing my ass iin the tube, and a guy telling me i look cool.. "like jack nicholson". what kind of compliment is that? i guess i should have had a rich dad. anyway, it is still fun in the end, and makes for good stories... but i really do miss you guys.

hope you're well,
love always,
cia