| Pete, and things. Nothing terribly wonderous. |
[May. 7th, 2004|10:01 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  relaxed | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Jason Mraz - The Boy's Gone | ] |
In our teen years our friend Pete became 'Gay' Pete. Being gay wasn't his main attribute or anything. He didn't say 'I am homosexual.' and then begin dressing up as Carmen Meranda or using derogatory words usually saved for women towards men. He stayed the same. Which is one of my favourite things about 'Gay' Pete.
Pete did, however, experiment with gay clubs. However, knowing no other gay people personally he asked Bob, Geoff and I to join him. As I have mentioned Geoff isn't a bad looking chap. He even made an effort to look 'nice'. He looked so un-Geoff. It turned out he was wearing his 'interview trousers', his fathers shirt (who was so proud to lend his son some good clothes as opposed to that 'unsociable' and 'out of date 80s retro shit' as he put it), and he had even let one of his female friends trim and style his hair. Bob wore his dads clothes too. However, Bobs dad wore a woolen, grey, light blue and dark blue argyle jumper, and some grey pin-striped trousers. I wore a Dinosaur Jr. tee shirt and a pair of blue jeans. Luckily there was no dress code (which we could tell from the PVC nun who we saw exiting the building the previous week).
I was almost certain that we'd get bored within an hour and go to the Reptile Club (which i was dressed for). Bob was just scared. He didn't mind gay people, he was just scared of being amongst so many of them. But it was very odd. Pete was having an alright time but Geoff.....Geoff was.....I have no idea how to put it. He was really 'going for it' as they say. He got more attention than any of us. Geoff left that night happy as Larry.
Geoff loved the attention, yet he never ever tried that hard with the girls. Maybe it was because he wanted girls to like him for who he was, whereas these blokes were told 'I'm straight' - which judging by his dance moves (that he had clearly practiced - oddment) was literally unbelieveble. From that night we all excpected Geoff to join Pete's team. He never has but he often frequents that establishment.
Today was another day at work. Cleaning caravans is not a good job but it did give me a chance to listen to music. I then went home to an empty house and slept/drunk/pissed from the same spot. This might sound stupid but due to an architectural decision that makes my house virtually unsellable in its current state there is a toilet IN the bedroom. I did get a visit from a Mormon. Lovelly chap. He even cleaned his own cup up and put it away. There is now one cup in the cupboard. I promised him i will visit his church and see what it's like. I don't see the harm. I don't have much to do these days.
On a side note, I once met Andrew Ridgley. He was at a bar. I bought him a drink. Nice guy. Talentless, but a nice chap.
I am meeting up with Bob later. He is coming round for a game of cards with a friend and a friend of that friend. Should be a laugh. Unless I lose. |
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| The Legend of the Spunky Pants |
[May. 7th, 2004|12:35 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  predatory | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Silence - Though I must listen to some Sigur Ros. | ] |
I will now tell you a tale. It has become legendary over the years. It is a tale of with no moral, but it is thought to be one of my best tales.
At the age of 13 I had my first wet dream. It was about a lady I used to feel very strongly for. I had long forgotten her before this dream. Infact I don't even know her name. All I know is via her and her magic pencil ("Top to bottom, round and kick") she made me have the most joinedy-upy handwriting of all time. I hadn't spared the woman a thought since 1988. But that is not the concern of this tale. Basically I ejaculated in my pants. I woke up thinking 'Wow. That was the best thing ever' followed by 'how embarrasing! There is goey stuff in my pants.' I realised that these pants needed to be washed straight away as I was a pervert and my mother must never know. But she was already up....and what if she seperated the clothes. I thought 'I'll deal with this another time' and hid the pants underneath the bottom draw of my chest.
A few weeks later after viewing a video lent to me by a loser friend (James Double-Name...I forget). It was porn. Hardcore stuff. Very 1970s hair and film quality. Everyone seemed a bit orange. A fairly nice looking young lady was manually pleasuring a rather hairy man. I thought 'does that hurt?' but I had an urge too strong to deny myself. I attempted this act upon my own person. After around 33 minutes (I wont lie, it was 33 minutes and 11 seconds - I never knew why I timed it, I just did. Maybe I am a geek.) I felt an amazing, yet vagually familiar feeling. Then I realised I must despose myself of this gunk on my stomach...but what with!? THE PANTS!
I did intend on cleaning them. Honest. But after 11 months of using them, they had turned from green into white with a green tint. The one day I remembered that the pants must be washed today Geoff was round. I showed Geoff the offending item. He shreiked 'Get that the fuck away from me, man!' I waved the pants at him then proceeded to the washing machine. DAMN! It was midway through a white wash. I returned to my room and put the pants in the top draw.
Then, 3 days later I thought I need to 'mop up' after a 'session'. I remembered they were in the top draw, not hidden under the bottom draw. I opened it. Nothing. Well, things. But no spunky pants. I was horrified. I left the gruesome mess in my current pants in a moment of enourmous unhygene. A regular occurence after this point. I must have move the pants but I couldn't find them anywhere.
Later that week I recieved a basket of freshly washed clothes. And there they were! Still with large stains, but not as solid as they formerlly were.
I often run the scene through in my head of my mother nosing through my draws and going 'hmmmm, spunky pants.' The woman MUST have picked up these underpants in her hand. Unless she held it on a stick, with a peg on her nose.
Mother never mentioned it. Neither did I. But I always have, in the back of my mind, the fact that I KNOW my mother knows that I masturbate.
And that is the Legend of the Spunky Pants. |
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| Actual Diary Entry Number 1! |
[May. 6th, 2004|06:00 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  confused | ] |
| [ | music |
| | The Cramps - She Said | ] |
Today I met Bob at the pub. I told him about my online journal. He reacted well to the idea as we haven't spoke about our teenage years in a while (granted, we are only 20!) and talking of it made him happy. He says he will give some input into that side of things.
I drank on an empty stomach - I need to eat something. It feels too early to have a kebab. Hmmmmm, I think I'll have beans near toast. Not on toast. I hate that. The juice on beans - and peas - is great on beans - or peas, respectivley - but on other things it is baaaaaaaad.
I didn't actually write this entry at 6pm but my watch has stopped exactly on 6. I know that is hardly news worthy but I have never seen a stop watch exactly on the hour. watch stop rather. Silly me.
My day was nice. I went to work. I clean caravans. It is a rubbish job but I get to be alone. I walked in on a couple having sex once but that'll be added to my anecdotes soon enough.
Anyway, I'm feeling happy, but a bit like the best is over and all the fun comes from talking about it. So I'm happy...but sad. Meh, I'm drunk enough to not be depressed - the perfect drunkness. TTFN as the Man says. Well, Bear. |
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| Part Deux |
[May. 6th, 2004|01:20 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  contemplative | ] |
| [ | music |
| | John Frusciante- Shadows Collide with People | ] |
Where was I?
Oh, Mystic Mike. Mystic Mike is a guy we all looked up to as young teens. Despite the fact he thought alliteration was 'cool' he was a great guy. As I said before, no one is entirely sure if the stuff he said was fact or fiction, but we felt as though we were no longer losers when with him. It was like being 'under the learning tree', as they say.
Mystic Mike knew everything about music. He claims to have roadied for bands. He knew many facts about cool things. He was also always drinking, yet never drunk. He smoked weed but he always seemed the same. When I tried it I almost vomited then cried a lot. I cried because Pete wouldn't give my shoes back. Mike was quiet most of the times, then he would burst into speach. Usually an anecdote or an old Japanese proverb. Always cool. Always.
Due to Mike we spent all are cash on music and beer. Our parents got worried, but we never came to any harm. It was the best time of my life.
Now I feel a bit like Mike now - Just with no pupils to teach...and I live in a house, not a shed. And I don't have a beard. And I have a job. And MOST of the stories would just be ones he told me. But then again, he might have been told them by someone else.
I feel an anecdote of my own coming on:
I think it is common place for primary schools to have school 'sports' days. These - as far as I can tell - are all the same. They consist of Athletic popular kids doing 100 metre dashes, unathletic kids doing such classics as the dressing up race and the sack race, and overy competetive fathers risking their childs embarresment by trying to run 100metres with out falling down, flat on thier faces. Luckily (well, depends how you look at it really) my dad was (and still is) paralysed from the chest down. Not medically, he just chooses to not move unless completely necessary - ie, someone has moved the remote control a few feet away and he cannot reach it by sliding down his chair and trying to tease it over with his big toe. He never came to sports day. Neither did mum. I'm not really upset about this because other people were embarressed by their folks.
However, I have digressed.
Our local council at the time thought a good way to get young criminals back into the community would be to involve them in the school sports day. Yes, involve convicts in a school sports day. So, as you were probably crawling under a chair in the make-shift obstacle race, I was having my ankle tied to a 24 year old burglar. We won, but that doesn't mean I wasn't scared shitless. I was 6 and i was tied to a criminal. I thought he was going to pick me up and try and run out of there. At the time I thought all policemen had guns and that this man was going to use me as a sheild. I didn't know that he had served 2 months of a 3 month sentence. I was 'shitting it'. More memorable than this for everyone else was a guy called Simon Harding. He was arrested for GBH and had a tattoo covering his whole head. He looked nasty. The last thing you would have thought was 'Now that guy looks as though he would win the Egg and Spoon-Convict and Child relay at St. Swithin's First School'. He was amazingly quick and not once did he drop the egg. Truly Amazing.
Hope you enjoyed my second entry. |
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| Where to begin? |
[May. 6th, 2004|01:01 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  nostalgic | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Whirring of the PC | ] |
At the start I suppose. We have 20 years to catch up on.
First, my name. Oh, the name.
Arnold Winklebottom. Arnold 'no middle name needed because the surname makes up for it' Winklebottom.
At primary school I had no idea what anal sex was. I don't think it is necessary for 4-8 year olds to know this type of information. Now, I don't believe the kids knew what anal-sex was till they met me. I don't think they ever knew it was called 'anal sex', but because of my name they happened upon the concept of interaction between 'Winkles' and 'Bottoms'. That is not the kind of thing a child should have to endure, in my humble opinion. But I did. I coped. Just. I wish I could claim that people/ sub-human scum stopped finding comments like 'Hey, Arnold Cock-Anus!' funny past puberty...but they didn't. I still get the odd titter when introducing myself.
Well, as with most people, I disliked school. Almost everything about it. I had my friends - the dorks/ losers. I personally didn't think of us as losers. I still don't. But everyone else did.
My best friend from school, Geoff Kipperwell, had a bizzare fascination with both Bees and Folk Music. He was, and still is, one of those guys who could be popular and/or good looking but doesn't want to be. Or at least doesn't try. His blonde pseudo-afro, uneven sideburns, circa 1985 orange-but-turns-green-when-you-breath-on-it tee shirt, and trousers that show off his white socks because they are too short. And that is now. At school he had braces. Braces in two ways. Braces on his teeth and 'suspenders' as the Americans call them.
He is now a Bee Keeper. He enjoys his work but would rather be a Folk Musician.
I, however, have had my dream job stolen from me. I wanted to be the furry candle. 'The what!?' you ask. The local candle store use to hire a guy (very likley an unfortunate work experience boy) to wander about town dressed as an enormous orange candle. This bizarre walking furry phallus was supposed to make people want to buy candles. The shop closed down, much to my anger because it was genuinely what I wanted to do. I believe the closing of the Candle Factory was the first step in my downward spiral towards semi-depression.
I say semi-depression because I know people have it worse than me. I hope this Journal will make it better.
anyway - we've skipped a large chunk of my life. Me being a 'wild child'. I'm talking mid-to-late teens. This was a great time...when not at school. This is where me and three close friends descovered a magical world. Firstly, the friends:
Geoff - we know you already
Bob Carolgees - A good friend of mine, I believe mainly because we can empathise with eachothers position. My name is synonymous with bum loving (in its purest, most literal form), Bobs had become synonymous with Moustached, unfunny twat.
'Gay' Pete - A man more suited to my surname. This guy was gay. He liked it up 'im, as they say. He was adamant that Bi-Sexual people did not exist. We used to say he was bi as a wind up. It was fun.
Anyway, we were all sitting in the graveyard, drinking beer (well, i was drinking lime ade - because i was scared of drink, though i'd become accustomed to it later (I was 15 damn it!) and I could only afford Panda Pop) and a peice of paper flew into Bobs face. It said 'Alotment 14, Adam Woodyatt's Moustache'. This made us laugh. We were cold so we thought, lets go to the alotment. so we did. and someone was in a shed. They asked for a password, oddly. I said 'er...Adam Woodyatts mustache?'. Then there was silence. For a few seconds I thought, 'someone thinks I'm an idiot'. But just as the thought became a certainty the door was unlocked and Mystic Mike let us in.
He introduced us to his bottle of 'potion' (which was almost definity alcoholic) and his 'big cigerette'. Then he said, standing from his upside-down plant pot seat, 'I am Mystic Mike'.
We giggled a bit, but he looked at us with eyes that would scare the hardest of men. Gay Pete introduced us. Then I, in a moment of foolishness, questioned this mighty man. 'Mystic Mike, that's like Mystic Meg.' He replied, 'Arnold Winklebottom, that's like Arnold Bum-Fuck.' That is the one and only time I thought I deserved it.
Mike was a strange man. He was either the Greatest man alive or the saddest and most lonely. But, for me, he was great - even if he was just an old tramp living in a shed, telling porkies to some impressionable kids.
I shall continue part two of this entry tomorrow - hopefully we will get upto speed and this can be like a diary and a place for my old stories.
I am feeling good for doing this - it must be some sort of release. |
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