Beer and Politics

London got blown up today (or last night?). None of my friends were hurt. Phew! I could talk about the politics of the thing, but I don’t like talking about politics. Except occasionally, over beer.

Got any beer?

Didn’t think so.

My friend kicked out his girlfriend the other night. There was a bit of a build up, thus:

She took some space by staying a friend’s place, albeit on and off, for a week.
Me – Aren’t you offended?
Him – Not really. She’ll soon learn that I don’t care if she needs to take some space from me now and then.

Then she told him that she’d been sleeping with someone else.
Me – fuck that’s full on.
Him – not really. I don’t really mind.
Me – What?
Him – I’m not a jealous person.
Me – Really? I’m a very jealous person. I get jealous sooo easily.
Him – Yeah, I’ve noticed that about you.

Then the other night I saw him at the bus stop as I was walking home and he told me he’d kicked her out. She said she wanted to go back home by herself. And she didn’t wanna talk about it. So that’s the straw then I guess.

Relationships are weird things. But then people are strange, so one or more strange things reacting to each other was never gonna be logical.

I’m single by the way. You have no idea how single I am.

So, I’m moving house soon. My oldest friend is going back to London so I am housesitting her house for 1, 2 maybe even 4 years. No rent! How jammy is that? But it’s in the Hutt. That’s ok, it’s a great house so it’s worth the commute.

Anyhoo, it’s making me get very restless in my little cottage with the paper-thin walls and the flatmate who is annoying the shit out of me. I have been having fantasies of all the loud things I can do when I move.

One of those fantasies has been making music again. Although I doubt that I will, cos I never do. I read this great quote from Kathleen Hanna last week. It was something about male hysteria being a wall between her and the music she wanted to make and protools being the instrument of liberation from that. Or something. I tried to find it on Google, but couldn’t.

So I have this fantasy that in my new empty house that has neighbours far enough away that I can be noisy, I’ll learn how to use protools on my new computer, or maybe my old 4-track and I’ll make some music. I’m thinking of borrowing someone’s guitar (cos I sold mine) and bass (cos I sold mine) and keyboards and drum machine but the main thing I am thinking about, cos it’s the main thing I always think about, is singing. Will I find my voice? I found it once for a little while a long time ago, but I’ve lost it since.

And because I’ve recently learned how to DO A PROJECT UNTIL ITS COMPLETED I might even burn some cds and send them to Radio Active and, because this is a fantasy, become a rock star and find some nice boy who’ll let me sit on his face whenever I feel like it.

The things we do to get laid, eh? Or, maybe it’s just me. I’m desperate. I can say that now, thanks to the Distillers' song. And soon I’ll be desperate in the suburbs. Which I think should be the title of my e.p. “Desperate in the Suburbs” by Ms Brown.

But, back in reality I have to find some boxes and pack up all my stuff, as well as coming in to work this weekend. Crap.

My rock star du jour, the one I fantasise about being at the moment, is: Wynne Greenwood. Even made a bit of art about it. But you can’t see it. Not unless you ask real nice. And even then you’ll have to wait til I move and get my new computer.

Beer is waiting for me, but hopefully not talk of politics, so I’m off.

Laters.

P.S. Please join me in sending out big psychic healing hugs for all those affected by bombs – all bombs, not just the four in London yesterday. Ta.