Chimps and Barbies
What's that quote? "Good girls keep diaries, bad girls don't have time".
I assume they don't have time because they're off doing scandalous things. Leaving the lid off the Marmite, perhaps, or antagonizing the cat.
I am not such a girl. My lack of blogging hasn't been due to my wild and dastardly lifestyle, but more due to the fact that every time I think about writing a post my brain fills up with things that I want to say but can't seem to find ways of saying them.
I know! Categories!
I don't know if you've heard, but there's this thing on at the moment. What's it called again? Oh, yeah, um, recession. Credit crunch. Worldwide economic meltdown. Did you know? I only just heard, because I don't go out much and they haven't really mentioned it much in my bi-monthly copy of "Horse And Pony" magazine. Anyway, what this means for me is that I haven't got a job. I am still Well-Mannered, Articulate Dole Scum.
I did land a job at one of Manchester's infamous gay clubs. However, when I got there it transpired that there would be no actual bar-work involved. The role was comprised of pushing through crowds of teetering women wearing hen night sashes, lurching around to Dancing Queen while their fake tan dripped down their faces to mingle with the spilled Bacardi and Diet Coke that pooled on the increasingly sticky floor. Collecting glasses, basically. Oh, and keeping an eye out for any vomit on the dance floor. The manager eyed me. "Best to keep a pair of rubber gloves in your back pocket at all times" he smirked, as I tried to conceal my horror. "And check the toilets. People block them, so you have to unblock them. Basically."
Twenty minutes, I lasted, before I announced that it wasn't really "for me" and skulked back to Ben's.
"You smell of hen sick" he announced, as he opened the door. I congratulated him on the line that had only taken him half an hour to come up with, and walked inside.
"I smell, I think you'll find" I said, accepting the glass of wine he was proffering, "of self respect."
Choir is still brilliant. I sang at Old Trafford, which is some kind of sports-related place, apparently. We did a concert at an awards ceremony, and I opened with a solo. My knees shook and I forgot the words a bit, but it was brilliant, and I bloody loved it. Oh, and we're on TV on Thursday! On Channel M, on the breakfast show. Also they have a professional agency affiliated with the choir, for which I am auditioning on Monday. I haven't decided what song to sing, but I am considering penning my own for the occasion. Perhaps entitled "Choir Is So Great And Fun And Super-Brill!".
As you can tell, I haven't managed to curtail my extreme keenness. I suppose I must just accept it, and understand that I will always want to sit at the front, sing loud and know all the words. It is a fact of my life. I must try to think of ways to be cool in other ways. (Suggestions welcome.)
I did a gig with a band, and am going to do some writing with one of the guys from it. I sang at a gig in an Oxfam shop, and have been asked to go back to the Dukes Theatre in Lancaster to do a gig in their autumn season. Actually, Ben and I have been asked to come up with a show (that includes my music and his poetry) to put on in their theatre space, which is in the round and seats about three hundred people. I would also like it to involve a unicorn and me being lowered down in half a giant disco ball while Ben circles the stage in roller skates reciting haikus, but it is still in early stages and we are still in talks with the unicorn's agent, so we will have to see.
I have some! One is leaving to go and live in Birmingham. She is a Bad Influence, always suggesting just one more glass of wine or some extra cake (it is never me). She is an actor, and funny and cool, and I like her, and now she is going to live in another city and I cannot help but take it a bit personally.
I am going to Australia next week! With Ben and his family, to visit his sister. They have had it booked for ages, but it was decided that Ben would be no fun without me, what with all the crying, drawing pictures of me in his diary and general pining, so in a fit of unprecedented generosity his wonderful Dad has bought me a ticket. Can you believe it? This happened two days ago, and we leave on the 8th of April. Hurray! I have been dressed as a kangaroo ever since my ticket was booked for me, which is fun, albeit a little impractical. Luckily the buses all have those ramp things for people in wheelchairs, so I can hop up those. The pouch, it must be said, is handy for grocery shopping and an environmentally-safe alternative to plastic bags.
Life is good. I have had a few panicked, sitting-on-benches-staring-at-pigeons moments, and my living arrangements are still in a constant state of flux. I flit between my grandmother's house and Ben's, both of whom are "happy to have me there", but in my darker moments it feels like I have no home. I struggle with that feeling. I am trying to build my life, doing training for things, courses and music, still refusing to do things I hate and live a life I don't like.
I am going to Australia! Pass me the flip flops and throw some more chimps at some Barbies! (Is that the phrase?) Laura (Ben's sister) lives in Melbourne, so we are going there. I have been to Sydney, and up the coast to Cairns. Also Darwin, I have been there, but I am excited about Melbourne! I am excited about going away and about the films on the plane that I otherwise would not have bothered watching! It will be my 27th birthday when we are out there, which is exciting. Also exciting is the fact that before it had been decided that I would come out as well, Ben arranged a birthday-day for me tomorrow, fueled by love/guilt, so has booked a surprise theatre trip and dinner at a "fancy restaurant".
I am a lucky girl. Now I must go as this kangaroo suit is rather hot and cumbersome and it is becoming increasingly tricky to type.