Just Call me Trouble

Sometimes, my life is like a scene from a very bad movie, the ones you watch with gritted teeth while the main character continually, and unintentionally, embarasses themselves by doing things you think can only happen in the movies.

I wonder if Trouble is my aura, or I just make it.

[Friday]

We sit around the table at the bar, me, Ingvild and some random guy she has just met whose name I can't remember. He wears a dangling shell earring in one ear and his arm in a cast. Apparently fighting was involved.

The barmaid comes around to collect our glasses and for some reason I decide to ask her if Michael - the bartender who gave me his number a few months back - is working.

"No. Why?"

"Oh no reason I was just wondering, just wanted to say hello."

"Really. How do you know him?"

"I met him here a few months back when he gave me his number."

"Oh really. He's my boyfriend."

Silence.

As everyone from the table looks around and I immediately cover my face with my hands and start apologising profusely while she tells me not to feel bad, she appreciates how I feel but I need to put myself in her shoes and she wants to know exactly what happened.

The guy with the earring tries to convince me it was meant to happen while I take long puffs off a spliff offered to me by the Swedish guys who are sharing our table, and I have not met, and vow never to set foot in the bar again because Michael will probably poison my drink.

University has started. The days are crazy and the nights are even crazier. If I am not shooting off my mouth and getting people into trouble, I am getting sex proposals from Irish boys within minutes of meeting them. I used to find it amusing that before I met Alan, I only knew one other Irish boy, and now they are around every corner I turn. Now, I am finding it scary.

Then there is Matt.

Matt, who we have speculated to be gay for the past year. Matt, who Queer Eye for the Straight Guyed our living room with fairy lights, ostrich feathers and framed photographs; his hair with red dye and gel; and his wardrobe with shiny black and bright orange disco shirts. Matt, who on Thursday night at the beach themed O-week party at uni, kissed Peter, while dressed as a jellyfish. Peter, who I had a crush on before I found it he was gay, and taken.

Speculation was all it was. I never expected to be standing next to him in prime position to witness him kiss the what appear to be very soft lips of a boy I had been fantasising over the past couple of days.

[Thursday]

Peter pulls back quickly and Matt moves in for a second go and is rejected. We walk home and I listen to him whine for hours about how he can't believe he was rejected, although I have other things on my mind. I am pissed off.

Matt has been insanely drunk all night and doing something he has termed the "jellyfish rounds", where he walks around the pub meeting random people and allowing them to pull on his tenticles, and tie them to things like beer cups, chairs and trees.

It is during one of these jellyfish rounds that he has heard an Irish boy talk, and has told the boy that his (Matt's) flatmate - being me - would love him because she's into Irish guys. He has then dragged me from the dance floor, outside to meet this Irish boy, who is a tool. Irish boy decides that he would like to be attached to me all night and while I dart in and out of the crowd trying to lose him, he manages to find me when I am stopped in one place for over a minute. I feel like a fly.

Within minutes of me meeting him, the boy has managed to piss off his friends and convinced himself that he can convince me to take him home. His now pissed off friends tell me they are annoyed, and they don't want to take him home and can he please crash at my place. I thank them and politely (or not so) decline their offer before walking in the general direction of home as quickly as I am able.

This is more excitement than I should be able to handle in a week, yet freakishly this seems to be the way of events surrouding my life as of late, and I am getting used to it.

I can't wait to see what next week has in store for me.

previous - next; thanks, diaryland.