7 March 2008
Things I can't take seriously: emo kids. I mean, really? I remember when music was more music than lifestyle, and I'm the same age as half these idiots. Get a fucking haircut, for one, and two, I'm happy to help you smudge your eyeliner for that tearful look. With my fist.
Spent the first twenty minutes listening to details of Trevor's hot date from last night. Um... it wasn't. I'm a little surprised she (no name; I wonder if she's real) didn't smash an Austrian crystal wineglass from the exotic restaurant over his head about three minutes into the thing. Kim must be even more PMSsy than usual, since she actually said that. To his face. Victoria has been appalled at our behavior – apparently she spotted him at the Student Youth for Jesus house just off middle campus, where she spends a lot of her time, and he has thus grown in leaps and bounds in her mind. Since she clearly has the Jesus spirit in her, I can't in good conscience even suspect her for liking him just because he's loaded (he is; I wasn't joking about the Austrian crystal glasses. Seriously, he drives a new GTi and has a Breitling watch, and those were his 18th birthday presents from his folks. His family is l-o-a-d-e-d). I do wish he'd quit with Charles, though, and call me Charley like I've asked him to. Clearly he appreciates my parents' regal upper-class ideals despite our middle-class existence – in fairness, there hasn't exactly been a King Trevor popping up in the history books, and I guess Charles Reed, Esquire, does sound quite hoity toity after all.
Okay, so I've remembered why I played hockey at school instead of football. I didn't do too badly, but some of those other guys... wow, they're good. Not sure I'd be good enough to make the team, but since there is quite a lot of talent among us we're thinking about entering two teams and then I should be okay. Nice bunch of guys, too. Okay okay, a nice looking bunch of guys. I stuttered and stammered my way through most of the thing trying to not get a stiffy. I think at least one of them is gay, a B.Com guy from Paolo's dorm called Tim; and possibly one of the two engineers, Colin, but I'm not completely sure in either case. Did I mention I have terrible gaydar? I blame the emo kids for this as well – at least Back in what experts and historians would refer to as The Day you could be fairly certain that two guys all up in each other's business were actually gay.
I bailed on the football earlyish to grab a quick shower afterwards before my maths tut (did I mention I am fucking out something chronic in maths?) because I must've smelled like a miner; school being the way it was I'm not used to showering in company so I deliberately went early so I wouldn't have to get nekkid with an audience of people I sort-of knew. Imagine my dismay when four of the others pitched up to shower ten minutes later. I was being all brave about it and everything, but I kinda had to and oh my days, Paolo is fucking HUGE! Jeebers, his knob is about six inches flaccid; possibly longer down than mine is up, which I don't think is fair. How sad it is to be a .za white guy of English descent – the black guys and the white Afrikaans guys and the guys with Portuguese blood in them always seem significantly bigger than us. I wonder if the English have the smallest cocks in the EU? There's a Master's degree for someone in that study; I'd do it if I could touch and take pictures... where was I? Oh yes – the showers. I looked, of course, and I wasn't the smallest guy there, thank G_d, but I took a super-quick super-cold shower anyway so I didn't pop a cock-stand with all the eye-candy on display. The locker rooms are a little gammy, as well – there is an odour, for one, and they could use an overhaul. Anyway, looking at Paolo, all freaky and hairy and shit; he looks like he's wearing a jersey in the shower, it reminds me that after The Taste two nights ago I didn't get in there with a razor after all – better do that this evening before heading out.
Yes, that's right; you read it correctly – I am heading out. I have cracked the nod to a house party, having clearly made something of an impression with the guys playing football. Hello, social ladder; don't mind me while I climb you.
-C