And the wheels come off.
In that I was meant to go to fireworks tonight with Alex M but cannot because I had to write first, and writing went on rather later than it usually does (I've only just sent it out at 6.20pm) because I didn't get up until about 1pm, because I didn't go to BED until 3.45am.
Anyway I was exhausted already yesterday (no apparently I need more than five hours' sleep a night in the winter) and then went to the Pulp Special at Feeling Gloomy with Charlie. It was very, very, very sweaty in there, and I danced enough that by the time I got home in the morning I'd already hit my daily step total (Which is good because I'm not fucking getting out of bed now). Several people managed to spill entire half pints of beer over me, some judgemental ageing indie boys (like, 40+) got the hump at me dancing IN THE CORRECT AND PROSCRIBED FASHION to Wuthering Heights (son, it's Wuthering Heights. You don't do any other kind of dance to this), and my tendons and feet are a fucking wreck, I definitely did my chest some kind of a mischief jumping up and down to Pulp for about three solid hours, but I did have a Nice Time. Also, like a responsible adult: stopped drinking at a certain point and switched to water, therefore not turning into the people I was dancing with ("The man who is making the swaying, pre-retch movements of someone about to chunder on the dancefloor", who happily made it out of the club before giving in to the inevitable, or "absolutely wrecked guy who cannot keep his hands off anyone" - in fact, observation of the evening is that I have a far clearer idea about Not Touching People than anyone else who isn't autistic does... pro-tip: friends with autism! The people who GET BOUNDARIES AND DON'T RANDOMLY MOLEST YOU). And I left before it finished because, wow, responsible (also they'd blown their Common People wad and that was what I was there for, really).
Given that I used to go to indie nights around 14, 15 years ago and have exactly the following thought, I am amused that nothing has changed:
+ I enjoy this music the most but it is harder for me to dance to than straight pop and techno because it's not designed to be danced to
+ Indie fans have the worst case of collective resting bitch face of any subculture INCLUDING GOTHS
+ Shallow, but: wow ugly. I mean, with men it's pretty much a tie between goths & indie kids for "well I am sure you have a lovely personality but I don't have one-night stands with personalities", but goth women at least frequently make up for this by being dazzling. Indie fan ladies not so much, although, for obvious reasons, I am less personally offended by unclassically beautiful indie ladies than I am by munt-faced indie boys.
and one new observation, as a combination of not really smoking ever and a new-found improvement in olfactory health and sensitivity which may be rooted in increased periods of sobriety and not subsisting on junk food constantly have collided twice in the last two days to gift me this unwanted insight:
+ smokers please yuck. yuck. also this appears to be related to testosterone, because oestrogen-y people who smoke smell of... smoke. that's it. testosterone-y people who smoke SMELL LIKE SOMETHING IS DYING. IT'S REALLY UNPLEASANT. PLEASE STOP STANDING NEAR ME, OR TALKING TO ME, OR DOING ANYTHING, UNTIL YOU STOP SMELLING LIKE A 1970S SOFA THAT HAS BEEN LEFT IN THE STREET SINCE ABOUT 1989. YOU ARE REVOLTING GO AWAY.
ANYWAY glad to have got that out of my system stop smelling so fucking awful I'd literally rather you smelled of cow shit.
Anyway I was exhausted already yesterday (no apparently I need more than five hours' sleep a night in the winter) and then went to the Pulp Special at Feeling Gloomy with Charlie. It was very, very, very sweaty in there, and I danced enough that by the time I got home in the morning I'd already hit my daily step total (Which is good because I'm not fucking getting out of bed now). Several people managed to spill entire half pints of beer over me, some judgemental ageing indie boys (like, 40+) got the hump at me dancing IN THE CORRECT AND PROSCRIBED FASHION to Wuthering Heights (son, it's Wuthering Heights. You don't do any other kind of dance to this), and my tendons and feet are a fucking wreck, I definitely did my chest some kind of a mischief jumping up and down to Pulp for about three solid hours, but I did have a Nice Time. Also, like a responsible adult: stopped drinking at a certain point and switched to water, therefore not turning into the people I was dancing with ("The man who is making the swaying, pre-retch movements of someone about to chunder on the dancefloor", who happily made it out of the club before giving in to the inevitable, or "absolutely wrecked guy who cannot keep his hands off anyone" - in fact, observation of the evening is that I have a far clearer idea about Not Touching People than anyone else who isn't autistic does... pro-tip: friends with autism! The people who GET BOUNDARIES AND DON'T RANDOMLY MOLEST YOU). And I left before it finished because, wow, responsible (also they'd blown their Common People wad and that was what I was there for, really).
Given that I used to go to indie nights around 14, 15 years ago and have exactly the following thought, I am amused that nothing has changed:
+ I enjoy this music the most but it is harder for me to dance to than straight pop and techno because it's not designed to be danced to
+ Indie fans have the worst case of collective resting bitch face of any subculture INCLUDING GOTHS
+ Shallow, but: wow ugly. I mean, with men it's pretty much a tie between goths & indie kids for "well I am sure you have a lovely personality but I don't have one-night stands with personalities", but goth women at least frequently make up for this by being dazzling. Indie fan ladies not so much, although, for obvious reasons, I am less personally offended by unclassically beautiful indie ladies than I am by munt-faced indie boys.
and one new observation, as a combination of not really smoking ever and a new-found improvement in olfactory health and sensitivity which may be rooted in increased periods of sobriety and not subsisting on junk food constantly have collided twice in the last two days to gift me this unwanted insight:
+ smokers please yuck. yuck. also this appears to be related to testosterone, because oestrogen-y people who smoke smell of... smoke. that's it. testosterone-y people who smoke SMELL LIKE SOMETHING IS DYING. IT'S REALLY UNPLEASANT. PLEASE STOP STANDING NEAR ME, OR TALKING TO ME, OR DOING ANYTHING, UNTIL YOU STOP SMELLING LIKE A 1970S SOFA THAT HAS BEEN LEFT IN THE STREET SINCE ABOUT 1989. YOU ARE REVOLTING GO AWAY.
ANYWAY glad to have got that out of my system stop smelling so fucking awful I'd literally rather you smelled of cow shit.