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A Complex Enigma
I consider myself to be an intelligent bloke. Hell, a 135 in an IQ test shows I'm not an idiot. However, there are certain things in this life I hold my hands up and say "I don't have a clue.". Nuclear Physics. Brain surgery. How I'm still yet to be laid after 20 years of being so goddamn gorgeous. However, whilst I can probably get the jist of them all (and for the last one it's due to the ladies being to afraid of being with such an attractive Welshman that they keep away), one thing I can not understand.
How, in god's name can anybody in their sane mind support Arsenal.
I'm not talking about legit Arsenal fans. I'm talking about the neutrals. Today was Manchester United vs. Arsenal at Highbury, and after a quiet 50 minutes in the bar, it erupted when Henry scored a peach of a goal.
 La pêche |
And that's what I don't understand.
You see, Arsenal is a southern club. Liverpool is oop north. I've known tons of southern fairies in my life and can count on one hand how many of them I've gotten on with.
Incidentally, the ones I (and a lot of my mates) haven't got on with are Arsenal fans. Coincidence? Yeah, right. So why support them?
 La Resistance: They're French. Honest. |
Now. Look at Arsenal. Henry. Viera. Pires. Cygan. It's full of our European cousins! Hell, even the manager is from France! Surely you, the Great British public, hate them. Right?
Nah. You cheer every move they do against Manchester United, who - despite having more home nations players than the southern poofs - are percieved as cheating, angry crybabies. Maybe we do let things go our way, but to answer that 'cheating' statement, lets have a look at some footage from last year, seconds before Henry scored a goal against us, taking them 2-1 up in the fixture last year (which we later hit back to become 2-2): -
 Henry (far left). Now, I'm no Uriah Rennie. But that to me is offisde, good sir! |
And as far as angry goes, well, when we had them rattled last year, Cambell got sent off. Also, Viera was quite mouthy when we had them rattled. It's such a Jeckyll and Hyde team.
Alas, my complaining comes to nothing, as we conceed defeat to Arsenal for the title this year, and they have been dominant. Still, we've taken more points from them this year than any other team, and that makes me smile.
But why do you all (Chelsea and Man City fans aside) support them over Man U?
If Only I Could Turn Back Time
Last night had it's moments, and was cheap and fun. Alas, I don't think it beat the events of last year.
Keep the faith
Rhys
Got Your Supersonic Beats Mixing Up My Kids
I'd like to take this opportunity for judging a book by it's cover....
 The Blue Angel. Not very angelic, or indeed blue. Still, it's the Razz. |
"Lets go out."For those unregular readers, The Razz is a club just slightly off the beaten track that becomes a mecca for students on Thursday. Also, I'd like to say I am the Anti-Razz, as this club is a lot like students: cheap, dirty and half filled with water. I had never had a good night there, due to me getting so bored and claiming a monopoly on the fruit machines that are there.
"Razz?"
"Sure."
I had got past the bouncers no problem (unlike the last time I tried), stepped in, and thought "Hmmmm...this is not that bad". A couple of indy songs were played (and not that bloody Franz Ferdinand one, proper ones: "Lovefool" by The Cardigans and "The Day We Caught The Train" by OCS) and dirt-cheap Budweiser was drunk by me. It was there, with girls all dancing very close to me all around me (not due to choice - it was packed to the rafters), my opinion of The Razz changed. So now, in the clear light of soberity, I'd like to make this statement:-
The Razz is the dog's bollocks.
There. I said it. This time yesterday, you wouldn't of heard me utter those words, but like ginger haired women, I've gone passed original thoughts of the smell and whatnot, and learned to love the Razz for what it is: a cheap, fun night out.
So, what of the actual night? I've had good nights before, so what made this special?
Aha! Before going in, I was gagged by my mates with a "What happens in the Raz stays in the Raz" pact (on threatening of a shot to the nads), so I cannot talk more about it. Sorry!
I'vea Got A Lovely Bunch Of CoconutsAudience participation #1: Pete gave me a coconut and (despite suggestions from himself and Max amongst others, thanks guys) I really cannot figure how to get it open without exercising too much energy (I'm a lazy bastard at the moment, sue me). Any ideas? (Roland - who's new blog "Burning Down The House" is quality for nosh for students, I made myself the Kedgeree a few days ago and it was gorgeous. Nigella Lawson can kiss my arse - I'm looking in your general direction!) Fizzle....squeak!
Audience participation #2: Last Saturday, my bearly a year old but well past it's guarentee mobile phone (Nokia 3510i) curled it's toes and ascended into mobile heaven (it was right after the England/Wales encounter, my guess is that so many people sent text messages that it couldn't handle it). The question is, what to get now? I'd love one with a camera - partly for this website (so you can see my pulls!) and partly for myself (so I can see my pulls!). I wouldn't mind a Nokia (as that I had this ace ringtone - The Bubble Bobble Theme) and somewhere in the region of £150 and under (pay as you go). I've already compiled a list of about 4 which I'm eying up, any other suggestions?
Keep the Faith
Rhys
Two Faced Rappers, Walk Away with Four Shiners
Actually, that's a pretty shitty title. Firstly, I'm not two faced. Secondly, I can't rap, and finally, I didn't suffer four
shiners. I was just in the mood for quoting John Cena, that's all.
 It's Basic Thuganomics. |
It's not that I cannot remember anything last night, it's just that nothing worth remembering happened.
Well, except for this one incident. I was nearly through my 7 Carling binge, where I headed to the bar. Generally, the dancefloor is packed, and it can be bloody tricky navigating the sea of humanity. There are age old techniques - some move around with their hands in the air to get through, the cheeky individuals pinch arses to get people to move. I simply put my hand on their shoulder and politely say 'excuse me'. Generally they move. Simple.
Unfortunately, this trip to the bar included putting my hand on the most volatile woman in the world....
"THWACK....OWWWWEEEE!!!"
The thwack was her elbow into my ribs. The owwweee was my response. It fucking kills.
Nevertheless, I soldiered to the bar, and got a Carling to numb the pain. Lovely.
However, alcohol is temporary, and this morning, not only did I have a hangover (which I come to expect), I had a fairly impressive bruise below my ribcage which has slowly been turning itself from green to purple.
 Never underestimate ze power of le bomb! |
...Those are a few of my favourite things. This week I have discovered numerous cool things. Here are them: -
- MSN Minesweeper Flags: Mentioned on Roland's blog a few weeks ago, I finally played it this weekend, and it's ace. I'm currently averaging a 52% win rate (largely due to one of my regular opponants being stupidly logical). By far the best feature though is the one big bomb you get every round - which I have christened (in honour of a certain nation that is unfamiliar with artillary) "Le Bomb". On Saturday, me and a mate of mine decided that once Le Bomb is detonated, we should speak French thereafter, resulting in my favourite phrase of the night: "Le Bolloques!".
- Ash - Clones: I love Ash. They rock. Anyway, I downloaded this song (off Mycokemusic.com. Yes, I paid to download it, it's that good) over the weekend. Despite being very Un-Ash, it is fantastic.
- The So Called Chemist: Peter, a mate of mine from bowling who gave me a coconut for my birthday, has set up a blog, and it's suprisingly very very good. It pisses over Home Bargains' blog from a considerable height. Check it out.
Readers! You in Liverpool? Got tomorrow afternoon off? Want to meet me in the flesh? Come to Hollywood Bowl on Edge Lane, as the Bowling Club is having a sorta open day. Cost £6 for 3 games, but if you say "I'm with Rhys!" you'll probably get a discount.
Keep the faith
Rhys
St. Paddies!
Well, St Paddies was fun, and a lot of alcyhol was involved. However, the night didn't go as expected. A drunken stumble from the pavement resulted in a twisted ankle, meaning the last thing I wanted to do was spend a fiver to dance around Medication for 2 hours. Instead of opting for the packed O'Neills, I headed accross the street to Barracuda, whereby I met a few of my coursemates.
Bah, drunk a load, cannot remember a lot of the night, but pictures tell the story of 1000 words, don't they? Front row center, just the way it should be. With serious red-eye, which is the way it shouldn't be.
More pictures are available here, though I am not in hardly any of them. I'm a few, but I'm slowly getting more and more wrecked as it goes on.
And I still dream of you, I still love you the girl from Mars
In fantastic news from St. Paddies, earlier on in the day. I got a nice email from my brother informing me that Ash are playing in the Guild in late May. Needless to say, I immediately went to get my ticket. It's gonna be ace.
Max says: I took a lesson from your book of Rhys-isms last night
Max says: I pulled. yay
Rhys says: get in!- MSN Conversation, 20/03/2004
Dunno if I was providing a "lesson" as such, but by god, I'm taking credit for it! I'm Going Out For A While
Social life and Uni is slowly piling up, and I may have to do a Home Bargains, and take an extended break from blogging. Probably about a week or so, but I've recently haven't been arsed as such. I'll be back soon when I am arsed.
Keep the faith
Rhys
DING DING DING DING DING DING!!!!
So there I was, drunk as an Irishman after a fairly uneventful night in Double Vision. It was Tuesday morning. I knew that I had prepared myself beforehand such that when my 11 o clock lecture arrived, I wouldn't be hungover. I'd wake up at 10:30 as fresh as a daisy. Sure, it was 2am, but my tried-and-tested perfectly orchastrated method of avoiding a hangover will not have any slip ups. Right?
NOT THAT SORT OF DRILL...Moron.
At the ungodly hour of 8am, I was awoken by a faint siren noise. Normally it is a car alarm, but I've heard this siren before. With my head throbbing, it came to me.
It's the wave of fire alarms, and soon, my room will be next.
During a fire drill, which is what it was, I am provided with ample warning that our house's fire alarm will be set off due to the fact that my house is one of the last to be set off, so we get gradually awoken by the noise, before the siren in my room goes off.
And what a siren it is.
There have been rumours that people have slept through the siren. Bullshit. To sleep through the siren, you'd have to be clinically dead. Even Ludwig Van Beethoven - if he was alive today and attended Liverpool Uni - could hear it. I suppose it's a good thing, but at 8am, I wasn't happy, and I spent the rest of the day nursing a throbbing head (the one on my shoulders....).
 Happy St. Paddy's! Mine's a Guiness. |
"Hmm...that was a fairly successful fire drill. We need one more."You damn right we didn't expect it. Although sober as a judge, I was shaken by the fire alarm that was this morning at 6am. And I wasn't the only one. Apparently discussing the incident with the fire warden, not enough people left their rooms to justify a successful drill. They had better not do it tomorrow....
"We need to do it when they least suspect it."
"Yeah. How about 6am tomorrow?"
"Genius!"
Top of t'morning t'ye
As today is Saint Paddy's. Tonight I will be drinking lots of Guiness, pulling lots of Irish women, and generally denouncing the English (though I generally do that anyway). I enjoyed St. David's Day (becuase it was the last time I pulled), and tonight I'm off to O'Neills in town to drink, drink and be fucking merry.
Beannachtaí na Féile Pádraig duit (as they say in Ireland - don't ask me how to pronounce it.).
Keep the faith
Rhys
Bugger Part 1
Seems I didn't win that bloggie I was nominated for. Ah well. May have to re-adjust to winning blog (yes, I prepared one. Y'know, just in case).
Although I didn't win (which I'm not bitter about, honest) I would like to take this post to thank anybody who I have had the pleasure of sharing my life with. Family, friends, work colleagues, fellow bloggers and all my readers. You are too numerous to list here, but you know who you are. Thank you.
Thanks especially to Guy and anybody else (think it was just him, me, Jen and Mary - who incidentally thinks my blog is cool, which is nice) who were there on that fateful night of actually stealing traffic cones, which inspired my actual tagline (yes, that is where it came from).
 That's what it used to look like. Don't recognise it, then why didn't you vote. Loser. |
Thanks to Scary Duck, whose blog I read to get into this mullarkey in the first place.
Thanks to Roland, Cynthia, Liz*, Jake** and Max, who were all kind enough in my first few months of serious blogging to link to me.
Thanks to all the ladies I've pulled for putting images into my wankbank :).
Thanks to everybody (off the top of my head, I can think of Max, Cynthia and Rob) who championed the right, and just cause for Rhysisms, by being nice and saying "Oi, Rhys's blog rules, vote for him in the bloggies."***
And finally, thanks to everybody who voted for me. Although I still consider myself to be a small blog, even being nominated has raised awareness of my little corner of the web. Although I would probably keep on blogging even if no people read it. That being said, having someone to hear my thoughts, and read my life, I'm very appreciative of. It's nicer to know that I have inspired people to start blogging - and no, that isn't just Home "ooh, I've got a blog, I'll post three times, then fuck off" Bargains. There are others.
So. What's now for this blog? Well, I've always said that if I pull as a direct result of said bird reading this website, then I'll be happy. Until then, I'm not a success.
That above was my basic post I was kind of preparing today just in case. That being said, congratulations to Tenth Muse for winning the catagory of best tagline. And, should she ever stumble upon this blog, I ask her this question.
Would she really mind if I introduce myself to the ladies of Liverpool as "Rhys Wynne, 2004 Bloggie Award winner"? I mean, lets be honest, who's going to know? I wouldn't normally ask but....
Bugger Part 2I haven't pulled in 2 weeks and counting (yes, I worked it out. So sue me), the longest time in 2004. I'm losing my touch!
Keep the faith.
Rhys
* I know this link leads to nowhere. Come back soon Liz!**I know Punclox's Jeaneye is going to write back saying "ooh, it's a group blog!". But, to begin with, it was Jake and Jake only. So nyeh :P
***Admittedly, Rob's method was in a roundabout way. Still, every little helps.
We're on a mining ship, three million years into deep space. Can someone explain to me where the smeg I got this traffic cone?
Cool Crap!
Thanks Sam! for making me rediscover my love for Red Dwarf, by buying me crap off my wishlist. Visit his blog. It's ace.
Also got some B3ta badges through the post yesterday. Ooh, at the moment, it's like Christmas come early! Or late. Yes. Definitely late.
On Thursday me and a choice few friends (and Carlisle Twat, who just kinda tagged along) headed off to the Kray to right the wrong of last week. In effect, I had two birthdays. Ooh I feel like the Queen. However, this time around, I'm being sick on my own accord. So, was I?
No, but I still had a good night. Nothing special really happened, and the Tekken 3 Machine wasn't working, but still a good night. Oh, there was something funny that happened.
We were in K2, and we decided to save a little bit of money by putting the coats in a pile behind us while dancing. It was during a loud song that I sort of stepped back, and tumbled over said pile of coats.
Or so I thought.
I bent down to hopefully find said coats, but let out a "JESUSCHRISTALMIGHTYI'MSOSORRY!!", as I found out I tripped over some gothic bird, who was hunched over. She didn't respond.
She was alright mind, just had something swimming around her body that probably shouldn't of been there. How did I know she was alright? She gave out an "urggghh".
Anyway, I left fairly early (about half one. ish.) for a kebab. I was wasted, as the amount of Red Stripe I drunk probably isn't healthy, but still got a doner kebab with lettuce, cucumber and oodles of ketchup. Bliss. However, I couldn't eat it all, so I thought, in my alcohol warped logic: "Hmmm...I'll have the rest in the morning.".
Morning came, and I opened the fridge, and time was cruel on my turkish post pub snack. Also, there was a note on it: -
"Finish your kebab! It dripped tomato sauce into my milk!"Bugger.
Keep the faith
Rhys
The Fall Guy
At approximately 10pm last night, I suddenly recieved a glut of text messages, e-mails, phone calls and MSN messages. Here's a small sample of them:-
It's easy for me to make excuses, but we really should of won. We had a goal disallowed, the ref was unbelievably against us, and the second half we defended well. That being said, we've been sub par all season. It's far too easy to blame it on the lack of Rio Ferdinand, and we do miss his influence. However, we haven't really been firing on all cylinders all season. Beckham's departure to Real Madrid has affected us lots, Van Nistlerooy hasn't been quite as prolific as he was last season, and not finding a partner for Van has costed us dearly when the man been off form. That being said, we've had slip ups before. Fergie is in the midst of re-arranging his team, bringing in fresh blood. It happened in 97, it happened in 2001, and it's happenning now. We may walk away empty handed this season, but the return of Rio, Saha to truly settle in at Old Trafford, and getting the players to work together, next season we will be back. Keep the faith Rhys
WARNING: This post is about football. Visitors who don't share my passion for the beautiful game are encouraged to read yesterday's entry. It's very good, and features a very big sandwich."going out out out!" - Ste
Not have a clue what I'm talking about? This result meant we our European challenge is over for this year, and as probably the most open Man U fan in Liverpool (well, amongst my mates at least), I got shite. Lots of shite.
"Oh dear....Wot a season ur havin!" - Guy
"Ur out! Out! OUT!!! MANC SCUM!!!" - Ian
"1-1!!!" - Skinny
"Skinny told me to say ha ha" - Karen
"AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!" - Mike
"Did you see it? DID YOU SEE IT?" - Paul
"Porto!" - Zinderz
"You're a loser! You team are losers!" - Mum
Fucksocks.
Note To Self: Beer + Internet = Bad
I dunno whether I should be sorry or not for last night's posts. Uncharacteristic? Yes (one of my sensitive friends greeted with "What the fuck was that on your site last night?"). But I felt it had some truth behind it. Anyway, I don't think it's as half as bad as what I made it out to be. Generally, I do have a lot of friends - some that are female as well - and that makes me happy.
The only thing I'm going to apologise for is myself. Last few weeks I've pulled more times than in the previous 18 and 45/52ths years combined. Last night I went out with the feeling of expecting to pull. When I left empty handed (as it were) at 1am, I got miserable.
Terrible thing, pride.
Right, onto my humourous look back at a very painful weekend for me!
Shouting SoupThursday I was miserable, but this time my stomach was acting up. Friday was spent getting slowly better, so much so that when Saturday arrived I felt as fit as a fiddle, ready to take on the world.
 At the risk of alienating half my readers: COME ON THE IRISH!!! |
I bounded out of bed at around 11, feeling ready to cheer on Manchester United to a less than emphatic victory over Fulham (incidentally, I'm also supporting Tranmere Rovers in the FA Cup, as a lot of my mates are Trannies....err...are from Tranmere). I wasn't drinking anything but coke and J2O, as I didn't trust my stomach.
After a short de-tour to the bookies (which cost me £1. Arses), we sat down in the sports bar in inner city Liverpool for a bit of nosh.
Remembering the ill (pun intended) events of thursday, I fancied something quite light. I looked at the menu and saw chicken sarnies. "Brilliant" I thought, as chicken is sandwiched (pun intended, again) between turkey and tuna on the light meat scale.
"Garcon!" I hollered, "One chicken club sandwich, with chips.".
Sure, it seemed a little expensive, coming in just under a fiver, but that's the price of eating out, I suppose. We sat down and saw our £1 accumulators slowly whitter away, and then the starts of the greatest rugby result ever, when our food arrived.
 The biggest bastard sandwich in the whole wide world.... |
There was chicken in it alright. Chicken, bacon, salad cream, lettuce, tomato, cucumber, mayo and god knows what else. All served on white bread as well. It wasn't the biggest bastard sadwich in the world (that honour falls to this sarnie), but it was pretty big. Couple the one stop ride to artery-clogville with my in built desire to finish any food plonked in front of me (partly from being a poor student, partly my dad hated us wasting food), then I was going to have a night spent hunched over the toilet.
Sure enough, the second I finished my otherwise tasty sarnie, I went as white as a sheet. Any form of conversation was replaced with nonchelant 'uuurrrgghhhh's, and - largely due to my gambling failures - I was in a foul mood.
Somehow, although (what turned out - according to my mates - to be a very funny night in) Time Tunnel wasn't meant to be, I avoided causing a mess in the bathroom. My diet of Crunchy Nut Clusters (which are fucking gorgeous), water, Rennies and watching The World Is Not Enough caused my stomach to settle down like a treat. It was while watching Pierce Brosnan shafting Denise Richards I suddenly had a revalation.
"Y'know, I want to be James Bond."
Keep the faith.
Rhys
So, I cried, and I prayed and I begged....
Bah, those who want cheery, happy with the world Rhys, please look away now.
Last week, roughly about this time, I was having probably the most romantic time of my life - snogging some bird's tonsils out to Keane. Fast forward seven days however, and I'm currently miserable. Very, very miserable.
I currently feel unloved more than anything else, similar to Cyn's most recent rant I know, but I do.
Double Vision tonight was similar to a cattle market, I really could of pulled, but all of a sudden, my nerves kicked in. The confident, almost arrogent Rhys of little over one week ago has been allowed to rest. Welcome back shy, very insecure Rhys.
Dunno why, just all of a sudden the task of finding someone to talk to and spend a night with has become akin to scaling Mount Everest. Sure that'll please some people though, glad I've been knocked down a notch or two.
The worst thing is that it really has exposed what last week - and a few weeks before - have been for me. Sure, I've pulled. But no number, no kiss goodnight, no nothing. Just a few minutes of happiness to bluff myself into having a good night. I really would like someone who'd give a damn.
I did a test that first appeared on...I think...Virginia's blog. Anyway, it was a personality test. I came out as "The Boy Next Door". Sure, I'm friends with lots of people, but nobody really understands me deep down. What makes me tick. I kind of shut the emotional, deep self of me down for the good of my friends. The good thing is that nobody really hates me, but the opposite is that nobody, really adores me.
I'm not talking about someone who I can shag rotten, or chat too aimlessly, just someone I can ring up and share a crappy joke, someone who'd send me text messages asking me how my day was, someone who I can sit and watch television with, someone who I could share my life with.
You may say I'm not looking for a girlfriend. I'm not really. Just a friend who's a girl.
Normal service will be resumed when the hangover wears off.
Keep the faith
Rhys
It's My Party And I'll Cry If I Want To
Yesterday I was a miserable bastard. Hangover, dicky stomach and the fact that I've haven't been laid in my first 20 years on planet Earth (okay, maybe not the last one) meant that although everybody was really nice to me, I really didn't want to be at my birthday party.
Sure, it wasn't a bad night, but no amount of hugs, maltesers or Rennie's could make my stomach better. Over the course of the day, my hangover wained (to my tried and tested breakfast of honey nut cornflakes and a glass of watered down orange juice), but my stomach was still screwed when I went for the meal.
 Dave. Bloody moron didn't buy me a drink. Look at him sipping on Vodka Fanta Lemon! |
To be fair, my mates were fantastic, giving me hugs and soda waters all night, lying through their back teeth that I'm "not a miserable bastard on my birthday", whilst amusing me by inserting all manners of objects into Dave - my inflatable sheep (oh come on, every Welshie has one). Whilst I cracked smiles, I was still down, and - even if Britney Spears herself walked into the Hope & Anchor and said "Ooh Rhys, happy birthday, come back to my hotel room which contains a pool table so I can give you a special birthday treat!" - I wasn't getting better. We left for the Flute.
At which point, my spirits did begin to pick up. Maybe because of all the attention I was getting (I like being noticed, it's part the reason I started this site), maybe because my stomach was settling down from the 16 hour spin-dry it's been on, or maybe because having numerous free (non-alcoholic) drinks meant that I had enough money to go on the gamblers, dropping somewhere in the region of £15 over the course of the night. Probably the last one.
Much to the sheer joy of everybody, I dragged my whining miserable carcass home at about midnight. Sober as a judge, and still a bit ill.
Even that being said, I actually didn't have a terrible night. As a someone who spent until the early teens struggling for acceptance, I got into bed and looked at the ceiling before uttering these words.
"They like me. They really really like me."
Keep the faith
Rhys
We're Gonna Drink Bacardi Like, it's My Birthday
Unfortunately, not only Bacardi, but Carling, Guiness, Reef, Jack Daniels and god knows what else, so for my actual birthday (today), I am fantastically hungover.
And guess what? I'm gonna do it all again tonight! (Krazyhouse, Liverpool. Probably K3, if not then K2, where you'll probably find me kicking some ass on Tekken).
Oh well, busy day ahead. I'm meeting my mum for a meal in a bit. Got loads of cards as well.
Keep the faith
Rhys
Sex Bomb, Sex Bomb. I'm a Sex Bomb
So, as mentioned on a drunken comment on Jake's Blog early this morning, I pulled last night (or, to put it technically, 'got a snog'). Dunno why, but this one felt a bit more special than other snoggings the past two weeks.
So, it's for this reason, I don't really want to share too much of the gory details. Still, two things to come from it.
 It's St. David's Day! Paaaaarrrrrttttyyyy!!!. |
It was absolutely fantastic that last night was the first time I've actually ever been pulled. Usually, it's me - with a little Dutch courage inside me - who walks up to the bird before sticking the tongue down their throat. Last night? I just was dancing away to "Last Nite" by the Strokes, minding my own business before she appeared and hugged me. We danced through the world's most romantic track - "Heaven Is A Half Pipe" by OPM - then talked for a little, then a kiss through an incredibly more romantic "Somewhere Only We Know" by Keane, then she buggered off. Nevertheless, I reckon the buggering off was largely due to me, as I was really incredibly drunk and incredibly dorky (my dancing skills were at my worst here). The cool thing about the whole experience about me actually getting pulled was simply that there was a girl out there who thought I was physically attractive. Okay, she was probably hammered/brain dead/incredibly unfussy, but by god, she seemed happy to see me.
The other thing to come out of it is that how unbelievably shite I am at pulling. Maybe lack of practice (I wasn't one of these kids who kissed their forarm for practice), but I couldn't focus or hold a reasonable conversation with her, even the snog was described by an onlooker as "me experiencing cannabalism tendancies". Bollocks.
Anyway, the good outweighed the bad, and I generally had a good night.
The only downer on the night was a bit later on from said incident whereby some arse threw a Stella bottle in my general direction. It didn't have my name on it, just someone acting like an arse. Anyway, it hit some girl right on the bonce before riccocheting into my lower back.
And today, it fucking kills.
I've had bottles smashed over my head before with little pain (okay, small cuts and whatnot), and I've been hit with bottles. I wished that arsing bottle had smashed as I wouldn't of been in as much pain as I am now. Argh me kidneys!
Hmmmm...Stella Artois, causing kidney pain? Seriously? Get away!
In happier news: birthday in 2 days. I like Maltesers.
Keep the faith
Rhys
