Poor Stevie

On Saturday night Joel, Brown-town, Liam and I met up for some drinking, dancing and eating.

And I sure as hell ate all 52 of the pieces in the frozen yum cha yum box. This had a horrible effect on my ability to get tipsy – as in, I was so full of curried bits, pastry and frickin’ money bags that the alcohol had no chance of going anywhere except straight to my pea-like bladder. What a damned waste!

So we hauled our asses – mine particularly bloated and uncomfortable in my new semi-high waisted grandpa pants – up to Oxford Street.

First of all we went to Stonewall which was first for me. It was all that can be expected. Groomed muscley men, ungroomed (and as far as I could tell, straight) girls looking to pash a groomed muscley dude, groomed men dressed as ungroomed girls looking to pash a groomed muscley man, ungroomed unmuscley men hoping to pash groomed muscely men and someone’s dad in the corner.

Over there was Joel who was all, ” I don’t know what I’ll do if some guy grabs my ass” and then later, when it didn’t happen was all, “no one grabbed my ass!!”

And there was Liam who looked super proud to show us wide-eyed virgins around.

And then there was Bron and I. Her with a sore leg from standing up all day and me with severe gas and a waistband cutting into my liver and stopping blood flow to my parts. Yep, definite hotties.

Then we all delicately hopped over puddles of vomit to go to Spectrum. Which, for eight whole bucks, was severely disappointing. The bar staff were lazy and the DJ kept playing the goddamned Killers – and no, I don’t want to feel your bones on my bones.

Maybe it’s because I’m from Orange where a cover charge is only expected in brothels,  but I want value for my money.  I want good music, I want free-flowing drinks, I want a lucky door prize!

So we packed up our balls and left at around 1am, walked Liam back to his place and took a taxi home. The driver tried to rip us off, assuming we were so drunk we would readily agree to pay 10 extra bucks because he drove us across the bridge. Idiot.

And then we wound our clocks forward and woke up at 11. Alright!

Sometimes the future – it’s exciting.

The dude who lives above us has the most awesome life ever.

Joel talked to him when we first moved in and he was all like, “I’m never here because I’m some kind of action cop/army/military/spy, so you’ll never see me”.

We never see him, but by the beard of Jesus, we have heard his every movement. Right now, he’s watching teevee – it sounds like maybe its Channel V or something similar – and I’m assuming he has surround sound because its loud, sharp and booming.

Last night at about 2am, not only did something outside my block of flats make a loud crash, but hot cop upstairs was actually running around his flat, putting washing on and generally being an unfriendly neighbour.

Not so long ago, Joel and I were spooning and falling asleep when we heard some girl in pure ecstacy – screaming and oohing and aahing. He was obviously ploughing her like there was no tomorrow.

Steve: Do you hear that?
Joel: Is that what I think it is?
Steve: I think … they’re doing it.

We’ve never heard her again – so he’s a tote bachelor

He also pees like an elephant. He must be busy and leave it till the last moment, because every single wee I hear him doing is like the Tom Hanks wee in A League of Their Own and I’m always tempted to get out my stopwatch and time it Madonna styles.