5 posts tagged “mark”

Well, this day started off fabulously. I woke up with the worst hangover I've ever had- thanks for that Elle. And then I realized that it was sodding Valentine's Day. It's lovely when you've got someone but it's shit when you don't.

Last year, Mark and I went on the London Eye and had dinner at a romantic restaurant and got champagne and shagged about thirty thousand times.

I called Tom, just to see if he wanted to get together, but he says he's got a date with some trollop he met online. I bet she's fat. Fat and ugly. And I hope she's rubbish in bed. Or, better yet, I hope Tom suddenly becomes "unable" and she laughs at him.

Ah, yes. That would be fab.

Well, sod it. Sod this whole day.

Elle is off with Theo tonight. God, he really is quite cool. And pleasant. And polite. And charming. And sodding gorgeous. I still have yet to figure out what he sees in her... and not in me.

I found Bert in the kitchen, slowly sipping at a bottle of cheap wine. I ruffled his hair.

"I thought you had some gig tonight," I said. "Some anti-Valentine's Day poetry thing."

Bert glanced at me and scowled. "It got cancelled. The MC got a date at the last minute." He bleched. "The fucking nob."

I sat down across from him and held his hand. "Oh, Bert. I'm sorry. I know you were really looking forward to it." I smiled weakly. "You were going to borrow my nicest outfit and everything for it."

Bert sighed loudly, his shoulders dropped. "Plus, you know... Elle's out with Theo tonight." He looked at me. "He's such a prat, i'n't he?"

I nodded. "Yes." No, not really. "He certainly is."

Bert finished off that bottle and pulled another one out of a paper bag. "Here. Drink up. If I'm going to have a shit Valentine's, I might as well be pissed."

So, Bert and I drank several bottles of wine, laughed, watched a little telly... and then ran out of wine. So, naturally, we stumbled out of the shop, hunting for more wine.

"That'll be twenty pounds please," said the liquor store clerk with a raised eyebrow.

I laughed and looked at Bert. "Fuck. I don't have any money."

Bert waved a hand at me and slapped twenty quid on the counter. "Keep d'change, eh? You're a good man s'ya can keep d'change!"

"Er, thanks."

So, we stumbled back to the shop, which we had accidently left unlocked- oh well. We drank a couple more bottles of wine and fell onto the floor in front of Elle's desk after dancing around to music on the radio.

"I could be a singa!" I exclaimed, bottle in hand. "See? Watch." I sang into the wine bottle like a microphone. "So, if you're lonely, you know I'll be here wai'in for you! I'm just a crosshair! I'm just a shot away from you!"

"You know," Bert said, interrupting my jam session. "You're actually quite pretty! And sometimes I feel so bad, Elle treats you like rubbish sometimes and you don't deserve it."

"I know I won't be leaving here... wiiiiiith yoooooou!!"

Bert stumbled over to me. "I'm gon' kiss you, zat alright?"

And then he did. And it was actually kind of nice... well, nice for being a drunken kiss. Not too sloppy or dribbly.

Everything after that is a bit of a blur, unfortunately. I do remember that there was some removal of clothing... and I sang some more, but I was in my knickers... and then there something about looking for something and then giving up.

Oh, my God. I know what we were looking for before we just said "to tell with it". Oh, my God.

We were looking for a condom.

Oh, shit. 

As pay back for having to come and get me after spending the night with Jim- er, Tim, Elle made me work the next day. This job really is God-awful dull. I actually caught myself reading a dictionary to pass the very slow-moving time.

I wander if I could just give myself a severe paper cut across the throat and DIE.

I was spying on Black Books through the window when the little bell above the door jingle, letting us all know that a customer was coming in. Nobody had been in all day so it gave me quite a start.

It was Tom.

And he didn't even notice me.

So, I had to make him notice me.

I grabbed a book off a random shelf, opened it and "accidently" bumped into Tom.

"Oh, gosh," I exclaimed. "I'm so sorry!" I looked up at him, batting my eyelashes discreetly. "Tom!"

He raised his eyebrows. "Elise. What the bloody hell are you doing in a book store?"

I glared at him. "I can read, you know!"

Tom glanced at the cover of the book I had in my hand. It was, unfortunately, The Black Man's Guide to Understanding the Black Woman. Just my luck. It couldn't have been something like The Da Vinci Code or-or-or... 1001 Ways To Tell If Your Lover Is A Complete Fuck-Up Named Tom. Oh, yes. That would have been a really good one.

"Interesting choice," he said with a laugh. "So. How long have you been a black man, anyway? Not long."

I tossed the book onto a nearby shelf and crossed my arms over my chest. "Well, you would know!!"

It was about 0.5 seconds later that I realized that that wasn't actually a come-back. Bugger.

I glanced at Elle for a little assistance. Maybe she would toss the wanker out on his ass. But no. My dear sister was asleep, her head on her desk, an empty bottle of wine sitting on some old books. Great.

Tom just smirked. (Prat.) "I think we should go to lunch."

"It's half ten," I said.

Tom looked at Elle. "Think your boss would mind if you took off a little early?"

"She's not my boss!" I huffed. "She doesn't tell me what I can and cannot do!" I grabbed his hand and lead him out of the shop.

We went to the nearby pub and had some lunch. We talked about everything. Mark. Trish. Us. The whole complicated mess. But, there had been an update since the whole blow-up happened.

"Mark and Trish have been sleeping together for over a year," Tom explained. "And Trish is pregnant."

I gaped at him. "Well, is it yours or is it Mark's?"

Wow, I thought. That is exactly what happened on EastEnders yesterday. 

"Well, the doctor told her she is four weeks pregnant," he said, looking like he didn't give a fig. "So, it has to be Mark's." Tom sighed and sipped his lager. "Needless to say, Mark and I are no longer chums. And Trish is now at his place."

"Do you miss her?" I asked softly.

"Not really," he said with a shrug. "I do miss you, though."   

I have no sister.

For all these years, I thought I had a sister. But apparently, I was very mistaken.

That person who I thought was my sister is actually a heartless, uncaring shrew. This shrew has also just told me that the room- the room that I just assumed was going to be mine- I slept in last night is no longer mine. The shrew put out an ad for the room and some skirt-wearing, comedy-performing, Eddie Izzard-loving tranny answered it. In fact, his stuff is already in the room while mine is out in the hall, waiting to be moved.

Fantastic.

Now. Not only do I not have a sister, I guess I don't have any friends either. I called up all my mates and not one of them has a spare room I can stay in or sofa I can sleep on. Well, sod it. I don't need mates and I definitely don't need a sister.

While Elle The Shrew was chatting flirting with her oddly attractive new roommate, I stole one of Elle's fags from the desk and went outside, in the pouring rain, to be alone. I hadn't smoked in two and a half years. I had never been truly homeless before. Ugh. All homeless people looked so unnattractive.

I dropped the cigarette butt onto the ground and put it out with my heel. It was just then that Manny from Black Books approached me. He forced his eyes to meet mine.

"Hello," he said, speaking towards the ground. "How-how-how are you doing?"

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Fine." And how are things going on Planet Zargon?

He peered passed me into the open door of the shop. "What's Elise doing talking to that transvestite?"

I rolled my eyes. "That's Elle. I'm Elise." I frowned. "For God sake, we don't even look alike."

Manny laughed awkwardly. "Right. I was just... I was just kidding, y'know." He shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets again.

"Right," I said. "That's Bert. He's stealing my bedroom from me. I've been evicted by my own sister. Nice, huh?"

Manny pretended to be extremely interested and concerned, furrowing his eyebrows in a "I'm-extremely-interested" sort of way and crossed his arms in a "I'm-very-concerned" sort of way. "Well, where are you going to stay?"

"I expect in an alley somewhere." I shrugged. "If I'm lucky, some rat will bite me and I'll die of rabies."

Manny winced in thought. "You could stay at Black Books." His eyes widened as soon as the words escaped his lips. He probably hadn't thought it through very well.

But I jumped at the opportunity. A place to stay was a place to stay.

"Really?" I said. "I mean, that would be fab. It wouldn't be for very long, just until I find another flat somewhere." I smiled at him, that strange-looking man. "I really appreciate this, Manny."

His cheeks turned pink. "It's no problem, really."

I bit my lip. "Bernard won't mind, will he?"

Manny's eyes widened again. "Uh... I'm sure it'll be fine... Just, um, gimme a minute. I'll go clear it with him and we can start moving your stuff over. Alright?" He seemed less than confident in this venture but I didn't dare question his methods. I wasn't in the mood to be abducted by the mother-ship.

I went back inside and started lugging my stuff downstairs so it would all be ready for Manny when he got back. I watched out the front windows, trying to see what was going on over at Black Books. However, the piles of books in front of their store windows made that generally impossible. Manny didn't come back for about half an hour, but when he did came back over, he seemed more chipper than ever.

"Alright," he said, a little hop in his step. "We can bring your stuff over now."

"Bernard was okay with me staying then?"

Manny hesitated. "Uh... Yes! He said it's fine. Come to think of it, he'd like you to stay as long as you like!" He chuckled awkwardly and picked up the largest of the boxes, only to drop it right back down again, directly onto his foot.

It only minutes later that I discovered Bernard Black passed out, his face buried in an old book on his desk, a puddle of drool surrounding his mouth. I grimaced and followed Manny upstairs to my new bedroom. It was fine enough, small but tidy. It then dawned on me- my new bedroom was actually Manny's old bedroom.

"Well, Manny," I said. "Where are you going to sleep?"

Manny shrugged. "I'll just push some chairs together in the kitchen." He bid me good night and left me alone.

As I lay awake in Manny's bed (God. Never thought I'd say that... at least, not this soon, anyway.), staring at the wall, knowing that I would be evicted from this house in the morning- not by Manny, but by Bernard. I knew full-well that he had agreed to nothing.

This is all Tom's fault. I'd still be with Mark if he hadn't opened his big fat gob and told him that we'd slept together.

Sodding men.

Every thing just seems to get better and better.

I got up this morning to find Elise in the kitchen, cradling a bottle of wine.  She loooked terrible.  More so then usual after something has pierced her little bubble of - lovely.

Her hair stuck out at all different angles; her mascara had run down her face (and was still there); her eyes were red and puffy and her skin had gone all blotchy like it does whenever she appears out of nowhere in the middle of the night after something has gone wrong with her man friends.

"I hate men.  All of them," she mumbled with her eyes closed, as I walked by.

"Even Da?" I asked, pulling bread out of the box.

"N-noooo..." she replied slowly.  "He doesn't hate me.  Or use me." 

After I popped a slice of bread into the toaster I sat down at the table across from her.  She squinted her eyes at me.

"Why are you here Elise?"

"Thought I'd come in early, yeh?"  I studied her face as she squirmed in her seat.

"Why are you really here Elise?"  She began sniffling.

"Mark found out that-that Tom and I sle-slept together a month a-ago," she sobbed, hugging the bottle.  "Mark won't have me now, and Tom has - he ha-has a g-girlfriend!"  She began bawling, making her mascara (or what was left of it) to run down her face some more.  I waited until she calmed down a bit before continuing.

"I suppose you haven't gone to any SAA meeting in a while, have you?"

"N-n-no; I thought I could h-h-handle it m'self," she whispered, wiping her eyes.

"Cold turkey, eh?  Cor, Elise.  You just can't do it that way."

"I know."

I got up and jammed up my toast before sitting back down.

"Where are you staying now?"

"Upstairs, in-in the spare room."

Shite.

"Fine. You know what you're doing today then?  You're going to find out when the next SAA meeting is and you're going to go to it, Elise.  You need help, luv.  I'll even take you to the meeting m'self."

I really did feel bad for her.

I also didn't tell her that someone had replied to my advert about the spare room. 

I kind of forgot to tell her about the advert too.  Double Shite.

Before noon, I took a stroll over to enemy territory.  Yes, I went to Black Books.

I walked into the shop undetected for the most part.  That Fran woman was talking to some dirty looking bloke who was sitting at a desk by a curtain, smoking and reading.  In the shop.  Such freedom.  Elise won't let me smoke in the shop.

Anyroad, as soon as I looked around the dingy little hole, I hid inbetween the shelves, trying to see if this Bernard was around, by cleverly picking up a book and pretending to read it. 

But then I heard Fran saying, "Oh! Bernard!  Bernard!  Look, there she is!"

To my slight dismay, the dirty man was apparently Bernard.

"Wha?  Who?" he replied.

"The girl from across the street, Bernard!  The one who owns the new bookshop!"

"Where is she?  Which one?"

"There, Bernard!  Keep your voice down!"  I then heard the chair roll out a bit and then some heavy footsteps, as I quickly went back to pretending to read the book.

"You!  You book-bartering harlot!  Yes you!" I turned around, expecting him to be right behind me, but instead he was accosting an old lady wearing a hat with flaps.  Fran ran up behind him and tried to drag him away.

"No, Bernard, not her!"

"But you said - !"

"Not her, her!"

Bollocks.  Why me?

He stomped over, grabbed my arm and turned me around to face him.

"You!  Whatever I said to Flaps over there - that!" he shouted in my face.  He reeked of fag smoke and wine.  To top it all off, he was Irish.  Not that that really matters, Elise and I are part Irish anyroad.

"Book-bartering harlot, am I, you raging, mental drunk?!"

"OUT!  Get out!" he said as he grabbed the book from my hands and smacked my arm with it.  I ran to the door and then, well, to put it plainly, I called him a "jam headed prat."  Not sure why. 

Nevertheless, I ran back across the street to the shop, bumping into some kind of hippie on the way in.  Hippies give me the creeps.  London's full of them too. 

To be continued... 

Sodding men!!

Stupid sodding, bullocking, prat wankers!! The lot of them!

I went home at the end of the day from the shop to find my lovely, perfect boyfriend Mark and his friend Tom, sitting in silence on the sofa. You could cut the tension with a spork- or whatever utensil you chose to use.

Mark stood up, staring at me. "Elise, Tom and I have been talking."

Oh, shit.

"About what, love?" I asked, playing dumb and stalling for as long as possible.

"Don't worry. Tom told me all about that night when you and I had that fight last month." Mark whole face was motionless and his eyes were fixed on me and burning with anger. Things, at this point, were not looking up for me. "You slept with my best friend? Elise, how could you do this to me? To us?!"

I blinked at me. "...Well, to be fair... your best friend slept... with-with... with me."

Great. I'm almost positive that that was a very bad thing to say.

Mark just rolled his eyes. "I want you to pack your things and get out. I don't want you here in the morning. Is that clear?"

I swallowed. "But Mark..."

Mark stormed out of the flat. I heard my heart pounding in my ears.

Tom just looked over at me and raised his eyebrows. "Fancy a shag?"

After drinking all the wine in the flat with Tom, spilling my heart out to him (like I did the month before) and having drunken "Oh,-I-feel-so-bad-but-this-feels-so-good" sex, I packed up my things and called us a cab.

"Oh," he said when I hung up. "You can't stay with me. My girlfriend wouldn't like that one bit."

I then proceeded to scream at the top of my lungs and hit him as hard as I could. Considering the state of soberness that I was in, it wasn't an impressive beating, to say the least.

So, I told the cab driver to take me to the book shop. I let myself in with my key. I don't think Elle heard me come in, and if she did, she didn't bother turning her light on or anything. I put all my stuff in the second bedroom and crashed on the floor since there were no blankets on the bed.

I wish Elle was awake. I could really use a chat right now. Not like Elle and I have had a heart-to-heart in about ten years. She hasn't been a fan of me ever since I stole her boyfriend when we were sixteen.

Anyway. I'm done with men. I'm into women now. I figure I might as well become a lesbian while it's still in fashion.