It's a long way to the top if you wana Rock & Roll

So I always feel it necessary to put a few words together after a blistering event of copious intoxication. I feel I must prove that beyond the inebriation, still works the jungle of neurons and wires that is my brain.

You see, the desire to party like a rockstar, stems not only from lack of total self control, but also the deceptive abundance of attractive invites. There will forever be a reason to go out in public and pull a blundering Lindsay Lohan. If its not a birthday, or a sports gathering, it's an emotional platform on which to simply vent your destabilising internal intolerances.

Saturday evening, for example. I will refrain from using names in order to respect anonymity. It started with an intimate gathering at the local trendy bar for a friends birthday (this being my reason for choosing wine over water, ofcourse). My skin was still unbruised, my makeup on my face, and my hair an obedient straightness that would make a ghd rage with jealousy.

The night started off with a bit of harmless banter and a few warm chuckles. This was the part of the evening where we still maintained an adult level of intellect by exchanging opinions on current affairs and well written articles. After a few caramel tequilas and the first of my much regretted jagers, the discussions soon became a slurred mumble of the following recongised words: Need another drink? What time we going to Rocca? Can I borrow your lip gloss? And yeah we should totally do that tomorrow (huh, never gona happen).

Albeit the slow decline began at this enticing watering hole, the rapid increase fast accelerated once we got our stamp of shame at the entrance of Rocca bar. Just the name itself spells, your'e a dirty rockstar who's about to expose your festering layers of ultimate infamy! If I remember correctly, or incorrectly rather, I dont think I even had another drink once proceeding to the club of self- inflicted pain. The reason being, was that I thought it a much better idea to substitute a tall of glass of  poison for a smaller glass of liquid suicide. I can still taste the jagermeiser!

After countless shooters, and meaningless small talk with hovering randoms, I felt my state of consciousness begin to acknowledge the reality of absolutely no return. My shoes started to come off, along with my make- up, my hair started to weave itself into an Amy Winehouse beehive, and my dance moves resembled a swaying horses tail that bopped 2 beats behind the music. At this point I had lost the birthday girl as well as my other friends, and found myself starting to cry. Of course the reason for these squirting tears were unknown to both myself and surrounding acquaintances. But what added to the mystery of my melancholy, was my uncanny ability to cry whilst still dancing to the monotonous doef doef. As for as I was concerned, there were only tears, a little sweat, but no blood, thereby rendering the act of surrender not yet applicable.

Once I had come to the conclusion that I in fact could not find the birthday girl, who at this point was in a state of blissful trance I'm sure, god bless her relentless commitment to the disco ball! I decided It was time I hailed an unroadworthy cab and put myself to bed. The ride with the total stranger was probably my most dubious point of the evening. I remembered he smiled alot, but in a creepy way! Upon arrival at my apartment gate, I realised that I had "accidentally" spent all my green stuff. I began to search vigorously through my purse, sticking my fingers in pockets that didnt exist, splitting the cheaply sewn seams, to find still not a dime. The driver, who did not seem quite as amused by this as I was, agreed to take me back to the club to find a friend would pick up the tab. The poor nominated fella who had the honour of helping, did so at 3 x the cab bill.

When the morning came round, I greeted it eyes shut, with hate, disgust and a sand dune in my mouth. I vowed to never again accept an invitation to celebrate an event, but to in future send an intentful card and sincerest apologies for my absence in advance. The lesson learned? I await the subject of next week mondays blog ha!

So my observation is this, a rockstar does not only refer to a  musical talent. The inherent qualities of a rockstar,of which i'm still working on, prove to be a person who subjects themselves to on-going remorse through blatant intoxication, doesnt bruise or scar easily-(internally and externally), and knowing that the orignal plans for transport home will fail dismally, always leaves a little green for the cab!

Like this post if your'e a rockstar ( This is where i shrink with humiliation because people have not read this and 6 months down the line there is still no Like ha)

P.s Due to the level of ambiguity on which this night rests, some of the above is subject to questionable accuracy.

Moonstruck

I came across an extract from the film Moonstruck. The basis of the story line reveals that Loretta, the lead female falls in love with the brother of her fiancé, Ronnie. An imperfect and inconvenient circumstance that forces Ronnie to question not what should be, but rather what is....

After reading this, I realised that even in cynicism you can find beauty! Appreciate the fabric from which these words are sewn, and believe in a reality that exists right before you.

Ronnie's plead with Loretta:

The past and the future is a joke to me now
I see that they ain't here. I see that the only thing that is here is you
Loretta. I love you
Not like they told you love is
Love doesn't make things nice
It ruins everything
It breaks your heart
It makes things a mess
We aren't here to make things perfect
The Snow flakes are perfect, not us. The stars are perfect
We are here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts
to love the wrong people and die
The storybooks are bullshit!

Do not fear the abandonment of your delusion. For this neglection can be your one liberation to a deserving existence.

Fake it to make it!

I'm a firm believer in authenticity. A human being is only as real as they want to be, yet we continue to parade our exterior as though we are all starring in the same low budget film reading from the same poorly written script.

I think it quite an interesting reality that people feel obligated to abide by the nauseating pleasantries that continue to circulate society on a daily basis. The exhausting expectation of needing to say things like " it was nice to meet you too, and don't worry i'll get this one! " If i could be so blunt as to translate, what you're really wanting to say is " I'd rather make small talk with a mountain lizard than come across the likes of you again , and if i have to pretend to want to pay for this average social outing (which you suggested would be fun) one more time, I'm going to have to start turning tricks to pay the bills."

A few other translations include:

"Would you like one of my Dorito's "-  I beg of you to acknowledge your impending weight problem and refrain from sticking those unmanicured fingers into my chip bag.  Buy your own chips!

"That top looks great on you" - I don't have the energy to educate this moron!

"Thanks for supper, that was delicious"- that chicken was so dry I could choke on pieces of my throat

"Keep the change"- I have GOT to start keeping smaller notes on me!

"It's not you, it's ME" - It's all you psycho biatch, next stop restraining order! "

"How are you" - Let me just get that out the way so that I can start talking about myself.

"Aah your baby is so cute" -Shit darn, I aint never smoking through pregnancy!

"We must do coffee"- Guess i can't shop here anymore!

It is indeed these so-called pleasantries that continue to idealise the rules and regulations of off chance social encounters. Unfortunaltey, it just so happens that we have infact done this to ourselves. Regrettably, there is no turning back for our miserable attempts to save a bit face and make nice with complete strangers! Myself, yourself and the person sitting next to you are 100% guilty of entertaining the above mentioned translations, and any deviation, results in unprecented shock and social interventions.

It would therefore appear that our fragile capacities can only accomdate so much honesty. Too much of it, and we are reminded of the cold truth: Invincibilty is reserved only for war heros & Chuck Norris.  It is simply more pleasing to rather flash that phony smile, lie through your yellow teeth and rely on the on- going bollocks that has served you this far.

So the question is, is honesty really the best policy? In an ideal world, yes, but in this one, you've got to shake hands with the devil, look up to the left, and fake it if you wana make it! Just ask any woman ha!

Sad bunch we are!

My fractured filtering system

Have you ever stopped to think about what your life would be like if you were blessed with a well-oiled filtering system? We'll, due to my often ill- regarded actions, I have been forced to make contact with this notion.

A mental filtering system refers to our inherent ability to receive, process and file information. If you're anything like me, this process is more often than not, a flawed, fractured and clogged drain that would make quite cosy for a couple of hungry rodents. You see, a human's response to external data is based on hundreds and thousands of not only pre-programmed qualities, but also the history on which these programmes run. If i had to liken this to computer technology, which would probably make for a fitting metaphor in this technological obsessed society (a topic for another blog, watch this space), I could say that a good software programme relies on an efficient operating system in order to run effectively.

Enter the brain, the one organ responsible for binging on bullshit and guilty pleasures. If the brains operating system were functioning at peak, all software  (being the external data received) would run a smooth course of dancing daisys and floating balloons. But, and this is where your'e gona see this coming, this DOES JUST NOT HAPPEN! And for all those who practice a cynical, " forget the shrink" approach to psychology, what i'm gona say next may just put you on the couch. All responses to data reception, both directly and indirectly derive from each and every encounter you have ever had throughout your existence. Nothing in isolation. An intangible and esoteric concept that's hard to grasp, i know, but once you do, you may find it easier to forgive that faltered filtering system of yours which can leave you with an unquenchable thirst, unanswered questions, remorseful sent items or a screaming child.

So what my faulty operating organ is attempting to convey, ever so gracefully, is that our past paints our future. We are built on the ground from which we were planted. You cannot beat yourself up for your mistakes, because the past, which resides in the dark corners of your fractured filtering system, already knew you were going to do it anyway, it was just matter of when! Your only chance is to clean out the tank once in awhile. Make peace with it, because it's your last hope for sanity.

Oh, and pray that "they" come out with some sort of anti-virus pill that can we can just pop, coz truth be told, we're a bunch of lazy bastards who rely on the over- recycled content of an episode of Oprah or Dr Phil to do it for us! Do me a favour!