New year... Same Me?

First lets start by mocking my last post; 'no ones catching my eye anymore, I am so independent now, free and single blahblahblah.' 

I was really having a tough time deciding what to this New Year. I think I have mentioned in previous New Year’s related posts that I have inherited a superstition, which insists on a notion of however you spend your New Years Eve determines how you spend the rest of your year. And I am not afraid to admit that this was influenced by a quite tear provoking episode of The OC back in the day.

So recently, I have been speaking with a chap from back home (typically, I move to Bristol and end up interested in someone back at the place I fled from.) He is a D.J. in the local music scene, and someone I have crushed on for a very long time, but haven’t we all I suppose. He is no celebrity or anything like that, but well known if you're into that sort of music, and live in East Devon. I met him a few months back after the end of my short fling with the letter writer. I was out for a friend’s birthday and he was at the bar, I was in a foul mood because some gobby caa pushed me about after I clumsily I spilled my drink mid-dance on her equally as gobby fella.  I got them kicked out because I am a spoiled little so and so after a few gins and therefore was in one of those indestructible, 'I don't take no shit from no-one I am all woman’ moods, aka really bloody full of gin fury.
I went over to the bar and asked if he was going to buy me a drink, of gin. He laughed and said; ‘why would I buy you a drink?’ Touché I thought, why should he buy me a drink? So I bought myself a G&T because that seems to be the craze these days, and probably went on to introduce myself as Sheila. We talked for a while and he asked how I knew him, probably prompting a response he has grown used to from the many fan galz, but I just said I recognised him from somewhere, unsure where. It was probably much cooler than the sentence originally formed in my head of: ‘OH MY GOD I USED TO GET TO YOUR SETS SUPER EARLY SO I COULD GET TO THE FRONT AND SHAKE IT WHILE TRYNA CATCH YOUR AMAZING EYES, YOU’RE SO TALENTED AND TALL I CANT BELIEVE WE ARE TALKING FACE TO FACE RIGHT NOW I CAN’T BREATH WHERE'S MY GIN!’

Anyway, this was around three months ago, and since  then we have been texting, and FaceTiming,  promising meet ups, cancelling meet ups (more on his part,) not texting, not FaceTiming, drunk dialling, leaving hideously embarrassing voicemails (more on my part), discussing shameful snippets from said voicemails, texting, Facetiming, repeating the above, and that’s it really. It’s strange because I’m not quite sure what he wants from me. We could be good friends I suppose, but he did kiss me and tell me I was amazing when we met…And I don’t let shit like that go…even if we were scuppered. You know me.
I did get funny on his post boxing day bailout, after we had planned my first visit to him in his place of residence before I made my way back up to Bristol. I thought he was making excuses when he replied to my text saying his car had failed and so he wouldn’t be around as he needed to sort it out ON A BANK HOLIDAY. I’d been out with some friends and over indulged in the Prosecco, and the more Prosecco we drunk, the more brutally my friends became who later agreed that I was never gonna see him again, he probably isn’t that interested - all coming together like sisters doing it for themselves. ‘He don’t deserve you babe.’ ‘It’s all or nothing though it’s all or nothing.’ ‘He’s wasting your time girl.’ R-e-s-p-e-c-t stylin.’

So I replied something quite shamefully immature along the lines of ‘Well that’s a bloody shame, see you never!’ like some Devon bred wanabee Paris Hilton. I say along the lines of, I had to delete our text thread the next day because I couldn’t face my shameful reply, and I didn’t want to risk the temptation of another inadvertently candid voicemail. To my surprise, I received a text the next day, and he was rather displeased at my paradoxical statement.  ‘That was a bit blunt, was hoping I’d see you soon rather than never, safe travels X.’  I called him back, I couldn’t live with myself knowing I’d upset the chap that turned down my many attempts at getting to know him face to face rather than screen to screen. No answer though. I text him saying sorry and explained that Prossecco was no longer my friend.
New Year’s Eve Eve, still planless.  A delayed text of course, apologising he missed the call all those days ago and asking if I had any plans for the subsequent evening. I was feeling a little over confident after a glass of Rose and admitted I was thinking about making my way down to a watch him make music. He was playing a gig in Torquay as mentioned once during a blurred vision FaceTime, but technically I hadn’t received a sober invite. I was missing a sober invite.

New Years Eve, no response to my unsubtle hint and my friends from work invited me to a house party at theirs. Umming and Arring as if music maker was going to show up out of the blue with a Limo and a sparkly party dress (for me,) they told me to get a grip and join them. And they were right.  I should spend my New Years with the beautiful faces of Bristol I was blessed to have met over the preceding year, not wasting time waiting for confirmation on whether he wanted me to be hanging around him at New Year’s or not. And I hadn’t received confirmation at this point, so it was clear enough to be a no. But there I was, as always, holding out for something hopeless.

I did go to the house party, of course I had to text him first, just to let him know that I probably wasn’t going to make it anyway and I was off to a siiiick house party in Bristol with wonderful people. Alas! A near instant reply; ‘Oh gutted, you bail out, have a good night! Xx’ SAY WHAT!? Me? A bailout? But I was waiting for you to want me to come, I was waiting for you to want me! I deleted the number again to avoid the voicemails.
I had a great time at the house party, dancing around a living room with the most caring and loving bunch of people. At quarter past twelve I had a missed call, I called him back, blushing that I could potentially be the first port of call after the lines unjammed. We drunkenly spoke and laughed, I was in taxi to a Bristol club and he was in his way to his gig. ‘Wish you were heres’ were exchanged as they always are post-midnight and jokes were made about my taxi making a detour to Torquay.  We made a FaceTime date for 3.00 am as that was when he would be back at his friends after his set. Deal.

The rest of my New Years was filled with dancing, laughing, spilling of drinks, hugging and wishing happy new years to strangers. Feeling a little fuzzy headed, I looked at my phone and it was out of battery, I had to get home to make sure it was charged from my FaceTime date, I couldn’t miss this important event! TAXI!

The taxi driver had no choice but to listen to my rants and raves about how busy the clubs were and how unfair it was to charge such an extortionate amount after an already money demanding time of year. We stopped off at a cashpoint so I could draw out more money, even the price of the taxi had gone up ten pounds. I got to the cashpoint and two guys were stood behind laughing at me as I started to empty my bag in a desperate attempt to find my debit card. It was as if they knew this was a common occurrence for me, the misplacement of my debit card after a boozey night out.

I started to panic and curse, and one of the chaps stepped forward and said: ‘You’re lucky its New Years,’ and he went to the hole in the wall and drew out my taxi money. There are some wonderful people in the world. The taxi driver stepped out of his car angrily, and my New Years hero, smiled at me as he paid for a taxi he had nothing to do with.

I caught a glimpse of his face and nose ring (my fave),  all slightly difficult to make out in the early house of New Year’s day and after copious amounts of red stripe. But I liked what I saw and in my drunken and overwhelmed state, I invited them both back to mine for a cup of tea and a bank transfer. One of them, hero’s friend, seemed a little weary of this offer and decided he would go on to where they originally had planned. But the Hero, agreed to come back to mine for a cup of tea. And it really is as innocent as it sounds, I was in no way prepared enough, shaved enough, or sober enough to do anything of the sort. Plus I had only just met the guy.

Please note, when I told my dear mother this story the next day – she warned me I needed to be more careful. And she is right, but I have a strong instinct with people – Oh yes I get my fickle heartbroken a lot, but as peculiar as it may sound to whoever is reading this, I know I am safe, and I know who I can trust in terms of my safety (outside of love and relationships if that makes sense, because I am shit at that part.)  I also warned him not to try anything funny because my best friends/ roommates mother had bought us both rape alarms for Christmas. No joke.

As we were walking back, he introduced himself as Shannon or Sharron, believe me I wish I could remember which. I remember thinking he was trying to beat me at my own name game (I probably pulled the Sheila card). He was very funny, a little cocky but charming with it. Just how I like ‘em.

But there was something a bit more to him, I am still unsure as to what and I don't think I will ever be sure.  At one point our hands became held and we laughed questioned what we were doing, we both shrugged and continued anyway. When we got to mine, I made us both a shit cup of tea and we played music from some of my rather questionable playlists. I lit a candle and we sat opposite each other on my sofa.  He put on one of my favourite bands, (who I wouldn’t have expected him or anyone to know of) and selected my favourite song on the album and we both sung it to eachother. At that moment, it was as though we had anything and everything in common. Cheesy/ yucky/ cliché I know.
It was strange but nice and we kept reiterating this too each other, ‘this is weird isn’t it?’ ‘Yeah but it’s nice isn’t it? ‘Yeah but it is quite weird isn’t it?’  Then I had a smooch on my sofa with a stranger that paid from my taxi.  

A couple of hours passed and he became less of a stranger as he told me more about himself and his six year old son – I gave up on the silly jokes and told him about my move to Bristol and that I liked singing but couldn’t sing loud enough to join a band.
Interrupted at 3 am by the previously instigated FaceTime call.  I explained I had to take the call but I would be right back, and that he should wait right there, but he didn’t have to wait if he didn’t want to. And if he didn’t want to, he should leave his number. I’m not sure what I was thinking when I went into my room to take the call. Mr Music maker was with a lot of his friends and himself and his company were all very drunk and rowdy. I can’t remember much of what was said but my Face on the screen seemed to be passed around to a lot of drunken, lairy males. The connection was poor (in more ways than one) and I didn’t want to leave my New Year’s hero alone in my living room, so I told my FaceTime date I would call him back in five.

I went back out in to the living roomto find him was scribbling his number on a bit of paper. Are you going? My mind was in two places, I wanted to stay and talk to the kind hearted chap who paid for my taxi, the one with a son, a sense of humour, a nice face, a nose ring, but I also had a date with an IPhone screen.
As Shann/rron left  he said it was really nice to meet me and we agreed that I’d call him after his shift tomorrow, you know, really mix things up a bit. I went back in to my room, alone, and I became frustrated at my answerless phone calls as my FaceTime dates phone was now switched off (out of battery? I don’t know.)  I fell asleep to my own paranoid thoughts that he didn’t want me to call back so turned his phone off. Prior to this, I left him a voicemail.

New Years Day, with a sore head and two half full cups of tea left on my coffee table proving that last night was not some strange dream. I picked up the piece of paper with the mobile number on and took it back to my room. My hungover head, slowly reminisced over the taxi money, our conversations, the giggling, the singing and the kissing. I fell back to sleep clutching the piece of paper like a right old saddo.

I woke up again at about 5pm, trying not to feel guilty that I had wasted the day, reminding myself that I wasn’t the only person in the world not leaving their bed on this particular twenty four hours. I decided to text the number scribbled on the paper that was now under my pillow like an offering to the tooth fairy. Something became very clear as I typed the number in to my phone. There were twelve digits. TWELVE DIGITS. He wrote down an invalid number. Of course, I tried a few options, one of which I was sure must be the number because who has four 1’s in theirs? Nothing, no reply. I tried one last number, and had a response through iMessage. ‘Who’s this?’ I responded perhaps a little too eagerly, ‘I’m not sure if this is the right number, but it’s me Chelsea?’ ‘Chelsea Stoke?’  Fuck sake.

Facebook? Yeah, it could be an option, but then my mind battles with me, perhaps he gave the wrong numbers on purpose. And if I did guess the right number and he didn’t text back because perhaps he didn’t want to – what would it look like if I was then to stalk the realms of Facebook … oh heyyy, me again, shit tea maker, debit card loser! It’s meee!

 At least its completely taking my mind of music maker, who never did return my call.
 SHANN/RRON If you are out there, thank you for paying for my taxi and not leaving the right number to avoid any potential upset. You are my favourite stranger.

So either this year means I will be spending time with beautiful strangers on my Sofa, only for me to never see them again. Perhaps that is the best thing for me. :)
New Year, same me. But as always, it’s always fuel to my ongoing man hunt as my sisters boyfriend referred to it once. And, it makes a great story. Bring on the trumpets and failed flings 2k16, this year is the year I’m gonna make a book outta all this.

1 comment:

Caliburn said...

Hi Chelly , I love the story about your new years eve, it´s not all the facts about how you ended up in the house party and dismissed the DJGuy, and whatever. It is more about the feeling you are transferring to the reader, from you to me, and that is literature of the better class, I love it , but I have a real lot to catch up with because I did not know about your blogging, ... I ´ve got a blog too, it+s not blooming away at all, it´s years since I wrote anything to it ...