I wait a while for something blog-worthy to happen to me. When something does happen, in between all my thoughts I go “I need to blog about this shit.”
Well, I need to blog about this shit. For the illustrations I will be using the meme guys, as they always seem to capture my exact feelings beautifully.
So I’ve recently moved out of my parents place into a flat with one of my closest friends. It’s a small block of flats and there are probably about 25 - 30 people who live here.
Being an introvert and someone who just really isn't a fan of people, I’ve been successfully avoiding contact with anyone other than my roommate, here at Linhill.
Successfully, up until a few days ago.
So my girlfriend came to visit. Our complex gate was broken so when it was time for her to leave, I needed to go out and find a way to get the gate open. Thankfully there was someone else needing to get into the complex so someone was already at the gate and had managed to open it.
I waved goodbye and tried to make a break for my flat, my efforts violently interrupted by the words “Hey, you’re new. I haven’t met you yet.”
My life was over at that very second.
When having to make conversation, I’m generally nice. Polite. Ask questions. That sorta thing.
So the dude, Gavin, introduced himself and we chatted for a bit. He asked me if I’m the musician who sings on the balcony (no more of that shit) and told me that he has a home recording studio and asked if I wanna see.
He seemed pretty decent and there are loads of people in the complex bla bla bla, so I went inside.
So this guy walks in after me and says “I hope there isn’t anything you shouldn’t see here like my.... oh.”
On his dining room table – like a ton of cocaine.
I was casual about it, he asked if I wanted any (‘cause people offer cocaine before they offer something to drink in this town?) and I politely refused.
He took me to his little recording studio, THEN asked if I want something to drink.
He missions to the kitchen and returns with a glass and says “ I poured this for myself earlier but didn’t drink it, so here.”
I casually checked for date rape in the glass, had a sip and then carried on.
It was at about this time when I realised that this man is very high and also very drunk. He then proceeded to play me every song he’d written in the history of EVER. At one stage he paused in the middle of a song and asked “You’re my neighbour right? And you’re a musician?” and then carried on with his song. It was the single most painful experience of my life. I had a tattoo done on my ribs for 2.5 hours – it was like tickling me compared to this. I continued to fake interest.
After about 45 minutes of listening to his music, I got it into his head that I need to get back to my flat because my roommate would be freaking out (and she was doing exactly that). As he was walking me out he said “So can I come with you to the flat to smoke a joint and meet your roommate?”
In my head – WHAAAAAAAT THE FUCK. WHAT.THE.FUCK.
Out loud – “I’m really tired so maybe some other time.”
I ran home. RAN.
My new mission:
