Monday, February 20, 2006

OFFICIAL REASONS FOR SLEEPLESSNESS

The most irritating thing about being an insomniac is when I am actually able to go to sleep but otherworldly forces like celebratory footballers, annoying children, and German tourists keep me awake.

On another note, when I was the fat kid in school, the only team the other kids picked me for first was Tug-O-War because they knew I would quite literally weigh them down. Luckily, they sure as hell wouldn't pick me now. Just wanted to share this little snippet of my tormented life. I was thinking about this on the train coming back from Liverpool yesterday morning, when I was wedged between the window and an exceptionally large German man who didn't seem to notice that his ass lopped over into my lap during the five hour train ride back to London (the painful five hours was a result of Sunday traintrack work). But I'm getting ahead of myself again.

See, Thursday night I could not sleep because around 3am when I finally finished prepping for my weekend conference, my flatmate arrived home with not one but two 'children' with which to fondle. One of these children thought it would be adorable to come climb into my bed without warning, as many anorexic bobble-head 18-year-old homosekshuls seem to believe that everyone thinks they are adorable because their balls have yet to drop. As someone who typically only relates to persons older than myself (and is typically only attracted to my elders), I do not find children adorable. Upon feeling this teenager nestle up beside me, I kicked It so hard that It flew onto the floor. After feeling my hard-knuckled feet stomping each of Its limbs, It ran down the stairs like a whimpering...well, like a whimpering child. Then I had the privilege of listening to the laughter of children until dawn, which now makes me think that I could make some extra money by opening a post-club Day Care in my flat.

See, Friday night when I had returned to my B&B after having a few drinks during a rather calm but internally-firecrackin' evening with Irish, it seemed that everyone in the B&B was having a football party. Every hotel in Liverpool was booked up this weekend because of the giant football match. There were scallies abound on every corner of 'Livuh-poooooh'.

See, Saturday night I did not sleep because - although I had sworn to myself that I would not - I went out post-conference with lots of academic friends and did not return to my B&B until about 5am, just three hours before I had to catch my train. Luckily I am on a career path where I get to meet people who know how to party, many of whom can drink almost as much as yours truly. I quickly found myself getting tired of Irish - he just didn't do it for me this time around? When meeting new people, I often have the attention span of a talent scout - if I get bored, I move on to the next person within milliseconds. It's amazing that I've not grown tired of my boyfriend yet, and vice-versa for him, since he shares my attention span for most other people. A few of my friends often compare me to the character of Dickie Greenleaf (Jude Law) from The Talented Mr. Ripley - when I find a playmate whom I love and love and love, I wish to play with him/her nonstop, but then (sometimes unconsciously, even) I grow tired and move on to the next person who strikes my fancy. This is all a part of my excessive personality, you see.

So this weekend in Liverpool, my bestest friend was a part-time film producer/part-time university lecturer who is the spitting image of Guy Ritchie (but much more of a bad-ass), who declared himself my own personal tour guide. I had met him last November when I'd gone to Liverpool for another conference, but it wasn't until this conference when he saw me give my rather controversial presentation that he wanted to be my mentor of all things in life. Without one iota of humility here, my, um, performance at this conference was fan-fucking-tastic. I'm very pleased. A man at another prestigious UK university offered to pay me to speak to his classes during a big event they're having later in the spring, as well as pay for my accomodation, meals, etc. I knew everyone by the end our drunken Saturday night. Irish is dead to me. Well, not really, we'll remain friends, of course, but I no longer have a fun high-school-crush on him. Now I'm in high-school-love with my new Guy Ritchie friend. Being in a monogamous relationship is so much fun - I'm allowed to have high-school-crushes on straight men and know they won't escalate into something greater.

See, last night I did not sleep because after the BAFTA awards I had a satellite feed that lasted until 2am. Then I went to one of the big after-parties with a beautiful Asian lady correspondent I met who had flown over to work for a Canadian show, the name of which I shant mention. After chasing Jake Gyllenhaal around all night, I now have dozens of photos of him and everyone else who was there. I originally thought I'd have a bigger crush on Heath Ledger, but he just didn't do it for me in-person. He's quite nice nonetheless. I really wanted to go sit on Ralph Fiennes's lap but he refused to socialize with anyone, I assume because he didn't want to field questions about his prostitute mistress. My favorite part was when Philip Seymour Hoffman started telling everyone about his rampant drug use and verbally ripped on multiple fashion designers. And the rest of my backstage stories I probably should not share... When I finally got home there was another loud drunken child in my home. It was like Neverland Ranch up in here this weekend.

Then, this morning I had to teach again at 10am. And this is why I am Walking Death. Tonight if someone or something or somecocktail prevents me from sleeping, I ain't gon' be happy! Thank god I have prescription painkillers.

QUOTE OF THE DAY:
People actually live with their id exposed. They're not good at concealing what's going on inside. - Phillip Seymour Hoffman