My Mumbling Thoughts

We walked to the club which sounded promising. They played indie music, and where there's indie music, there are indie boys with their skinny jeans, messy, greasy hair, tight t-shirts, tattoos and chain smoking habits -- all things that I find extremely irresistable.

While we were standing outside waiting to go inside, I warned both Josie and Tat that when I reach a certain level of drunkeness, I tend to wander off and do my own thing. I'll either find a new crowd and be the groups best friend for the evening, or I'll find a boy that I want to hook up with for the night. It was nothing personal, just my drunk, alter ego, Sharon. She is a different being who knows no boundaries; she is rude, offensive, sexual and very much In Your Face. She likes to fight, make-out, dance and drink until she's sick and then washes it all down with vodka again. Oh, Sharon. The stories that she has about nearly being arrested and kicked out of who knows how many clubs. Her mouth has gotten her in quite a lot of trouble as well, and there have been a couple of occasions when she has needed her friends there to apologize to strangers for her bluntness.

Josie and Tat kind of laughed it off; yeah, people get drunk and do crazy things. I'm not sure they fully grasped what I was trying to tell them though, and instead just decided to see where the night would take us.

We got in for free, and all drinks and shots were a half off until midnight, so we decided to buy as many drinks as possible. I was looking forward to have a relatively cheap night out with good music and dancing, but my eyes kept on drifting as all of the indie boys slinked past me with their pints of beer. I was getting distracted in our conversations and did not even try and conceal my harsh stares as my head swerved on my shoulders.

It didn't take long until I was drunk, and feeling a tiny bit sick after this minging shot. I just drank more double vodkas and oranges until it went away. As the alcohol pulsed through me, I could feel Sharon starting to wake up and she began to take over.

I wandered outside for a cigarette and somehow started talking to these boys who claimed to be in a band.

"Yeah, I'm the drummer," the tall indie boy said with a mountain of tangled, black hair on his head.

"Blah. I've already been with a drummer," I said, quickly shrugging him off.

"And a guitarist who's the lead singer?" a blond boy chimed in.

"Nope. But I wanted to. He had a girlfriend though who was so nice."

"Well I say we change that tonight," and I sat a little closer to the blond boy with blue eyes that appeared to stand out more because of the alcohol and the moon.

Josie and Tat found me outside, but they weren't met with very much enthusiasm by me. They had just encountered Sharon, and she was busy with a blond guitarist that had intertwined his fingers with hers.

I did leave the guitarists behind and went back inside for a couple more dances. I climbed up on stage with Josie and had to convince Tat to come up as well so we could swing our hips, hold onto the metal rails, dip low and sing along with with the fantastic songs that were being played. But it wasn't long until I told them I needed to use the toilet and didn't see them for the rest of the night.

I roamed around the club alone for a while until I found myself outside again, cigarette in hand and searching for the guitarist with the shining blue eyes. I didn't find him though. Instead I bumped into a different boy that literally caught me as I tripped over my own shoes.

"Wow. And that was terribly embarrassing," I said straightening myself up.

"Don't worry about it. I'm just glad that I was here, otherwise you would have ended up on the pavement."

As I stood back and regained my composure, I immediately forgot about the blond guitarist and was now interested in this new boy that had short, peach fuzz, brown hair, glasses, a nice fitted white buttoned shirt, and dark jeans that sat easily on his hips.

He was cute. I wanted him. Immediately.

We chatted for a bit, he lit me another cigarette as I stubbed mine out with my high heel, and I told him about how I was trying to find a boy that was in a band.

"I'm glad you didn't find him. They sound like a bunch of rude boys anyway," he put his arm around my waist and pulled me close.

"Yeah. They all are," I said, knowing that he, too, was a rude boy, just disguised differently.

"Let's go inside and get you another drink," and he lead me by the hand back inside the club.

From there, I don't remember much. We made out on a couch, had one dance and it wasn't long until we were standing in the queue to the cloakroom so I could gather up my coat and try to find a taxi to take us home.

Mr. Ben is what I liked to call him. I rested my head in his lap and fell asleep on the journey back home. He was sweet and gentle, and softly spoke into my ear as my dress fell to the floor.

In the morning when I woke up, I didn't feel too bad and felt an arm around my waist. As I turned my head over my right shoulder I saw Mr. Ben and felt him lightly breathing. His legs twiched every so often and I bit my lower lip trying my hardest to not laugh, because I found it so cute. And as I basked in the morning afterglow of yet another one night stand, I felt the happy satisfaction drain out of me a little bit, and thought I would much rather be at home with a complete stranger, than be alone in the flat for one night. Sad.

It wasn't long until Mr. Ben awoke after me, and he needed to get ready to leave for work. He told me that he would be at the same club again this weekend and hoped to see me there. I gave him my phone number and he said that he would call me after he got off work. I didn't believe him. But a small part of me did wish that he would be good on his word. We kissed once more and I shut the door on Mr. Ben.

I don't know why I hate being alone in the flat. One of my greatest fears is that I'll be at home alone when somebody tries to break in. They'll find me in the flat and then they'll murder me. If nobody comes home, then who knows how long I could be left there, dead and alone. At least if I'm there with someone, or if they're coming back relatively soon, I would be found instead of just lying there. And I don't know why I feel better with a complete stranger in my bed either, but at least it's a warm body, someone else who's there to entertain me, to talk to me (even if it is only awkward conversation), to be there.

Yesterday afternoon, however, after I got off work, I came home to the empty flat. I knew that Trish was going to be home later in the evening, but until then I would be on my own. I had a little rest, made dinner, cleaned the kitchen, read a little in one of my books and did all of my ironing. I listened to Stephen Fretwell, Josh Ritter and Richard Hawley serenade me while I smoked and looked out to the clouds mesh in with the sunset.

And I thought, this isn't too terrible. I could do this sometimes. And I probably will for a good majority of this summer now with Trish leaving this Friday and Helen having an opposite work schedule to me since she works in a pub. I could be properly alone in the flat and be okay. I don't need to go out everytime I'm alone and find someone to take up space in my small bed. I may fancy myself to be a pint sized Samantha Jones from Sex and the City, but unlike her, I wasn't just sleeping with strangers because I felt like it (well, that was one of the reasons), but also because I'm looking for something, for someone, and it's hard for me to admit that. It is so uncomfortably hard for me to say it, because it goes against everything that I've been taught and raised with.

You don't need a man to be happy my mother's words will ring in my ear. And she's right. I don't need a man to be happy. I would just like one to be around.

But going out every weekend and finding a new boy to give a new nickname the next day, because I can't remember their real name, isn't the way to go about it. Yeah, I had a dry spell for a couple of months, but now that has been taken care of. I, like a lot of other people in the world who have already learned this, need to be okay with myself, alone, before I can even begin to think about being okay with someone else. And when that day comes, I won't have a nickname for him. I'll simply call him by his name, because I'll want to say it.