Chad and the Village

I woke up about 11ish meant to do an assignment but I needed some cigarettes and milk so I went to the shop and as I was walking to past a shop I bump into this cool olive skinned girl long brown hair brown eyes itty bitty waist cute ass pretty sweet all round and she dropped her bag I was like "Ooh sorry sorry" all apologetic and picked it up for her she giggled and swept her hair back and said in the most sexy foreign accent "hmm its ok" I don't know where she was from cos you know me and I’m pretty shit with accents being an obnoxious Englishman but damn it was sexy. Anyways she walked on like one step in front of me and walked into the exact same shop as me so I was like sweet. I went in and was thinking to myself go buy some milk girl go buy some milk and you know what the damn woman did while she was bent down getting some low fat semi skimmed shit and I went in behind her and picked up a huge bottle of full fat semi skimmed moo juice she looked up at me with gorgeous hazel brown eyes and said in that damn sweet accent "Are you following me" with a little giggle and at that moment she reminded me of bambi's bitch I stood up thinking mmmmhmmm and went to pay for my damn milk and ask for some cigarettes she got served and she had Marlboro menthols and I slammed down my heifer spunk and demanded 20 Marlboro lights and while the guy was serving me she turned and said "Well if your gonna stalk me I better know your name" damn sexy accent I was all a little stunned by that comment and I said "Chad" feeling mighty confident at this point. She said in that sweetest sexy accent "well I’ll see you around then Chad" mmmm hot hot hot. I didn't reply to that I just gave that expression that Owen Wilson gives in films when he's a little stunned or so I thought and the shop keeper thought so too cos he said "hey you look like Owen Wilson" while reading his copy of heat or more or some shit. Well anyway I was feeling pretty good about myself and the epilogue to this story is I just saw her in a pub where I was having a drink with my gay friend Dom cos she knows gay Dom and she was being very friendly with me then she got into a big limo and of she went to the may not a million miles away from Cinderella just 999999 miles just going away to a ball that’s the only similarity really.

:: 23/02/2003 :: Francesca

“Mmm this bed smells nice” I thought to myself as I inhaled my first breath of the waking day. I opened my eyes and was surprised to find myself in a very unfamiliar room. From the end of the bed I lay in I noticed large portrait of Cyndaquil hanging between a traditional cottage door and a wide bay window. Slowly I climbed out of bed, got dressed and left the room to enter a large corridor. Family photographs lined the walls in this passage which seemed to go on forever. I glanced back at the door I had just passed through and read a wooden name plate on the door. ‘Francesca’, my eyes widened and my head tilted slightly to the left, “that’s a very attractive name” I thought, but my hope dropped again as I returned to the photos and struggled to recognise a single face.
I followed the trail to a the end where I wandered into a colossus lounge where an upper middle class couple were sipping tea and discussing friends until they noticed me. “Hola!” they sang in unison. “Hola” I replied slowly, “Que, er… esta…m…” the couple looked at each other in a confused manner, and then both started chuckling. “Are you English?” the lady asked. “Si… er, I mean yes. Where am I?” I stuttered. “You’re in Nunthorpe honey. Francesca told us she’d brought a friend home with her last night and we just assumed you’d be Spanish” she revealed. “Francesca is Spanish?!” I spurted, “Did you adopt her?” I puzzled. “No, she’s exchanged here until July”. Just as the pieces were coming together, Francesca cam through the door and proceeded to cross the lounge in a very short towel. “Bueño Dias Chad” she smiled. “Bueño Dias. ¿Que tal? I replied. “Oh muy bien. ¿Y tu? She fired back at me. Stuck I stuttered, “Oh, er, Grand”. The room laughed, inaudible Spanish at high speed followed my statement, and then Francesca continued her journey across the room, and grabbed my hand as she passed, and led me back to her room.
I sat on the edge of her bed as she changed in front of me in silence, occasionally smiling back at me over her shoulder, she was very pretty. As I left the house to find my way home, she kissed me on the door step. She kissed my forehead first, then my right eye followed by the left, and ending on my lips; the whole action gave the pattern of a cross. I couldn’t keep the smile off my face the whole way home.

:: 19/02/2003 :: KEL

I sat on the row of benches in a public house that Saturday evening. Accompanying me was a young girl, whom was sitting at an angle across my knee. She was wearing a yellow t-shirt depicting a bonobo, and carrying a rainbow strapped bag containing an embroidered gorilla.
Foolishly I said, “I like monkeys.” She promptly corrected me that neither a bonobo nor a gorilla constitutes a monkey.
I sipped my gin while she took a drag on an extremely long Benson & Hedges superking cigarette, the smoke danced with her hair until she brushed the stray ones away with her left hand which was covered by the sleeve of her green shirt, worn under the bonobo. I wondered what was on it. I noticed that on the cuffs ‘KEL’ was scribed. I asked her where she purchased the garment that read ‘KEL’ and she told me that she had sewn it on herself, as her name was Kelly. I suppose I already knew that and should have figured it out, but this was to be one of my silly nights.
Once again I sipped my gin, and once more she took a gasp on her cigarette and turned to deposit it in an ashtray. The lights behind her glowed a sort of red which worked well with her mousey hair.
I looked up and saw a fat man standing in front of us, looking right through us as if we were ghosts to him; he straitened his red suit and with a thud slumped on the table behind him.
My attention was once more brought towards the bonobo, distorted and skewed because of her right breast. I asked, “Are you cold?” which I realised was another silly comment until she shimmied along my leg and placed her hand around my waist. Closer and closer we got until I asked, “What would happen if a bonobo and a gorilla mated?” immediately I slapped my forehead. She grinned and whispered warmly into my ear, “What would happen if you and I mated?”
I bit my lower lip, I could feel my eyes widening and my pupils dilating, we moved closer and I realised the fat man in the red suit had fallen asleep and we were alone in this corner of the pub. Suddenly a girl bounded up the triplet of stairs and cried “You’re the man in the hat, aren’t you?” I thought this very perceptive considering I was wearing the hat in question at the time. The girl on my knee removed my hat and placed it on her own head, as the second girl realising this and fighting for attention screamed “I have a third nipple, wanna see?” We both sat up in curiosity, and nodded in harmony. She split her blouse down the middle to reveal the extra nipple. The girl on my lap was very interested in it, and as we both stroked it the girls head rolled back in ecstasy.
Kelly and the girl talked; I couldn’t hear but I observed intently as I lit a cigarette. Kelly then leant over and invited me back to her house, I accepted, and to my surprise as we left the girl with the third nipple followed.
We three arrived at Kelly’s house; no-one was in as they were in Blackpool studying the beaches. We quickly disrobed and climbed the stairs and into the bed.
I awoke with my hand on the nipple girl’s third nipple. Sadly, the liquor had its desired effect, and I had got nothing.
We never did discuss what would happen if a bonobo mated with a gorilla.

:: 14/02/2003 :: Teenage Angst

It occurred to me as I sat here gazing out of the window at the passers-by that you lose your teen angst the minute you hit twenty. I always thought it would carry on for a bit, but it just stops. Life was simpler then, you found problems when there weren’t any (now there are problems). I wrote a lot of rubbish then, thinking it was a powerful message, but now I have the powerful message right here, but I can’t string a simple stanza together. I hoped that writing notes will help me, but I just forget the main idea. My forgetfulness is due to my alcohol intake.
It’s eleven in the morning and I’m in the pub already; still hungover from the night before. It’s a bad sort of hangover, I can’t sleep. I’m just tired hoping and wishing another pint will wake me up before I go back to work.
It’s Valentines Day, and yesterday I got dumped after a four year relationship, it was kinda mutual but it still hurts.
“Is this seat taken?” asked a cute voice from above. I’m sitting alone at a table with two benches, but I shuffle along nonetheless. She offers me a cigarette, I accept and as hers is already lit I rummage around in my ripped pockets for a light. Noticing this she offers me her stick to ignite mine, for a split second I was taken back and reminded of a girl in an indie club. She too had used her cigarette to light mine, but it was still in her mouth. As she did it I stared into her eyes and sexual energy built around us, but my housemate interrupted us and she left. I thought that it might have been her technique for pulling guys but then I noticed she used a lighter with other fellers. I now understand what missing your chance is, I should have danced with her, but I was intimidated by the fact that she was surrounded by a gang of cool looking guys, and by the fact that she looked like Avril Lavigne with blue within blue eyes.
I like Avril, her teen angst is fresh and her songs are just like the songs I wanted to write but couldn’t. That fact is probably why the girl intimidated me on a further level.
I watched her for a little longer as she danced with her band of admirers; then she turned to me when the lads weren’t looking and mouthed the words “Save me”.
Well, I think that’s what she said anyway. I wanted to go to her but instead I fled to the DJ box and requested a song for her. Puddle of Mudd came to a stand still and the DJ shouted “This one’s for Avril!” (I should have thought of something better). The Coral’s ‘Dreaming of You’ bounced in with that famous bass line. She looked over to the booth, saw me, smiled and danced frantically. She knew it was for her and I never saw her again.
“What are you writing?” She asked. “A letter for my friend” I replied. “In your diary?” she quizzed. “I have no paper, I’ll copy it later.”
Her name was Lucy and had been interested in me for a while; she was scared I would find her strange. I did, but it is Valentines Day.