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Dispense, Expend, Deflate What an uneventful weekend. Riiiiight. I spend money like it's going out of style. Friday night, we rehearsed until nearly 10, then I went home, scarfed down some dinner, and returned to the theatre to socialise, as people were hanging out in the garden. I drank about half of my bottle of absolutely plonky red wine (Charles Shaw Merlot -- Incredibly cheap, it's known as "Two-Buck Chuck", but considering the price, really not bad at all, unless you're a terrific wine snob, which I, when in the mood to drink heavily, am not. I must confess that Mr. Lovejunky has been a bit of an influence, as he apparently drinks a fair amount of wine, which reminded me just how much I like the stuff. We hung out, chatted quite a bit, largely about goings-on at the Drama School, smoked a little ganj, and I sucked down a good number of cigarettes. When this pack is done, I really must NOT buy any more, as I've gone through this pack at a truly alarming rate; where I normally take about a month to smoke a pack, as I only do it socially, I've managed to destroy the majority of these in about a week. I think I'll be allowed to smoke for the run of this show, since I have to, and then, I'm done. By the time I got home, it was around 1, but I finished off the bottle of wine, fucked around online, and then went to bed. Saturday morning, I did a lot of laundry. After a quick rehearsal at 1, I went out shopping and dropped off sixteen shirts and a pair of trousers at the dry-cleaners. At Liquor Land, I spent $200. Handles of Tanqueray Gin (which I've not drunk since determining it was too harsh in college -- It's now tied with Bombay Sapphire as my favourite, though it has a completely different character, much more classic, much less frilly), Tanqueray Sterling Vodka (SO clean-tasting, currently tied with Grey Goose as my favourite), Bacardi Gold (and mixers for making strawberry daiquiris and pina coladas, at a party later), Jim Beam, and some middle-shelf tequila for making Margaritas, as well as the requisite mixer for said beverages. In the name of funky martinis, I also grabbed peach, melon, apple, and raspberry liqueurs, and lime juice. Yes, indeed, summer is the season of girly drinks. After putting all the booze away (without touching a drop of it, I might add), I went back to rehearsal 'til 7.30, after which I decided I hadn't had enough, so I went to Filene's to continue shopping, as they're having yet another massive sale. I refrained from buying the two Claiborne shirts I wanted (because Lord knows, I have quite enough shirts, even if many of them are currently at the cleaner's) and the shot-glass checkers set (which would only have gotten me into trouble anyway), and another pair of sunglasses. I did, however buy myself three new pairs of underwear, the Kenneth Cole portfolio/bag I'd been eyeing online (my current briefcase has served for a few years and is falling apart from over- and abuse), a new pair of sandals (Timbs -- the Rockports I've had since 2000 are dead), my first new set of sheets in years (Ralph Lauren -- I don't recall the name of the pattern, but it's quite lovely and blue and white, and good heavens, but sheets are expensive), and "Truth" cologne & after-shave by Calvin Klein, which got me a free duffel bag (I'd been considering Kenneth Cole's "Black", but decided I liked "Truth" better, as it seemed to fade less, and I don't have a "woodsy" scent that I wear often). All told, I spent about $600, but two-thirds of it was "virtual money", so it's all good. I seriously need to minimise my expenses, so this idea of putting all my belongings into storage and going to work for a cruise line for six months or a year seems very good indeed. Finally home around 10 or 11, I poured myself a Tanqueray martini and promptly fell asleep on the living room couch. Sunday morning was the final mass of the choir season, the Feast of Corpus Christi, which went quite well, though during the final hymn ("Pange lingua", which happens to be one of my least favourites), I got seriously choked up and found myself unable to sing through my tears. I don't know why, really, but I suppose it was the combination of the lyric and the realisation that it would be my last service singing regularly in this church, which has become my home over the last nearly ten years. I will miss it, but this summer, as at the end of all choir seasons, I look forward to having my Sunday mornings free to smoke and think and contemplate the beauty of creation and be thankful for all the myriad blessings in my life. I went home and had lunch, decided to launder my pillows, chilled a bottle of rather expensive wine which had been in the cabinet since early winter, drank a bit, did some cleaning, and played the piano and sang a bit. In the evening, after an IM conversation with Patrick, in which he stated that he was "disappointed" in me for what I'd said, and insulted by it, though I don't think I wrote a single thing in that letter that was an insult to him. If anything, I feel I'm the one who should be insulted. I felt a bit odd when I met his cute ex on Tuesday night, and on Sunday evening, I realised that was because after got off the phone on Monday night, Patrick told ex-boy, well, SOMEthing. I can only imagine what. What ever happened to discretion being the better part of valour? (I realise I probably seem hypocritical saying that, having posted everything I have to this diary for public consumption, but these are MY private thoughts; they remain my property, and I get to decide what and how much I share, not to mention that I change names and details to protect both the guilty and the innocent, which he obviously didn't bother doing. The idea of him discussing MY situation with a third party, and particularly THAT third party, well, it chafes. That's all.) Fucker had the audacity to suggest that I ought to avoid any "substances" (alcohol, drugs, cigs) for a significant period of time. As if my social drinking and occasional smoking had anything at all to do with the problem. This all set in at a time when I'd scarcely been drinking at all and practically never smoking. These vices mitigate my moodiness enormously. Scientists are even studying the use of marijuana as a treatment for depression. Personally, I find it quite effective, provided it's in the correct doses (usually small). Anyway, in the case of Patrick, whom I still consider one of my closest friends and love more dearly than I can express, I think the key to my finding healing and peace lies in me making a conscious decision not to dwell on what might have been. I'm NOT in control of how or when these moods descend, but there are things I can do to dilute them, to lessen their effects. And I should, and I will. I went to pick up Haven, as he'd called requesting a ride (poor lad's just had a hernia operation, though he's no less adorable for that, just a wee bit more fragile), and we joined the crew at Mitch's for Six Feet Under and Queer as Folk. I had a cigarette on the way to Haven's place and very cleverly dropped the cherry into my lap while rocking out to the new Basement Jaxx disc, Kish Kash, which I simply cannot recommend highly enough. I crushed the ember out against my jeans with my cell phone, though, so no harm was done. I was still feeling the effects of the wine a little bit, and I'd filled my shaker with two of my glasses worth of Tanqueray gin martini, which apparently is the equivalent of three regular ones, which I drank mostly during the earlier show, while semi-snuggling on the sofa with Haven and Ron, then passed out during QAF. Stupid boy that I am, I'd had no dinner. I woke at the end of the episode, drank some water and drove the five or so blocks home VERY slowly and carefully, calling Mitch to let him know I'd arrived safely. Then, I drank as much water as I could stand (three huge glasses) and passed out. When I woke this morning, it was quite grey outside, and I was still drunk, so I assumed it was very early, rolled over and went back to sleep. When next I woke, I was more hung-over than drunk, and the evil clock revealed that it was past 9.30. I called the office, explaining I'd over-slept. I was more than an hour and a half late by the time I arrived. Oops. No wonder it's been such a shitty day thus far. r
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