Teddy, Balaclava, Absolut and Threadless

I don't think it's fair that I discovered Teddy Geiger first, and I bought his album before the bloody newspaper review came out, and I didn't get a bloody invite to his bloody gig at bloody Balaclava.

I mean, of all places. BALACLAVA? Loser yuppies that don't have anywhere to go go there. It’s such a dickhead place to go (and by that, I mean that I fully expect to have to go there in the future, when some more of my friends grow up, get jobs in cubicle farms at Temasek Avenue, and then become sad yuppies with nowhere else to go, so they booze up at some lame open-air yuppie bar.)

Wait. Where was I? Yes. Teddy Geiger had a gig at Balaclava, and because I was an early adopter and liked his music (and not photos of him or his album reviews in Life! or Lime or Seventeen Singapore) and bought his album before it exploded all over pre-pubescent Singapore, I don't get to go to listen to him live.

How fair is that? Okay I’m rambling now. I shouldn't have gone to that party last night. I boozed up far too much and drank what… what was it, one shot of Patrick’s layered stuff, a screwdriver with less vodka than it’d like, and a full glass of vodka on the rocks? Must have been that, at least. And it was Absolut, which meant it smelt like paint stripper, even if it did taste fine. Wasted time, wasted money.

Though the nice cab driver who took me home rounded down my cab fare to eight dollars, which was very nice. But I only discovered that between getting out of the cab and staring uncomprehendingly at the two-dollar note in my hand, being too distracted to notice anything while it's actually happening. So I didn't even get to thank him for saving my morning from the depths of the night before.

How sad am I? I more or less chugged paint stripper, at a sad gathering of sad people, most of whom I cannot really consider my friends, since I don’t see them unless it’s at some sad booze-up.

And isn’t getting slightly toasted like I did (I thought I’d gone overboard—wasn’t sure if I was drunk-drunk but I felt silly and like I was acting silly, but I was repeatedly reassured that I wasn’t drunk, just a bit tipsy, but I’d had a lot to drink) supposed to make you temporarily feel better? I felt sadder, more upset with things outside my control.

What the fuck am I to going to do with all my Medium-sized t-shirts?