Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Globe trotters

Waking up to a phone alarm is like dipping your toes in acid. You’re sharply aware of how it pierces through every membrane of dream, thought, eyelid, brain.

This morning my phone did a relentless little discordant vibratory jig very not in step with the alarm audio. It is certifiably the most pissing-off thing to wake up to such flagrant disregard for rhythm [this, despite my evident lack of any sort of aural perception.]

*Unnameable Cellular Phone Company*, bumshines, at least get the spurty vibrations right; those little ones which frivolously skirt around the longer ones, trying pathetically hard to sound useful. See, I don’t mind a continuous steady vibration. It is reliably annoying. But I don’t take kindly to such startling schizoid shudders thrusting obscenely at my pillow with mounting desperation, WHILE my head is on it.

This is particularly offensive and distressing on Disco Morning.

Disco Morning is the morning you wake up in keen anticipation of Disco Night.
Disco Night is the night you show them what you’ve got.

Thus, rudely awakened by an indecent alarm, I epilated.
I painted my toe nails toxic pink.
I ironed my happy shiny shirt.
I hemmed in my sequined belt.
I polished my black patent ho-pumps with a bit-o-spit.
I shined up my silver domina neck-piece with toothpaste.
I tossed my glitter face cream in my black bag.
I packed in the big glistering globe I had laboured over on Sunday.

There I was, ready to go to office.

I wished my parents a fond farewell aware that things would be different somehow the next time I saw them, knowing, as I do, that the universe can shift in keen though imperceptible ways by the flash of a disco globe.

I’m sitting in office. I have chewed my nails down to my knuckles, I have written out this post. Edited it endlessly. Cyberslacked my brain out of its obsessiveness. My pink toes are burning up; my trotters are convulsing with febrile flashes.

I have passed the day, somehow.

The time has come people. I can barely say bye.

12 comments:

B Ditty said...

I'm not much of a nail painter, so what does "toxic" pink mean? I'm pretty sure I read it before once upon a time and didn't understand it then. :)

pRicky said...

Wednesday night is disco night?

Lizza said...

Annoying alarm clock, I know what you mean.

You sound gorgeous, burning pink toes and febrile flashes notwithstanding.

Good luck with whatever the time it is for. But don't you fucking dare say bye to us.

Please?

Debo Blue said...

I ask, who wouldn't look marvelous with toxic pink toe polish and their own disco ball?

But where are you going?

What do you mean when you write bye?

Aren't you supposed to tell us in great detail how horrible/funny/exciting/unforgettable/forgettable Disco night was?

Prude said...

The sweet pleaure pain of getting it right for a disco night...aggrrgghh the painful epilating and the exciting nail painting (even if toxic pink!!!)
Hope you had a sparkling night H and didn't drink too much sparkling wine yet!
But ummmm this wasn't an ordinary disco night ws it? Whts the special reason for all the nail biting anticipation???

H said...

Benster, you’re right, I mentioned it in my Pink post. Toxic pink is a shockingly, blindingly, brilliant burst of pink [cannot say shade, because then it would be oxymoronic].

Pricky, well this Wednesday night was :-) and a fabulous Disco Night it was! Star studded, brilliantine, happy shiny disco.

Lizza dearest, and that was just the toes ;-) You should’ve seen M. let’s just say we crowned her Disco Tart. [She is going to kill me if she reads this – but she was fabulous].
Oh no! I was saying bye for the evening – y’know before the imperceptible universe shift.

Deep as the Blue Debo [this is what I’ve called you in my sidebar links] you always ask the correct questions my dear lady. I was off to the Disco Night party I had thrown on the occasion of my birthday [which was last week].
Yes. The details shall follow.

Prude, you’re so right! Sounds like you’ve been there too. Yes I did, thank you. Had a brilliant time. No wine, just some vodka infected with odious cranberry juice. You’re right. ‘twasn’t an ordinary Disco Night. ‘Twas a theme thing. So there was much glitter and shine.

B Ditty said...

The Globetrotters are coming to town in December :p

Non-Sensei said...

I thought what you do on Disco Night, as explained by you in this post, when done randomly is an arrestable offence.
:)
no?

H said...

Ben, are they? and whose town? I hope you mean you're shimmying into Delhi. :-) now that would be truly spectacular.

Nonsense boy, that depends entirely on what you're used to showing them on the dance floor. Rockstar you.

B Ditty said...

It would, I'm sure it's lovely. But sadly they're just coming to Columbus (guess I should have said they're coming to state but it's a town so I'm kind of right)

and the Trans-siberian orchestra is coming as well!

NanNan said...

And were you crowned the Disco Fart??? ;) couldn't resist-- you know I love you--- am a little concerned about wearing ho pumps-- the effects on your sole???

H said...

Hahahahahaha.
The idea of a Disco Fart is outrageously, divinely offensive!
Why didn't I think of it before?
NanNanNan you're SOOOOOOO wicked!

The soles, the knees, the back, the balls of my toes... I could go on.