Martin K. Smith* is Awesome [and other names]

*note: may not feature any actual mention of aforementioned bloke.


Is it just this promiscuous young blogger that's done it, or has everyone managed it at some point during their sexual lives? You know... The phenomenon that is calling her the wrong name. Is it just me?

Here's my story.

A few months ago, it was my older brother's 21st birthday. As is the tradition in my house, the members of the family aged 21 and above all left for Edinburgh to enjoy a fun, alcohol-fuelled birthday celebration. This meant I was the oldest person in my household, a point which I took full advantage of from the moment I discovered this would be the case. As such, with my parents' permission, may I add, I set about arranging a sordid get-together of underaged alcohol abusers, in "Gothic Fancy Dress" [not my idea], and decided to get a few crates of alcohol in.

So it begins...

So, a few of my friends came round, including a few I'd not seen for a while, and one whom I'd had a sort of on-off fling with for a while. Tonight, the fling was on. Of course, in order to prevent upsetting a few of our friends, namely the ones who had feelings for me, we decided to try and keep it a bit low-key, with no obvious kissing, and what-have-you. But, as time went on, and the drinks flowed, and I got more shit-faced, I abandoned my morals [Hah! Morals?! Me?!], avoided any scruples I may have had earlier on, and decided to kiss her when I wanted to kiss her. I'm eighteen, I'm horny... It makes sense, Non? Needless to say, I faced a bit of disgruntlement in the morning from those with feelings.

The next part was relayed to me in the morning...

Because of the amount of alcohol I consumed, my mind was in no fit state to remember names. I was also in no physical state to perform, either. Didn't stop me trying, though. Instead, convinced I was Stallion of the Year, I decided to try and initiate a bit of the best sex of her life. I started off really well, attaining a full erection, before saying, rather regretfully [due to the reaction, more than anything else...], "Give me a kiss, Ayesha." Oops.

C [as we'll call her] then proceeded to storm out of the bedroom*, ranting and raving to my younger brother and my friend Scott, that I had called her the wrong name. Apparently, she was seething for a full five minutes before my brother told her "He didn't mean it, he's just a bit drunk.". So, she relented. "Maybe it was a one-off." But this young sir doesn't do things by halves, does he? Far from it. Instead, when she came back, I professed my love for her. Well, kind of. I said "I love you, Kellye." Bad Move.

Again, the poor wee lass stormed through, exclaiming she'd had enough, she was sleeping in a seperate room, I was not being forgiven, I was a verybadperson, etc.

Two months on, and I still refuse to say anyone's name in the bedroom.





*[edit: the person involved has told me I have misrepresented her. This is true, as she actually took it in good humour, but did in fact leave the bedroom and complain to the other two occupants of the house.]

"What I really like about you".

On my way to Edinburgh to visit my brother this weekend, I was texting my girlfriend, and things took the usual lovey-dovey route of her saying "What I like about you is..."

Ordinarily, this would be fine, and I would take it all in my stride. However, I couldn't help but laugh at one point she mentioned.

"I like that even when ur incredibly drunk u dont get violent 4 no reason." [sic]

My inital reaction was "Roffle.", which may sound okay, but I was sitting on a bus, on my way to Edinburgh, and I was the only passenger making any sound at the time. The reason for my laughter, dear reader, shall become apparent very soon.

Two weeks ago, or less or more, I was invited as a plus-one to a party. Obviously, copious amounts of alcohol were consumed not only by myself, but also by everyone else there.
No, I don't blame peer pressure. Moving on... At this party, I drank approximately 8 cans of Strongbow cider before being asked by my friend to accompany him to the local Asda to buy some more alcohol. Naturally, I obliged, seeing as I am eighteen, and he is not. So, off we trotted, slightly giddy from our previous drinks, but not nearing the tipsy or drunk stages. We bought three crates of tennents, and then raced back to the "venue" with our crates of lager still on the trolley that we had decided to snaffle, thus saving us actually using any energy in transporting the drinks.

Back at the party, Kenneth the underager and myself decided to open our tins, and drink and drink and drink. Now, 3 crates of 20 lagers = 60 lagers. We consumed between 20 and 30 of these between ourselves. And we ended up fuckdrunk. The stories relayed to me the following morning were rather humourous, as were the texts I had sent during my drunken stupor. But my favourite story had to be this:

At some point during the night, I had apparently gotten rather annoyed with my female friend, who was staggering, and falling, all over the place from when she arrived. Couple this with the fact that she had been off with me for the past week or so you know how us teenagers are... in the lead-up to this party. So, these factors led to me being somewhat of a Grumpy Bear. And by Grumpy Bear, I mean absolute cunt to everyone. But mainly her.

That's not the funny part. Here it comes:

After having gone outside for a breath of fresh air, and then making a snidey comment to her drunken self, I found myself lacking in beer, and having an abundance of rage within me. So, what did I do?

I opened a can of beer, spotted a male whom I donotlike and then proceeded to LAUNCH the can of Tennents at him. Now, I know what you're thinking - "I bet that hurt." No! It did NOT hurt him! For it landed right at his feet, before absolutely SOAKING him in warm lager!

And this, my friends, is exactly why I Roffled at the mention of me not getting violent when I am "incredibly drunk".

Tune in next week, for more posts. =]

Christmas '06

What a wonderful time it was.

First, a few days spent in the capital [Edinburgh], staying in my brothers flat.

Got all my shopping done, and had a few bob to spend on myself [which I did.]

December 23rd, I decided not to sleep, and ionstead cleaned the flat for my brother, who was coming home from his job as a bouncer at 5am, and we would be going uptown rather early.
Unfortunately for me, there was no food in the flat that I would eat [I'm very, very fussy], and so I waited until 11am [after having last eaten at approx. 9pm the previous night] to have a Bacon Butty courtesy of McDonalds.

We shopped for a while, and then decided to beat the traffic as best as possible by leaving Edinburgh to head back home at approx. 4pm.

Upon arriving home, we wrapped the remainder of our presents, cracked open the beers, and set about dressing up to let our hair down.

And let my hair down, I did.

By 11pm, I was sent home in a taxi, with absolutely no recollection of anything from the night before come Christmas day. In my defence, however, all I had to eat was a bacon butty over a period of 24hours.

Gifts I recieved:

One Batman artwork on canvas, approx 4' by 3'.
Two Batmobile models, one of which was a remote control version of the Tumbler.[Batman Begins].
One Smokey Amp, for my guitar.
Two books.
and numerous other things.

I must thank my ex-girlfriend, and now best friend, for the batmobiles. They are much better presents than she gave me way back when we were a couple. =]

Well, that's that.

I'm off to eat a Stir-Fry, and sleep.

Your Batman-loving Blogger.