From the Claire - "It's been ages since I heard from you and no blog updates either, I notice!! I'm hoping that this actually means all is going well as I know it's way easier to write a lot when one is angsty ; )"
And yeah, that's why i'm blogging again. OK - It's not all doom and gloom. I just came back from a fabulous holiday in Greece and the whole time I tried to be positive and happy. It was gorgeous and lovely, lots of beaches and sunshine.
However, there's no point in fighting it, I have had a rash of bad luck lately. All I can do is shrug and roll with the punches.
1. My flatmates accidentally forwarded me an email where they bitched about me, called me a 'miserable twat' that looks like I was 'seriously abused as a child'. They have plotted to vote me out of the house. It was a lot of bother and heartache from a pair of chippy bitches. I have been a great flatmate - i always tidy up after myslef and them, never complain about all their shit, and have gone out of my way to make it a nice place to live. But yeah, sometimes i don't want to go to the pub with them and get wankered, esp. mid-week. sometimes i like to read a book instead or go for a jog. I confronted them about it, and they are acting pretty sorry and cheery, but now I don't trust them and I hate feeling uncomfortable where I live. Unwelcome in my house. Chippy little bitches with sharp tongues.
2. Not to dwell on that nastiness, I went on holiday with George, but my bag didn't come with me. Incompetent baggage handlers didn't put my bag on the plane. This is the 3rd time this has happened to me! (the bright side - i could get some money from insurance!) Four days of wearing a soggy, baggy, over-priced bikini bought at the local super market.
3. An agency rejected taking on my HSMP visa application case. Pretty gutting to think all your achievements and training would not be "granted points", count for nothing in this system. Bright side - going to apply directly and avoid the agency. If i'm rejected, my company will sponsor me. I just didn't want to be tied down. What if i want to go home next year?
4. I bought 2 tickets for £7.20 from a train ticketing machine, but £50 has been taken from my account. To reverse this, I have to send the tickets - that i no longer have as they are in the ticket machine - and a copy of my bank statement to some office in Norwich (where? exactly!) and wait a certain amount of time for some over-paid officials to assess whether something went wrong. "To assess exactly what you THINK you purchased." Just gimme back my money, cunts.
But at this stage, it's just one more on the pile of bad luck. I'm not even that angry or surprised, more resigned that I've picked up some kind of bad luck virus. Must mitigate my risks until the spate is finished. Must not mention any of this to the bitchy flatmates as it's fuel for their fire.
5. Spoke to home to hear a wave of bad news family-related. It's nothing to do with me, but I feel slightly responsible for what's happening - like my bad luck is rubbing off on others. And I'm too busy, too far away, and maybe too selfish picking up after my own life to help them. Yep. Maybe my flatmates are right.
Despite this, I'm determined to not let the post-holiday glow disappear so quickly. "Good feeling, won't you stay with me just a little longer."
Meanwhile, I'm glad to hear the luck has changed for shoe-boy. His got himself a girlfriend while I was on holiday. Good for him. About time.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
So it's the end of the world today...
The world seems to have come down with a case of hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia - a fear of the number 666. If anyone is going to do anything nutty, today would be the day they'd do it. It's the number of the beast and today's date. The coverage is great, a true space filler for the silly season, with words like: 'doomsayers', 'spooks' and 'beast'.
In truth this date occurs every century, and Puritans thought it would occur in 1666 - which coincided with the Great Fire of London. I'm not superstitious (was born on a Black Friday). Sure, I’m not going to give birth on this date and call my child Damien, but I didn't take the day off work to pray and wait for the rapture. (although it was tempting to stage a Slay Off: www.nationaldayofslayer.org)
Some factoids about 666 you may not have known:
* Amsterdam - Some 2,000 Dutch Christians, most of them Protestants, engaged in a prayer marathon Tuesday to counter the devil on a day marked by the number 666 and seen as propitious for evil.
* Texas - Reports are coming in from around the world of expectant mothers going to great lengths not to have their babies on 6 June. "I refuse to give birth on that date," Texan Bethany Morian told the Seattle Times. "I'll cross my legs and watch the clock."
* Right-wing America - Ann Coulter, the woman who called for the forcible conversion of all Muslims to Christianity and said of the environment: "God said, 'Earth is yours. Take it. Rape it. It's yours.”' has chosen this date to release her book titled "Godless".
* US again (of course) - Online gaming site BetUS.com is posting 10-to-1 odds on the world ending in three days.
* Counting alphabetically, the Hebrew number equivalent for 'w' is 6, and "www" is, of course, the preface for almost every web address.
* The first Apple computer, Apple I, had an official list price of $666.
* My favourite: "The Farmer's Almanac forecast for June warns of a grave threat unrelated to biblical prophecy or blockbuster movies. 'The threat comes not from strange and distant lands or from tumultuous peoples who wish us harm,' the almanac's authors write, 'but from another unlikely quarter: squirrels.'"
Fear of 666:
* When the microchip giant Intel introduced the 666Mhz processor in 1999, they called it the Pentium III 667 rather than risk association with the Devil's number.
* The US highways agency also removed all signs for Route 666 in 2003 and changed them to the far less portentuous 491.
* When South Korea first sent troops to Iraq, they added seven to the original contingent so 673 men went to help George Bush's crusade instead of 666.
In fact, I thought the beast had risen last night. For Aussies this is going to sound bizarre - almost exotic - but i was woken up by foxes prowling in the garden. Urban red foxes have this creepy mating sound like human's screaming.
Enjoy some Iron Maiden to celebrate the day. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lBi1eWoXhv4
In truth this date occurs every century, and Puritans thought it would occur in 1666 - which coincided with the Great Fire of London. I'm not superstitious (was born on a Black Friday). Sure, I’m not going to give birth on this date and call my child Damien, but I didn't take the day off work to pray and wait for the rapture. (although it was tempting to stage a Slay Off: www.nationaldayofslayer.org)
Some factoids about 666 you may not have known:
* Amsterdam - Some 2,000 Dutch Christians, most of them Protestants, engaged in a prayer marathon Tuesday to counter the devil on a day marked by the number 666 and seen as propitious for evil.
* Texas - Reports are coming in from around the world of expectant mothers going to great lengths not to have their babies on 6 June. "I refuse to give birth on that date," Texan Bethany Morian told the Seattle Times. "I'll cross my legs and watch the clock."
* Right-wing America - Ann Coulter, the woman who called for the forcible conversion of all Muslims to Christianity and said of the environment: "God said, 'Earth is yours. Take it. Rape it. It's yours.”' has chosen this date to release her book titled "Godless".
* US again (of course) - Online gaming site BetUS.com is posting 10-to-1 odds on the world ending in three days.
* Counting alphabetically, the Hebrew number equivalent for 'w' is 6, and "www" is, of course, the preface for almost every web address.
* The first Apple computer, Apple I, had an official list price of $666.
* My favourite: "The Farmer's Almanac forecast for June warns of a grave threat unrelated to biblical prophecy or blockbuster movies. 'The threat comes not from strange and distant lands or from tumultuous peoples who wish us harm,' the almanac's authors write, 'but from another unlikely quarter: squirrels.'"
Fear of 666:
* When the microchip giant Intel introduced the 666Mhz processor in 1999, they called it the Pentium III 667 rather than risk association with the Devil's number.
* The US highways agency also removed all signs for Route 666 in 2003 and changed them to the far less portentuous 491.
* When South Korea first sent troops to Iraq, they added seven to the original contingent so 673 men went to help George Bush's crusade instead of 666.
In fact, I thought the beast had risen last night. For Aussies this is going to sound bizarre - almost exotic - but i was woken up by foxes prowling in the garden. Urban red foxes have this creepy mating sound like human's screaming.
Enjoy some Iron Maiden to celebrate the day. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lBi1eWoXhv4
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Wine-O
So I went to lunch to read my book, and a man asked if he could take my spare chair. He sat down opposite me and then spilt white wine all over me. He didn’t apologise either, took my only napkin and used it to ineffectually mop up the stuff on the table, just pushing it further toward the table-edge and my soaked lap saying things like ‘oh did I do that?’.
I didn’t even have anything to stem the flow on my poor soaked trousers. I rushed to the cash registers, as this particular cafe - like all London cafes - don’t keep napkins around handy, but safe-guard them at registers and then issue them singly to customers as if they were gold leaf. So I rushed over, reached around said register and grabbed a wad and stormed out.
I’m so annoyed. Not only am I in sticky-trousers-all-day–hell but I stink like a booze bitch. I hate Londoners. HATE YOU ALLLLLL!
I didn’t even have anything to stem the flow on my poor soaked trousers. I rushed to the cash registers, as this particular cafe - like all London cafes - don’t keep napkins around handy, but safe-guard them at registers and then issue them singly to customers as if they were gold leaf. So I rushed over, reached around said register and grabbed a wad and stormed out.
I’m so annoyed. Not only am I in sticky-trousers-all-day–hell but I stink like a booze bitch. I hate Londoners. HATE YOU ALLLLLL!
Technology ages, dunnit?
I resent the fact that I'm in office today, on one of Britain's only sunny days of the year, writing about technology that noone will be using in 100 years.
I wish I was in the Sun reading my book - Neal Stephenson's Baroque Cycle - which is about Isaac Newtown and the Royal Society. I love this book...
I wish I was in the Sun reading my book - Neal Stephenson's Baroque Cycle - which is about Isaac Newtown and the Royal Society. I love this book...
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Office depression
Wish I knew how to post music on to this blog, cause someone sent me a funny forward about the office environmenet.
This blog is about London again - and this pressure to up the pace here, and really milk this opportunity for all it’s worth. This visa is a stickler. I’m only here for an indefinite amount of time and I feel this pressure to always enjoy the whole abroad experience. It's not always like that. The holiday spirit has almost dies, and I'm left having to be responsible and sign a lease, take over bills, manage a house etc. Also, I'm not playing with the bad crowd anymore and going out to clubs. Instead I'm an office drone, feeling guilty about a mid-week drink, and trying to earn enough to cover the bills.
OK - time out, girl, stop sweating the small stuff and start aggressively pursuing your dreams:
1. A glitzy career - Fake it until you make it.
2. a big fat holiday in south america
3. a nest egg saving to return with - and never feel dependent on anyone again.
I want to be counted. I want to be passionate. I want to be RICH.
I hate my job. the positive is I'm being given an opportunity to help configure and contribute to the external blog. My goal, while over here, was to build up my resume so I can take home industry-based experience. But I don't think I'm ruthless enough, to wear the suit and be cut-throat. Whatever, because I didn't get any of the jobs I've gone for and i'm stuck as a serf in a marketing firm.
Yet an ex colleague has passed on my CV anyway to her new boss - and I could become PR bitch soon!
But my heart is just not in it. It still amazes me that millions of people go into a building and shuffle papers everyday and somehow it means something. These things that are so urgent will be forgotten in a week.
Take a step back, and the office is like a play. It has its own set of dramas, which are completely out of touch with the real world and they distract us from what's going on in politics, or world strife etc. The office has its own set of characters. the bitchy villainous back-stabber, the despot boss, the hapless clerk, the lovers tryst etc...
I'm so fucking bored.
blog of the day: http://findtui.blogspot.com/
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Badgers and mushrooms
George and I disagree about the long-term effects of drugs on the brain - but even he was surprised, and had to concede my point, when he woke us both Monday morning by bursting into a made-up song about badgers.
Found this site today. Looks helpful:
http://www.indietravelguide.com/
Found this site today. Looks helpful:
http://www.indietravelguide.com/
My space, your space, our space
London can be a trap. I spend so much energy on the day-to-day, tube-to-work, hand-to-mouth drudgery, it's hard to lift my eyes from feet and plan for better times (in sunnier climes). Lately I've felt restless, like I want to go home and get a mortgage, or start my own business.
Nomes echoed my thoughts yesterday, when she said she was sick of the survival mode in London, and she wanted to go home to Australia and 'build something'. What she wants to build wasn't clear or elaborated on, but I understood exactly.
Don't get me wrong. London can be fantastic, but finding the gems can be a scramble as you face bastardly opponents at every turn. Living here is a bit like trying to scratch your intials in marble with nothing but toothpick.
Nomes is particularly bitter, as she is being evicted this weekend - all last minute no notice. Yet another case of not having any rights as an underpaid immigrant in this city. She's a legal immigrant and yet she's still having trouble trying to create something of herself in this place.
It went something like this. She moved in with a girl she considered a friend and a colleague. She never signed a lease, and was sub-letting the room in the house. She thought that this girl and her were fairly close. They shared chocolate on the couch most evenings. Back home - eating chocolate and drinking wine on the couch is considered the domain of best friends. Not here, evidently, as this girl, inexplicably, turns to Nomes and says 'You have to move out by the end of the week because my sister is moving in'. You wouldn't treat a dog like that.
This is the same girl that turned around to her friend with cancer and said 'i can't be your friend anymore, because you're too negative'.
Nomes is not in a panic. She's quite calm about it, being a 6-year veteran to this kind of treatment had helped her roll with the punches. What troubled me was that she was questioning herself for geting into this situation, instead of this country.
'I think I melt into people. I thought she was my friend and I wouldn't do that to her, I assume people will treat me the way I treat them. I keep making that mistake over and over again.'
Please, Nomes, don't let London turn you into a drone. It's a big city and, like all big cities, it attracts the cold and heartless. But there's plenty of great stuff and great people too! (Everyone I speak to says looking for the good is too exhausting to bother).
She said it best when she said it was a cultural difference based on deprivation.
'People here feel deprived of everything. Sunlight, fresh air, fresh food, good money. What they do have, they hold onto fiercely and feel no guilt in taking things away from other people. Everyone in the city is in survival mode. At home, we have such an abundance, we feel nothing about sharing it. What's it going to hurt us, because there is plenty more. But here, everyone's out for themselves.'
Sadly, I can see the Australia she left behind only 6 years ago is different to the place I left only 2 years ago. There's less of the little Aussie battler, and 'she'll be right, mate' attitude, and more blatant racismm unacceptance of cultures, and paranoia about threats. I blame Howard. Squarely.
Anyway - off topic - but not really - this whole wanting to build something brings me onto the popularity of MySpace. It's a global phenomenon where's there's space for everyone! Lily Allen is being hailed as the next bright young thing over here. Personally, I tend to counter claims of 'next big things' with a healthy dash of cynicism, but I do admit she's got something. She's a londoner, she;s young, she'd got some good tunes and she's managed to build something of herself at the 'tender' (although she doens't seem that fragile to me) age of 21.
I'm now straddling the older generation, and Lily is the next gen, and she's got a better handle on what MySpace means:
"If you make music, as I and many others do, and want to share it with people, on something like this (myspace), people pick up on it and news spreads fast, theres nothing you can do to stop it , it's just the way things are these days. From my point of view , and the reason I am saddened by [Caroline Sullivan's Guardian article] is because people (maybe of an older generation) cannot differentiate between hype (in the old school sense) and genuine interest (from genuine punters), maybe not record buyers but music lovers all the same. The passage I find particularly confusing: 'Of late, the whole thing has snowballed, and Allen - daughter of comedian Keith - now finds herself the focus of great expectations without actually having done anything.'... saying I have 'done nothing' suggests that making an album, sharing it with you lot and gaining a fanbase (1,300,000 plays) counts for fuck all, and that, I feel, is a little on the ignorant side. ... We live in very different times now, we have the the internet and it is an amazing promotional tool, it saves money and time, and if people can't see that's very exciting, then I feel sorry for them."
Nomes echoed my thoughts yesterday, when she said she was sick of the survival mode in London, and she wanted to go home to Australia and 'build something'. What she wants to build wasn't clear or elaborated on, but I understood exactly.
Don't get me wrong. London can be fantastic, but finding the gems can be a scramble as you face bastardly opponents at every turn. Living here is a bit like trying to scratch your intials in marble with nothing but toothpick.
Nomes is particularly bitter, as she is being evicted this weekend - all last minute no notice. Yet another case of not having any rights as an underpaid immigrant in this city. She's a legal immigrant and yet she's still having trouble trying to create something of herself in this place.
It went something like this. She moved in with a girl she considered a friend and a colleague. She never signed a lease, and was sub-letting the room in the house. She thought that this girl and her were fairly close. They shared chocolate on the couch most evenings. Back home - eating chocolate and drinking wine on the couch is considered the domain of best friends. Not here, evidently, as this girl, inexplicably, turns to Nomes and says 'You have to move out by the end of the week because my sister is moving in'. You wouldn't treat a dog like that.
This is the same girl that turned around to her friend with cancer and said 'i can't be your friend anymore, because you're too negative'.
Nomes is not in a panic. She's quite calm about it, being a 6-year veteran to this kind of treatment had helped her roll with the punches. What troubled me was that she was questioning herself for geting into this situation, instead of this country.
'I think I melt into people. I thought she was my friend and I wouldn't do that to her, I assume people will treat me the way I treat them. I keep making that mistake over and over again.'
Please, Nomes, don't let London turn you into a drone. It's a big city and, like all big cities, it attracts the cold and heartless. But there's plenty of great stuff and great people too! (Everyone I speak to says looking for the good is too exhausting to bother).
She said it best when she said it was a cultural difference based on deprivation.
'People here feel deprived of everything. Sunlight, fresh air, fresh food, good money. What they do have, they hold onto fiercely and feel no guilt in taking things away from other people. Everyone in the city is in survival mode. At home, we have such an abundance, we feel nothing about sharing it. What's it going to hurt us, because there is plenty more. But here, everyone's out for themselves.'
Sadly, I can see the Australia she left behind only 6 years ago is different to the place I left only 2 years ago. There's less of the little Aussie battler, and 'she'll be right, mate' attitude, and more blatant racismm unacceptance of cultures, and paranoia about threats. I blame Howard. Squarely.
Anyway - off topic - but not really - this whole wanting to build something brings me onto the popularity of MySpace. It's a global phenomenon where's there's space for everyone! Lily Allen is being hailed as the next bright young thing over here. Personally, I tend to counter claims of 'next big things' with a healthy dash of cynicism, but I do admit she's got something. She's a londoner, she;s young, she'd got some good tunes and she's managed to build something of herself at the 'tender' (although she doens't seem that fragile to me) age of 21.
I'm now straddling the older generation, and Lily is the next gen, and she's got a better handle on what MySpace means:
"If you make music, as I and many others do, and want to share it with people, on something like this (myspace), people pick up on it and news spreads fast, theres nothing you can do to stop it , it's just the way things are these days. From my point of view , and the reason I am saddened by [Caroline Sullivan's Guardian article] is because people (maybe of an older generation) cannot differentiate between hype (in the old school sense) and genuine interest (from genuine punters), maybe not record buyers but music lovers all the same. The passage I find particularly confusing: 'Of late, the whole thing has snowballed, and Allen - daughter of comedian Keith - now finds herself the focus of great expectations without actually having done anything.'... saying I have 'done nothing' suggests that making an album, sharing it with you lot and gaining a fanbase (1,300,000 plays) counts for fuck all, and that, I feel, is a little on the ignorant side. ... We live in very different times now, we have the the internet and it is an amazing promotional tool, it saves money and time, and if people can't see that's very exciting, then I feel sorry for them."
Friday, May 19, 2006
Rancid old blog
Yes, Claireygirl, you're right: it's been too long.
What can I say, I have been working damn hard and have no Internet access at home, plus my life has been marked by dramas in the past month. It will have to be bullets.
* I'm back wth George. ("whaaa...?" I hear you ask. Yes, it is odd and unexpected. What can I say? I didn't really believe - with the way he treated me - that he did love me at all. But in this round his character has been rewritten and he seems more in touch with his emotions. Also, we've both avoided "charlie the cunt", as I'm sure most our arguments were under the influence.)
* I nearly got evicted. The drama is still ongoing, as I'd only just moved in. Very long story here!
* Work is going big guns. I'm angling for sponsorship and promotion and also hunting on the side.
It's May and it's raining. I'm homesick again. English summer is such a little tease, maybe deigning to show a bit of ankle under a petticoat of constant rain. Aussie summers, in contrast, are hot, sweaty sluts with nights of tangled sheets, the incessant whine of mosquitoes and cicadas, tropical storms, a think funk of humidity.
I've taken up running, but it's a cruel, cruel sport. While I love see progression in myself, I'm truly impatient when I get too puffed.
Gosh, it's a quick old blog today. Only 10 mins to write this malarkey, and i'm already cutting it short. We must catch up again soon.
What can I say, I have been working damn hard and have no Internet access at home, plus my life has been marked by dramas in the past month. It will have to be bullets.
* I'm back wth George. ("whaaa...?" I hear you ask. Yes, it is odd and unexpected. What can I say? I didn't really believe - with the way he treated me - that he did love me at all. But in this round his character has been rewritten and he seems more in touch with his emotions. Also, we've both avoided "charlie the cunt", as I'm sure most our arguments were under the influence.)
* I nearly got evicted. The drama is still ongoing, as I'd only just moved in. Very long story here!
* Work is going big guns. I'm angling for sponsorship and promotion and also hunting on the side.
It's May and it's raining. I'm homesick again. English summer is such a little tease, maybe deigning to show a bit of ankle under a petticoat of constant rain. Aussie summers, in contrast, are hot, sweaty sluts with nights of tangled sheets, the incessant whine of mosquitoes and cicadas, tropical storms, a think funk of humidity.
I've taken up running, but it's a cruel, cruel sport. While I love see progression in myself, I'm truly impatient when I get too puffed.
Gosh, it's a quick old blog today. Only 10 mins to write this malarkey, and i'm already cutting it short. We must catch up again soon.
Friday, April 07, 2006
Big mouth strikes again
“Sweetness, sweetness, I was only joking when I said I’d like to mash every tooth in your head
Sweetness, sweetness, I was only joking when I said by rights you should be bludgeoned in your bed."
Ahhh, The Smiths always get it spot on. These lyrics pretty much sum up the bipolar comments I've received from SneekerBoy, as I've decided to dub him.
Long story short, he liked me, likes me, is crazy about me, obsessed with me. On Saturday I told Sneekerboy that I'm considering getting back together with George for a 3rd time. (Insane idea - bear with me) I was telling SneekerBoy in order to push him away, and to explain that I still miss George. It was hard to remove such a big part of my life in London, and to just move on and be with someone else. I was fond of SB - love his brutal honesty and the Northern way he say's 'fook' - but I couldn't be the girl he deserves to have. It's annoying that his crush has gotten in the way of a good friendship. I totally understand it because I'm struggling with a similar problem (wait, I'll explain in a moment). The point is there is a marked difference in how we are both handling our emotions. One of us is simmering quietly, the other is making a complete mess. See if you can spot the difference.
A case study on brutal honesty: SB on the Grand National: "It's horses, they run round a course, the ones that fall over get shot and turned into glue. I hate horse racing."
The world is full of people that we fancy more than they fancy us. It happens all the time, and it hurts. Most people would walk away and try not to make the other person feel guilty. Not SB though. He didn't take it well. Not at all.
From 9am Sunday morning to 12.30 he called every 20mins and sent 4 texts. The last one said: "I'm going to come around there and make a fooking scene if you don't answer the phone."
Since then, it's been intense to understate things. I've been living a bit in fear. He told me he thought about topping himself. He begged me to come over so we can talk about things, but then he sat on my couch and sighed and said he had nothing to say, so i booted him out again. In short, he's gone a bit mental.
I should probably blog about the George situation, but work got crazy busy, and I'm kinda sick of blogging about boys all the time. OK - I entertained the notion of getting back togehter and spending my last few months with him. But we are not together because I can't let my defences down after being hurt. I do like him. I miss our good times, when we're together we have fun. He challenges my intellect, which I find very rare and sexy. Last night he used the term 'Brechtian' and I enjoyed it. At heart, I'm a cultural wanker.
Yet I'd be a fool to trust him again and, in truth, I'm surprised I even talk to him. A rollercoaster ride can be addictive with lots of peaks and troughs, but at the end of the day you throw up your fairyfloss, or in my case a bottle of vodka, and all you want to do is go home.
...
As an aside, lately I've realised that I'm more than smitten by the office crush. I think about him constantly. It's bad, because I can't give anything else a fair go while I've got him in my head.
This is the difference between the way I'm handling it and the way SB is. I've asked him out. He said no. I've accepted it and tried to get over it. I haven't threatened to kill myself, or called him every 20 mins or tried to sabotage his chances with other girls. I have wondered why, but not wanted to hear the words 'i don't fancy you'. SB has pretty much tried to push me into saying that.
Office crush is dreamy though. To use another Smiths' lyric: There's a light that never goes out...
Thursday, March 30, 2006
The rejection
It's been a while, and I have loads of news re work, boys, work and boys, boys at work. But as blogging at work is a big no-no, I only have time to relate one story.
Today I asked out the office crush on messenger, because I was too nervous when we were together. I got turned down. Not so good.
I do feel a spark when we're together, and his eyes seem to glow, but I don't know how much of it is just imagined and how much is real. Since reading his book, and getting to know him, I have fallen for him more and more. It's a strange and lovely way to get to know someone and to fall for them, through their words. It's never really been like that with anyone else.
It's not quite love or anything as big as that, but it's potential. It's something. It's a crush.
Today I asked out the office crush on messenger, because I was too nervous when we were together. I got turned down. Not so good.
I do feel a spark when we're together, and his eyes seem to glow, but I don't know how much of it is just imagined and how much is real. Since reading his book, and getting to know him, I have fallen for him more and more. It's a strange and lovely way to get to know someone and to fall for them, through their words. It's never really been like that with anyone else.
It's not quite love or anything as big as that, but it's potential. It's something. It's a crush.
Me: I had a nice time last night. Next time, do you think it would be weird if we considered it a date? I'm not very good at these things.
Him: It would be kinda wierd yeah, let's stick to friends if that's ok
...
Have you gone quiet for a reason?
Me: Quiet because embarrassed. but had to ask.
Him: Don't be embarrassed. No reason to be.
Me: OK. I think we get along really well, I like you and we're both single, so why not? But then again, we're good friends and I'd rather not fuck that up either. I know the timing isn't so good either, but it never is.
Him: As an aside, I can't imagine it going down too well with Rob either! But that's not the reason. Friends is good, more is leading into headfuck territory, never a good place to set up camp.
Me: I understand. I don't want to fuck with anyone's head, or make things awkward etc with your friends. I'm only here for 9 more months anyway.
Him: 9 months is ages. You could have a little Bon by then then
Me: A baby? steady on. I only asked you for a drink.
Friday, March 17, 2006
No way you big spastic, you're a mentalist!
This was going to be a blog about cockend, hence the title, but blogger crashed on me and has been down for 2 days. So instead I'm resorting to shorthand news on everything in the last few days.
Firstly, I have had a short-lived but intense friendship with the trainer guru Rob, but alas the boy wanted more than I could give him. He wanted something in-between a friendship and a relationship, and I nearly let it happen because it would have been so easy, especially when feeling so low, to rely on someone else to lift me up.
Last night I set things right. Now I've possibly lost the best friend I have at the moment. But I can't be with someone because I'm lonely. He deserves more than I could give him.
Secondly, I have found myself head-over-heels with someone else, which isn't the most comfortable position. I've never told any of my crushes over the years how I feel, for fear of rejection and social ostracism. But I'm already fairly alone and ostracised over here so I figure why not? What have I got to lose? Tonight I'm doing it. I may get him drunk first.
Cokend (heh typo, but it's appropriate) called me last Friday, very drunk. He was out on his birthday drinks, and I was a bit hurt to not be invited. I'm not sure why, because I wouldn't have gone. OK, I was hurt that someone I spent the best part of a year with has completely cut me out of his life, and called me an outsider and treated me as such, but then turns around and calls when he's pissed and 'up for it'. The only thing I'm worth to him is a shag. That bites.
Here's a run down of what happened:
Friday night, he called me very pissed to apologise for calling me an outsider and for all the hurtful things he said, but his excuse 'i was drunk' has worn thin. There's only a certain amount of times you can excuse someone for that, and think it won't happen again. Yet it does, and you think you're too blame in some way. It's like an abused wife - but it's emotional so the bruises don't show.
So he invited me to a gig on Saturday night
Saturday night, he sent me a text 'shame you didn't make it. ...feeling quite emotional now, sorry for everything'.
Sunday afternoon i called him. It was a bad time because he was on a come down. I pointed out, quite reasonably, that he called me at times that weren't convenient in states of mind that were incoherent, and now I was calling him to talk.
Then he asked me if I missed the sex. Unbelievable. He's either stupid or thinks I'm that easy to manipulate. I do miss the guy, but it's like missing a tumour.
I am a bit scared that I'm about to lose another group of friends by making an arse of myself.
And yet, after being told there is no point being in a relationship with me because I'm an immigrant that will be chucked out of country in a year, I feel I can take on anything and if it doesn't work out, then that's ok.
Not a very insightful and witty blog today. Have loads of work-related news too but that will have to wait because times a-wastin'.
Firstly, I have had a short-lived but intense friendship with the trainer guru Rob, but alas the boy wanted more than I could give him. He wanted something in-between a friendship and a relationship, and I nearly let it happen because it would have been so easy, especially when feeling so low, to rely on someone else to lift me up.
Last night I set things right. Now I've possibly lost the best friend I have at the moment. But I can't be with someone because I'm lonely. He deserves more than I could give him.
Secondly, I have found myself head-over-heels with someone else, which isn't the most comfortable position. I've never told any of my crushes over the years how I feel, for fear of rejection and social ostracism. But I'm already fairly alone and ostracised over here so I figure why not? What have I got to lose? Tonight I'm doing it. I may get him drunk first.
Cokend (heh typo, but it's appropriate) called me last Friday, very drunk. He was out on his birthday drinks, and I was a bit hurt to not be invited. I'm not sure why, because I wouldn't have gone. OK, I was hurt that someone I spent the best part of a year with has completely cut me out of his life, and called me an outsider and treated me as such, but then turns around and calls when he's pissed and 'up for it'. The only thing I'm worth to him is a shag. That bites.
Here's a run down of what happened:
Friday night, he called me very pissed to apologise for calling me an outsider and for all the hurtful things he said, but his excuse 'i was drunk' has worn thin. There's only a certain amount of times you can excuse someone for that, and think it won't happen again. Yet it does, and you think you're too blame in some way. It's like an abused wife - but it's emotional so the bruises don't show.
So he invited me to a gig on Saturday night
Saturday night, he sent me a text 'shame you didn't make it. ...feeling quite emotional now, sorry for everything'.
Sunday afternoon i called him. It was a bad time because he was on a come down. I pointed out, quite reasonably, that he called me at times that weren't convenient in states of mind that were incoherent, and now I was calling him to talk.
Then he asked me if I missed the sex. Unbelievable. He's either stupid or thinks I'm that easy to manipulate. I do miss the guy, but it's like missing a tumour.
I am a bit scared that I'm about to lose another group of friends by making an arse of myself.
And yet, after being told there is no point being in a relationship with me because I'm an immigrant that will be chucked out of country in a year, I feel I can take on anything and if it doesn't work out, then that's ok.
Not a very insightful and witty blog today. Have loads of work-related news too but that will have to wait because times a-wastin'.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Death to the social publishing revolution
I had to do some blogging for the work site, and i'm feeling a bit bitter about this whole marketing going into blogging fiasco, so here's me sticking it to the man!
Science Fiction writer William Gibson once said: 'The future is here. It's just not evenly distributed yet." So it is with blogging, and the tools and technology to blog.
Pundits claim that blogging is the next wave of social journalism, giving the power and voice back to the people, grass roots journalism gone tropo. Yet you need only look at the flailing number of blogs by tech journos - a field that should be ahead of the curve - compared to the amount of blogs by corporates and vendors to see that the social publishing revolution died on the vine before it got a chance to flourish. The voice of the people in the blogosphere are already being drowned out by a wave of marketing material designed to confuse, suffuse and disseminate the message.
Clogger blog observes that tech journalism was always crammed with writers begging their employers for better technology to help them do their jobs. This is my experience also. It took me years to convince one publisher that an aged Mac in the corner with dialup did not constitute a connected office to our US counterparts to download the content, which is a mindset so ridiculous that the memory of it still brings me up in a rage rash. Meanwhile he got excited about e-books (remember those?) because he had shares in the company, and didn't respect the fact that it would add 5 more days of production time to our magazine cycle, and generated exactly 0 amount of subscribers and a major operating expense. (Deep breath. Don't be bitter).
So it is with the blogging revolution, with only a limited number of publications encouraging their journalists to create blogs, while they are outnumbered by marketing simpletons marching into this space and flying their companies' flag. You can understand that publishers are essentially cowboys, and when there is no immediate financial gains to be had, pitching the blogging concept falls on deaf ears.
The impact of this is that social journalism - as bloggers like to call this whole revolution - undermines and erodes the traditional voice of educated authority and creates a dialogue that can quickly descend into a cacophony of noise. What's really scary is that the idea this blogging frenzy will result in a new thought leader/dictator model no different to the hegemony enjoyed by the Western media - the Murdoch empire - we had in the first place.
In traditional world of journalism, before you can discuss a topic, you have to be credentialed. Only a reporter can write a story. The process consists of the principle: first filter, then publish. Now this process is instant, unfiltered, and more widely distributed.
Blogs are becoming increasingly powerful way of harnessing, monitoring and even shaping public opinion. What bloggers (in some cases, glorified marketers) have done by shovelling ideas into their blogs and linking to others is create an ideas network. As a blogger they have created a mechanism for thousands of like-minded people to listen to their opinions.
What's more journalism is becoming more reactive while blogs are proactive. To paraphrase Guy Kawaski puts it: Buzz begets ink, and increasingly, blogs beget buzz.
Of course, marketers are quick to put the boot into the blogosphere. This comment by Steve Rubel seems to sum up the marketeers blind fear of the threat of blogs to brand: "A great brand can take months, if not years, and millions of dollars to build. It should be the thing you hold most precious. It can be destroyed in hours by a blogger upset with your company."
The upshot of all these marketing blogs is that I now more regularly read the thoughts of a stooge or salesman more than I read an article written by a journalist that is trained to be objective. Both groups want to help me formulate my opinions, but one group has an agenda. Yet the influence of blogs on opinion is intangible and immeasurable. That scares me!
The Guardian is responding by blurring the distinction between blogger and journalist, within the regulated context of its new comment is free section.
As Simon Waldman, director of digital publishing at the Guardian, said in an interview on journalism.co.uk: "We should acknowledge that a new generation of under-25s is emerging with radically different expectations of media. To put a commercial spin on this, we can't just think of them as our future readers and users, but as the brand managers and media buyers of the future as well. We ignore them - and their expectations of us - at our peril."
If you think that was a rant, check out: Jeremy Zawodny
Monday, March 06, 2006
Kooky new cast of characters
I promised some positive news on new friends so here goes:
Rob Lovely designer chap that I've spent almost the full weekend with. I bought him a book of paper animal templates and he came over and made me the monkey (my favourite), the giraffe and the hippo. We went to Primrose Hill on the weekend, where you can see most of London. Then off to the posh pubs, where we didn't get served for 15 minutes and were charged £3 for a coke and a water, to which Rob said 'cock off, London scum. That's fooked' in his lovely, lilting Northern accent.
* Scary when angry.
* Unusually loud voice.
* Owns 80 pairs of trainers.
Paul 'Peapod' as we call him because he has a green coloured jumper and couldn't be bothered correcting some dimwit in a photo lab that changed his name to 'pod'. He's great for strange non-sequitors or saying exactly what he thinks. Once couldn't be bothered having a shower so sprayed himself with Febreeze, then went to the pub and told us all.
* Asked 'What if fish had hair, could it swim?'. Us: Depends on how much hair. Him (earnestly): 'What if it was really hairy?'.
* Can't be trusted to operate a toaster without burning down the house.
* Thought there was an African Ocean.
Kevin The boy with the Green ninja Kawasaki. Damn cool taste in music. Has ridden around Europe and written a book about it, but won't set foot in an airplane.
* Partner in crime to Pod.
* Most common phrase: 'look at me'.
* Thought olives were a type of fish.
Rob Lovely designer chap that I've spent almost the full weekend with. I bought him a book of paper animal templates and he came over and made me the monkey (my favourite), the giraffe and the hippo. We went to Primrose Hill on the weekend, where you can see most of London. Then off to the posh pubs, where we didn't get served for 15 minutes and were charged £3 for a coke and a water, to which Rob said 'cock off, London scum. That's fooked' in his lovely, lilting Northern accent.
* Scary when angry.
* Unusually loud voice.
* Owns 80 pairs of trainers.
Paul 'Peapod' as we call him because he has a green coloured jumper and couldn't be bothered correcting some dimwit in a photo lab that changed his name to 'pod'. He's great for strange non-sequitors or saying exactly what he thinks. Once couldn't be bothered having a shower so sprayed himself with Febreeze, then went to the pub and told us all.
* Asked 'What if fish had hair, could it swim?'. Us: Depends on how much hair. Him (earnestly): 'What if it was really hairy?'.
* Can't be trusted to operate a toaster without burning down the house.
* Thought there was an African Ocean.
Kevin The boy with the Green ninja Kawasaki. Damn cool taste in music. Has ridden around Europe and written a book about it, but won't set foot in an airplane.
* Partner in crime to Pod.
* Most common phrase: 'look at me'.
* Thought olives were a type of fish.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Everyday I love you less and less
Cockend strikes again He doesn't deserve the air-time but I'm giving it to him anyway. Maybe it's all one of his PR ploys to get more mention on my blog.
In the interests of transitioning to friendship, the boy called me up for a drink at the pub with him and his flatmate. As long as we're chaperoned, I thought we'd be alright. Once his flatmate left, we went for a walk along Canary Wharf, by the river and the shiny rich buildings. It was on the escalator to the tube that he put his hand under my jacket, grabbed me by the waist and kissed me on the lips. And I let him. Weak! Lame! It's true. So we were both weak, seeking comfort. It happens. it's not the end of the world. Exes make mistakes all the time.
The next night, in the interests of sorting out the mess made by kisses on escalators the night before, the boy called me up for a drink at the pub for a 'talk'. I get to the pub and his 'in the closet' friend Skinner is there. Skinner takes one look at me and his face drops, in that way that says 'oh no, they're back together' before he has a chance to disguise it. Meanwhile, I'm wondering why he wanted to meet to 'talk' and invite his friend along.
So we're all chatting about innane nonsense. Skinner has just given notice - which is why he was there drinking with G so early in the evening. Skinner keeps saying he is going to leave to update his CV, and G convinces him to stay. I plan on finishing my pint and leaving. Dinner is ordered. Finally I make to leave, and the boys are leaving too.
So far all is good. G and I have spent an evening together as mates and not ended up in bed or kissing. Skinner and I have been amicable to each other.
It's G's birthday this weekend, just before slipping off to bed I send him a text 'are you planning anything for your birthday?'
2 hours later - 11.30pm (30 mins pub closing time for those on the uptake) I'm sound asleep when the phone rings. George stonkered. The drunken tirade starts. Some highlights:
* You must realise that Skinner doesn't like you. And you just played along. You're so narrow-sighted you can't see that he's manipulating you to make you look bad in front of me, because he doesn't like us together. He's in the closet and has a problem with me having a girlfriend.
* Fuck off puppy dog.
You know what, the rest isn't worth transcribing or relating. It was just evil and cruel. I told him to fuck off, i'm not his girlfriend anymore and don't have to put up with that shit, or be judged for how I act among his friend. I believe I said that I never wanted to hear another cunting word he said. He sent 2 apology texts, an apology email and then called me last night from a different phone line so I'd answer to give me another apology and explanation. It's too late. We had fun, and there were good times, but he's so unpredictable and he can turn on people so quickly, that I know the best thing to do would be never want to see him again. Of course, whether this happens or not is difficult to say, but I'm certainly not going to go out of my way to see him.
Next post will be on the better positive new friends in my life. Just too busy today to relate it all.
In the interests of transitioning to friendship, the boy called me up for a drink at the pub with him and his flatmate. As long as we're chaperoned, I thought we'd be alright. Once his flatmate left, we went for a walk along Canary Wharf, by the river and the shiny rich buildings. It was on the escalator to the tube that he put his hand under my jacket, grabbed me by the waist and kissed me on the lips. And I let him. Weak! Lame! It's true. So we were both weak, seeking comfort. It happens. it's not the end of the world. Exes make mistakes all the time.
The next night, in the interests of sorting out the mess made by kisses on escalators the night before, the boy called me up for a drink at the pub for a 'talk'. I get to the pub and his 'in the closet' friend Skinner is there. Skinner takes one look at me and his face drops, in that way that says 'oh no, they're back together' before he has a chance to disguise it. Meanwhile, I'm wondering why he wanted to meet to 'talk' and invite his friend along.
So we're all chatting about innane nonsense. Skinner has just given notice - which is why he was there drinking with G so early in the evening. Skinner keeps saying he is going to leave to update his CV, and G convinces him to stay. I plan on finishing my pint and leaving. Dinner is ordered. Finally I make to leave, and the boys are leaving too.
So far all is good. G and I have spent an evening together as mates and not ended up in bed or kissing. Skinner and I have been amicable to each other.
It's G's birthday this weekend, just before slipping off to bed I send him a text 'are you planning anything for your birthday?'
2 hours later - 11.30pm (30 mins pub closing time for those on the uptake) I'm sound asleep when the phone rings. George stonkered. The drunken tirade starts. Some highlights:
* You must realise that Skinner doesn't like you. And you just played along. You're so narrow-sighted you can't see that he's manipulating you to make you look bad in front of me, because he doesn't like us together. He's in the closet and has a problem with me having a girlfriend.
* Fuck off puppy dog.
You know what, the rest isn't worth transcribing or relating. It was just evil and cruel. I told him to fuck off, i'm not his girlfriend anymore and don't have to put up with that shit, or be judged for how I act among his friend. I believe I said that I never wanted to hear another cunting word he said. He sent 2 apology texts, an apology email and then called me last night from a different phone line so I'd answer to give me another apology and explanation. It's too late. We had fun, and there were good times, but he's so unpredictable and he can turn on people so quickly, that I know the best thing to do would be never want to see him again. Of course, whether this happens or not is difficult to say, but I'm certainly not going to go out of my way to see him.
Next post will be on the better positive new friends in my life. Just too busy today to relate it all.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Silver linings
Yes, I've been slack on the blogging - but then I've been good on the living!
So what's new - well I'm enjoying my new gaff - the location is handy to everything, there's a lot more going down at my doorstep, and my room feels more me than the last empty place did (despite my best efforts with a paintbrush).
I've bought tickets to see Sisters of Mercy(!).
The gym has paid off. I've lost 3 more inches on my waist and hips. Still got booty though. That ain't shifting, and that's OK. Was pleased to buy jeans 3 sizes smaller! Yay me!
Looks like I may get a holiday after all, to beautiful Chamonix with Pod, for some lovely, lovely snow and loads of scrummy French wine and food... oh la la.
Got a job interview tomorrow, but it's in Uxbridge. Although I've had 2 other promising and exciting leads in London town... one is PR for this company and the other is journalism for an online financial tech new site.
The friends - I'm pretty close to the OC and his swag of friends now - so decided to back off any romance plans for the short term with any of them. I really want a group of good friends more than anything else.
Steph and that crew - nothing from the people I've spent the best part of a year with. But I figure they aren't my friends anymore, anyway. Yawn, it's all so high school and stupid, dropping contact with friends because of a break up. FFS!
Boy sitch - blissful silence from George after he sent me a confusing Valentine's and made noises about missing me and being unsure what he wants again, only to take it all back. It's not what I want at all - to get back with that louse - and yet I still felt a bit conflicted and jerked around and let down after the 5 days of mixed messages. I think he's realised that it's not fair, and he's made an effort to stop.
So what's new - well I'm enjoying my new gaff - the location is handy to everything, there's a lot more going down at my doorstep, and my room feels more me than the last empty place did (despite my best efforts with a paintbrush).
I've bought tickets to see Sisters of Mercy(!).
The gym has paid off. I've lost 3 more inches on my waist and hips. Still got booty though. That ain't shifting, and that's OK. Was pleased to buy jeans 3 sizes smaller! Yay me!
Looks like I may get a holiday after all, to beautiful Chamonix with Pod, for some lovely, lovely snow and loads of scrummy French wine and food... oh la la.
Got a job interview tomorrow, but it's in Uxbridge. Although I've had 2 other promising and exciting leads in London town... one is PR for this company and the other is journalism for an online financial tech new site.
The friends - I'm pretty close to the OC and his swag of friends now - so decided to back off any romance plans for the short term with any of them. I really want a group of good friends more than anything else.
Steph and that crew - nothing from the people I've spent the best part of a year with. But I figure they aren't my friends anymore, anyway. Yawn, it's all so high school and stupid, dropping contact with friends because of a break up. FFS!
Boy sitch - blissful silence from George after he sent me a confusing Valentine's and made noises about missing me and being unsure what he wants again, only to take it all back. It's not what I want at all - to get back with that louse - and yet I still felt a bit conflicted and jerked around and let down after the 5 days of mixed messages. I think he's realised that it's not fair, and he's made an effort to stop.
Monday, February 13, 2006
Bad moon rising
Maybe it's the full moon but I did somethings on the weekend that I think I'm too ashamed to blog about. Well, I can't regret them. Life's too short, but I can't share them either.
Maybe later...
Maybe later...
Friday, February 10, 2006
From bling to ming, Godhead to cockend
Yes, I saw G recently. Had so much rage inside, so much i wanted to say, that I rang and we met for coffee.
But by the time we met, the anger had transformed into some disabling factor. I'm inarticulate, bottling up the rage, unable to express it. It comes in short frothy wave.
He's looking at the TV, looking like he's deep in thought, like he's about to say something.
'What is it?'
'Nothing.'
It's time to part ways. I've said what I came to say. I can see now that I've not only lost a boyfriend, but all the friends as well. And if that's they way it is with them, then i'm better off. Don't need fair weather friends. He points out this is not his fault. I agree, but I don't mean it. It's not his fault individually, but if Steph wasn't so paranoid that her friendship with George would dissolve if she remained in contact with me, then it speaks of how fragile their bond really is. I can see them all drifting apart in 5 years anyway. Mates through Uni, took a lot of drugs together, good times yada yada yada. It only takes one of them to change their priorities for it all to crumble apart.
It's a shame, I reasoned at first to him, because to begin with I didn't even want a boyfriend. I wanted some friends to go clubbing with and travel with and just have some adventures. And then G happened. I thought we could keep it casual, but then it got more serious. He got intense.
So then I decide why not give it a try, and part of me still wants that whole casual effortless friendship. Instead it's always so hard. I've never felt so unaccepted and misunderstood by people in my life.
Back to the coffee and the heavy talk, it's time to leave, he is walking along beside me, his face still in that heavy concentration mode that I've come to know so well in the past 3 months as things deteriorated. I associate it with the look before he says something shit. I'm already bracing myself for it...
'Do you miss the sex?'
And it begins on Long Acre, walking towards Leicester Square, his dance of horny desperation. The last of the great Romantics. Some of the classic manipulative comments:
* You have to admit, it was good. You have to admit you would enjoy it.
* I'm not talking about the future, I'm talking about having some fun right now.
* It's normal after break-ups for this to happen. It always happens after couples break-up.
* There are a whole host of reasons why I miss you, but just one of them is being intimate with you and not just in a sexual way. But I can't stop thinking about your tits.
* I wouldn't throw you out afterwards.
* You should take it as a compliment.
We part ways, not amicably. It takes me saying 'I thought you would know me well enough by now to realise when I'm uncomfortable and angry with your proposal'. Sometimes I'm more English than he could ever be.
He calls me at home to apologise again. 'Do you want to come over?'
I decline the invite. The 12am text message 'I miss your touch, I want you so much'.
I'm not good with words. To quote one of the greatest living poets of our time once said: I ain't no hollaback girl.
But by the time we met, the anger had transformed into some disabling factor. I'm inarticulate, bottling up the rage, unable to express it. It comes in short frothy wave.
He's looking at the TV, looking like he's deep in thought, like he's about to say something.
'What is it?'
'Nothing.'
It's time to part ways. I've said what I came to say. I can see now that I've not only lost a boyfriend, but all the friends as well. And if that's they way it is with them, then i'm better off. Don't need fair weather friends. He points out this is not his fault. I agree, but I don't mean it. It's not his fault individually, but if Steph wasn't so paranoid that her friendship with George would dissolve if she remained in contact with me, then it speaks of how fragile their bond really is. I can see them all drifting apart in 5 years anyway. Mates through Uni, took a lot of drugs together, good times yada yada yada. It only takes one of them to change their priorities for it all to crumble apart.
It's a shame, I reasoned at first to him, because to begin with I didn't even want a boyfriend. I wanted some friends to go clubbing with and travel with and just have some adventures. And then G happened. I thought we could keep it casual, but then it got more serious. He got intense.
So then I decide why not give it a try, and part of me still wants that whole casual effortless friendship. Instead it's always so hard. I've never felt so unaccepted and misunderstood by people in my life.
Back to the coffee and the heavy talk, it's time to leave, he is walking along beside me, his face still in that heavy concentration mode that I've come to know so well in the past 3 months as things deteriorated. I associate it with the look before he says something shit. I'm already bracing myself for it...
'Do you miss the sex?'
And it begins on Long Acre, walking towards Leicester Square, his dance of horny desperation. The last of the great Romantics. Some of the classic manipulative comments:
* You have to admit, it was good. You have to admit you would enjoy it.
* I'm not talking about the future, I'm talking about having some fun right now.
* It's normal after break-ups for this to happen. It always happens after couples break-up.
* There are a whole host of reasons why I miss you, but just one of them is being intimate with you and not just in a sexual way. But I can't stop thinking about your tits.
* I wouldn't throw you out afterwards.
* You should take it as a compliment.
We part ways, not amicably. It takes me saying 'I thought you would know me well enough by now to realise when I'm uncomfortable and angry with your proposal'. Sometimes I'm more English than he could ever be.
He calls me at home to apologise again. 'Do you want to come over?'
I decline the invite. The 12am text message 'I miss your touch, I want you so much'.
I'm not good with words. To quote one of the greatest living poets of our time once said: I ain't no hollaback girl.
Monday, February 06, 2006
Doesn't rain, but flood
Overwhelmed by emails this morning.
It's been an amazing weekend, and I'm a bit too overwhelmed to write. Just got asked on a date. It's not the boy that I like. It's his good mate. I'm still a bit thrilled. Not sure what to say either.
What's more, I thought I'd asked someone out and it turned out he didn't realise.
It's been an amazing weekend, and I'm a bit too overwhelmed to write. Just got asked on a date. It's not the boy that I like. It's his good mate. I'm still a bit thrilled. Not sure what to say either.
What's more, I thought I'd asked someone out and it turned out he didn't realise.
Bon says:
i am crap at these things. i tried to remember when you turned me down that time and emulate that.
Bored to tears says:
When did I turn you down?
Bon says:
When? Last year sometime i asked you to a film and you turned me down. now i'm really embarrassed.
Bored to tears says:
I didn't turn you down, I just hate going to the cinema. You don't have to be embarressed
Bon says:
well, i took it as you not being interested in a date and let it lie. and you can't even remember!
Bored to tears says:
nah, I can remember, I just didn't realise. You know me well enough to know I'm hopeless at picking up on things. Sorry. Are you gonna hit me in the back of the head?
Bon says:
Too busy hitting my forehead against monitor
Bored to tears says:
You wanna see pics of my new bike?
Bon says:
heh, that's your answer for any awkward social situation now, isn't it.
Bored to tears says:
yeah, there was a lull in the convresation yesterday so I plugged it by shpowing Maria a pic of my bike.
Bon says:
smooth.
Bored to tears says:
like ice
Bon says:
feel really jittery now. you didn't realise, i've turned down rob. it's all too much for 30 mins work.
Bored to tears says:
erm, you wanna see a pic of my bike
Friday, February 03, 2006
Look, no strings
Him: I still find you seriously attractive and miss being with you. Would love it if we could still see each other, no strings. I just don’t want a girlfriend at the moment.
Me: Strings: I’d love to string you up and leave you somewhere.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
New life
I'm lonely. Unable to inject any life or humour into my writing today.
Friday night, I rang and abused G for the first time. The next day I apologised, not for what I said, but for yelling. Not my style, but hell, did it feel good.
Moved to new place on Saturday. Unpacking all my things alone, without even music was sad. Got everything unpacked in a few hours, and then sat about my empty house, exploring spaces, noting the different smells.
Called G to deliver my stereo. We met at train station. After steering ourselves through some awkward conversations, we finally arrived at my front door. He put the stereo on the ground, handed me the earrings and turned on his heel. Not even a hug goodbye.
Saturday night I drowned myself in booze with Kev, Paul, Rob and John. Met some characters. A crack dealer, some prostitiutes, a couple of high-society girls slumming it for drugs in ghetto lands. Kept thinking of Sesame Street tune: 'These are the people in your neighbourhood'.
Walked home, found flatmate still up listening to music and drinking alone. It was his birthday. We stayed up drinking and talking till 4am - playing guitar too. Funny how much i actually still remember. I picked out Led Zep's Black Dog by drunken ear. Turns out he's a huge fan, so we whacked on the video and talked Pixies and other bands. Stumbled into bed at 4. Woke at 8 under crushing weight of hang over. Unable to move for 4 more hours or sleep on rock hard and vast lonely bed.
The Pixies fan flatmate was up too, and he cooked me breakfast. Poached eggs on toast. Think it saved my life.
With a 'today is a new day' and 'never again' mantra, I've resolved that this is the last time I drown loneliness with booze. It just makes me unhappy and stupid.
Went to gym last night and ran till my legs burned, then cycled till I could barely walk. Had a dinner of steamed veges and protein. Feeling one of my obsessively fit phases coming on - like last year when I lost 10 kilos.
Want to get fit enough to do The British 10k London Run. Run London!
Friday night, I rang and abused G for the first time. The next day I apologised, not for what I said, but for yelling. Not my style, but hell, did it feel good.
Moved to new place on Saturday. Unpacking all my things alone, without even music was sad. Got everything unpacked in a few hours, and then sat about my empty house, exploring spaces, noting the different smells.
Called G to deliver my stereo. We met at train station. After steering ourselves through some awkward conversations, we finally arrived at my front door. He put the stereo on the ground, handed me the earrings and turned on his heel. Not even a hug goodbye.
Saturday night I drowned myself in booze with Kev, Paul, Rob and John. Met some characters. A crack dealer, some prostitiutes, a couple of high-society girls slumming it for drugs in ghetto lands. Kept thinking of Sesame Street tune: 'These are the people in your neighbourhood'.
Walked home, found flatmate still up listening to music and drinking alone. It was his birthday. We stayed up drinking and talking till 4am - playing guitar too. Funny how much i actually still remember. I picked out Led Zep's Black Dog by drunken ear. Turns out he's a huge fan, so we whacked on the video and talked Pixies and other bands. Stumbled into bed at 4. Woke at 8 under crushing weight of hang over. Unable to move for 4 more hours or sleep on rock hard and vast lonely bed.
The Pixies fan flatmate was up too, and he cooked me breakfast. Poached eggs on toast. Think it saved my life.
With a 'today is a new day' and 'never again' mantra, I've resolved that this is the last time I drown loneliness with booze. It just makes me unhappy and stupid.
Went to gym last night and ran till my legs burned, then cycled till I could barely walk. Had a dinner of steamed veges and protein. Feeling one of my obsessively fit phases coming on - like last year when I lost 10 kilos.
Want to get fit enough to do The British 10k London Run. Run London!
Friday, January 27, 2006
And the dead eyes opened
I'm entering a new phase in life: single in Brixton. It feels like I've lost a shedload of friends, instead I'm going to meet a whole lot more. Always feel so nostalgic when moving, looking at the detritus of my life, the stuff you have kept and forgotten, the stuff you leave behind.
So George has been given the old heave-ho. The last post sums up the event, as it happened. No real surprises. We'd been having problems for a while - for almost the entire course of the roller coaster ride. I tried to end it 3 weeks ago, and got talked around. Then he ended it on Monday.
He's played the friendship card with the caveat of time and space first. I haven't taken him up on the offer. He said too many negative things about me, and I don't think I can handle that much negativity and criticism from a friend. He often accused me of things I didn't do, and was jealous and critical of friends he'd never met.
Disappointing that he didn't really know me as a person. I suppose that he missed out in the end. In the end it was all about him and his needs, he always talked over the top of me. Even on Monday when most people would listen to the other and let them vent, he just barrelled on over me and banged on about the 'spark' being gone.
Perhaps if he hadn't completely controlled the situation, and denied me the right to be myself and relaxed, the spark wouldn't have died. If he had just given me some air, some respect.
He says 'it will be different as a friend. it won't happen'. But that's not the point. I know the face, I know him too well to handle that sort of friendship.
There's also the mood swings, and the general coldness and distance from him and his group of friends.
I called Steph and left a teary message on her voice mail on Monday night. No response. A one line email the next day, after I asked her if she got my message, which read: "I don't want to be involved. That is why I did not reply".
Fair enough, I don't want you, or anyone else to be involved, but a 'hope you're ok' would have been nice. If she'd been in my situation and called me in tears because Ry had dumped her at piccadilly tube station in front of hundreds of commuter, I would have said 'i'm thinking of you'. Is that getting involved? Where I come from, we call it showing concern. Having a heart that does more than pump coke around their fucked up selfish brains.
Nah, I'm getting off the love highway ride for a while, and there's no detour in friendship land either for the others. Their loss.
While I'm feeling bitter and full of vitriole,love this Holy Moly site. Noone whinges like the Brits!
Brill!
Credit due to Keoshi for this beautiful photograph, found on Reality Photography
So George has been given the old heave-ho. The last post sums up the event, as it happened. No real surprises. We'd been having problems for a while - for almost the entire course of the roller coaster ride. I tried to end it 3 weeks ago, and got talked around. Then he ended it on Monday.
He's played the friendship card with the caveat of time and space first. I haven't taken him up on the offer. He said too many negative things about me, and I don't think I can handle that much negativity and criticism from a friend. He often accused me of things I didn't do, and was jealous and critical of friends he'd never met.
Disappointing that he didn't really know me as a person. I suppose that he missed out in the end. In the end it was all about him and his needs, he always talked over the top of me. Even on Monday when most people would listen to the other and let them vent, he just barrelled on over me and banged on about the 'spark' being gone.
Perhaps if he hadn't completely controlled the situation, and denied me the right to be myself and relaxed, the spark wouldn't have died. If he had just given me some air, some respect.
He says 'it will be different as a friend. it won't happen'. But that's not the point. I know the face, I know him too well to handle that sort of friendship.
There's also the mood swings, and the general coldness and distance from him and his group of friends.
I called Steph and left a teary message on her voice mail on Monday night. No response. A one line email the next day, after I asked her if she got my message, which read: "I don't want to be involved. That is why I did not reply".
Fair enough, I don't want you, or anyone else to be involved, but a 'hope you're ok' would have been nice. If she'd been in my situation and called me in tears because Ry had dumped her at piccadilly tube station in front of hundreds of commuter, I would have said 'i'm thinking of you'. Is that getting involved? Where I come from, we call it showing concern. Having a heart that does more than pump coke around their fucked up selfish brains.
Nah, I'm getting off the love highway ride for a while, and there's no detour in friendship land either for the others. Their loss.
While I'm feeling bitter and full of vitriole,love this Holy Moly site. Noone whinges like the Brits!
Kate Moss: That most enduring totem of empty trendiness, Kate Moss. She has been feted as the face of a decade and an icon for a generation and yet despite being in the public eye for 15 years she has yet to provide a single memorable, interesting comment. Not one utterance beyond the banal. A happy accident of bone structure has earned her a life of glittering jetsetting privilege. She is the epitome of style over substance. I am so bitter. CUNT.
Kirsten Dunst: If I go to watch a film, I don't expect to have the female lead looking like a fucking teacher's pet vampire-toothed scraggy-haired teen whore. I also object to your difficult-to-spell German name. I hereby rename you Dirty Kuntz.
Whale in the Thames: Get Satellite Navigation you stupid cunt, it's 2006.
Keyboard Heroes: people who think getting the last word in during an argument about Star Wars on a fucking Cradle of Filth message board, or some other wank message board, consitutes some sort of "victory". Shut the fuck up! You are a fucking cunt! "Winning" an internet argument is nothing to be roud of champ, like wanking to fat porn or owning an East 17 tape from back in the day, be ashamed cocksniffer, bragging about it just solidifies the fact that you're probably still a virgin.
Brill!
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Piccadilly Circus
Will probably blog about this later, and fill in the details. Was going to do it that way, but I've been too busy and haven't had much privacy. All is revealed in this chat with the Yates anyway.
Bon says:
yo yo yo
ian says:
ho ho ho
Bon says:
how are you? what's goin down?
ian says:
chillin on the deck overlooking the rainforest and listening to Keane over iTunes wireless from the PC to the outside stereo................
Bon says:
i HATE keane. fraudulently peddling bland middle-of-the-road ooze while pretending to be an exciting "alternative" rock band, and ruining the credibility of
British music.
ian says:
Some irony there coming from a Stripes fan...And Coldplay are.....
Bon says:
i hate coldplay. you don't even know me, man.
ian says:
I'd be worried if you liked the same music as an old fart like me! I am so sick of teenagers telling me Led Zeppelin and Hendirx are the best. I'm like, get your own fuckin rock stars.
Bon says:
who?
ian says:
Hah! At least we'll always have Morrisey.
Bon says:
been down because i got dumped 2 nights ago
ian says:
I thort you we going to dump? Too slow?
Bon says:
he talked me out of it,
ian says:
Bastard. I hate him already. Gone for a refill...
back. just listening to some remasterd Zeppelin classics. You know, first party, first kiss memories etc.
Bon says:
cool. nice for a first kiss. mine was a tragic music choice with a theme that has dictated the entire course of my love life to date. "enter night, exit light. take my hand, off to never never land." metallica
ian says:
Sort of. First kiss for me was "Whole lotta love" and I was so crap at it that I kissed her nose.
Bon says:
that's sweet
ian says:
She was so cool she said nothing and just tilted her head until her lips replaced her nose. Tragic part is I can remember it like it was yesterday and it was 35 years ago...
Bon says:
that's still sweet
ian says:
I guess it was partly coz it was her party and she spent the whole night being the perfect host including repelling party crashers while I wandered about trying to appear cool as the only one without a partner. Then it was 11pm and she decided to hell with the guests and pounced on me in total darkness with Zep playing on 11. Fuckin' bliss.
Bon says:
well done, you
ian says:
Sorry! half pissed here..
Bon says:
tee hee. that's ok. it's a distraction from my feelings of anger, betrayal and depression. i shouldn't have taken him back.
Bon says:
no, he's right it's been bad for a while, but i thought things would get better. for me it was a grower. i didn't like him that much at first, and we got closer with time. for him it was an initial attraction - spark - but the relationship faded
ian says:
Boys. Never change.
Bon says:
so i'm more annoyed that he wasn't realistic. that every relationship take a bit of work, and that we can't keep the passion going if we don't give each other air (as you said)
Bon says:
he was too protective of me around his friends, too jealous to meet my friends, not ready for me to meet his family. couldn't even go out to a club or a weekend away.
ian says:
Aw c'mon! And no alarm bells going off?
ian says:
You gotta get one who doesn't get jealous, except in a cute hurt sheepdog way, but you might have to wait years....
Bon says:
sure they did. last time you and i spoke. then he took me out to dinner, or talked about booking a holiday together.
ian says:
Oh. I always wanted to be that insincere but never managed it.
Bon says:
we had a nice weekend together. then he asks me to meet him monday night because he had some time to kill before meeting his parents and didn't want to go home and back into town. i thought i was doing him a favour
Bon says:
it was just a trick to get me to the pub, unarmed, so he could say those fatal words: 'where do you see this relationship going?' blood runs cold.
Bon says:
then he followed me to the tube station, and caused a scene at the platform with a 'the spark had gone for me' speech.
Bon says:
i was super cool. i started to speak, and he interrupted me. i said 'can you shut up for once in your life?'. he kept talking and i walked away.
ian says:
COOL! Extra points.
Bon says:
he followed. was on escalator behind me at Piccadilly Circus. i asked him why he was following.
ian says:
I can see a film script here.
Bon says:
he gave me his 'the spark's gone speech'. i said 'have you finished?' him: 'yes.' me: 'then fuck off'. and i covered my eyes until i heard him walk away. actually put my hand over my eyes like we were playing 'hide and go seek'
ian says:
You're going to have to go to a karaoke bar, get drunk and sing "I will survive.."
Bon says:
the tube came. i didn't cry. not for hours. rang a few friends. couldn't sleep. found myself watching a show about detoxing brits in thailand. it was while 4 of them were self-administering coffee enemas and narrating about the resulting bowel movements, that the tears flowed. it was reality tv imitating life.
Bon says:
3am, chamomile tea, mobile phone in hand reading through past texts. tv show about enemas. me in tears, thinking about how shit and mundane and boring life truly is. 'Why am I here?' thoughts.
Bon says:
it's funny.
ian says:
I still loves ya even if nobody else does.
ian says:
And that was funny, even though it was tragic!
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Oh Annie
I'm in love with Annie and her song about Chewing Gum, which Kev is convinced is about fellatio.
Hmm, it's lucky I've never sent this blog link to the parents. Or have I?
Since the last blog, I've found a place to live! It's in Brixton (SW2!) and, according to my sister, it's close to KLF's old house!
More on it later. Maybe I'll even take photos of the room.
Hey Annie, well look at you
is that a new boy stuck on your shoe?
C'mon Annie, how is it so
you've always got a new bubble to blow
I'm gonna tell you how its gonna get done
I'm just a girl that's only chewing for fun!
Spit it out when all the flavour has gone
wrap it round ya finger like you're playing with gum
Hmm, it's lucky I've never sent this blog link to the parents. Or have I?
Since the last blog, I've found a place to live! It's in Brixton (SW2!) and, according to my sister, it's close to KLF's old house!
More on it later. Maybe I'll even take photos of the room.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Detox, hetox, retox, take stock
Avoid everyone in January. It's detox gone mad in the mid-winter, post-Christmas, mega gut bloat, crisis management. Can't go anywhere without hearing people bang on about detoxing, the evils of alcohol and white bread, colonic irrigation. Boring!
What people are giving up for New Years:
1. Fags - Irritable bastards, spark up before someone lamps you.
2. Booze - Nothing like sobriety to realise how boring your existence is.
3. White bread - Freud would say that eating brown bread is a manifestation of repressed racism.
4. Sex - Some people chose celibacy while others, namely you, have it thrust upon them. Saying you give it up puts you back in charge.
5. Caffeine - WAKE UP! Probably nodded off before making it to number 5.
What people are starting for New Years:
1. Journals/blogs - Lasts till January 9
2. Gym memberships - Lasts till January 6
Hate to count myself in that number, but I have given up booze for January. I consider it forced savings. After a month I will have saved enough for a holiday - maybe in the snow - and be feeling healthy and fit for it.
But I haven't been able to give up troublesome relationships. G and I met last night, and I was psyched up for a break up, expecting some kind of battle. Instead he acted like a sweetie pie, ignored all the drama of last week, bought me dinner and profusely apologised for being so strange. It's so damn frustrating that such a nice guy can have such intense mood swings. I'm sure Charlie has a lot to do with it.
Things are so complex, messy and intense. He really gets such dark moods and seems to push things as far as he can. He once said that everything was 'ash and destruction'.
Maybe it comes down to Chinese star signs. I'm a rabbit - timid, trusting, affectionate and naive: Stupid. He's a cheeky monkey that enjoys throwing shit at everything. Well, sometimes the shit sticks.
My favourite site of the day: overheard in the office
What people are giving up for New Years:
1. Fags - Irritable bastards, spark up before someone lamps you.
2. Booze - Nothing like sobriety to realise how boring your existence is.
3. White bread - Freud would say that eating brown bread is a manifestation of repressed racism.
4. Sex - Some people chose celibacy while others, namely you, have it thrust upon them. Saying you give it up puts you back in charge.
5. Caffeine - WAKE UP! Probably nodded off before making it to number 5.
What people are starting for New Years:
1. Journals/blogs - Lasts till January 9
2. Gym memberships - Lasts till January 6
Hate to count myself in that number, but I have given up booze for January. I consider it forced savings. After a month I will have saved enough for a holiday - maybe in the snow - and be feeling healthy and fit for it.
But I haven't been able to give up troublesome relationships. G and I met last night, and I was psyched up for a break up, expecting some kind of battle. Instead he acted like a sweetie pie, ignored all the drama of last week, bought me dinner and profusely apologised for being so strange. It's so damn frustrating that such a nice guy can have such intense mood swings. I'm sure Charlie has a lot to do with it.
Things are so complex, messy and intense. He really gets such dark moods and seems to push things as far as he can. He once said that everything was 'ash and destruction'.
Maybe it comes down to Chinese star signs. I'm a rabbit - timid, trusting, affectionate and naive: Stupid. He's a cheeky monkey that enjoys throwing shit at everything. Well, sometimes the shit sticks.
My favourite site of the day: overheard in the office
Web Developer: Nobody ever made money off the internet with a business model that required two hands!
845 High Street
Palo Alto, California
Friday, January 06, 2006
Just like honey
Was going to edit yesterday's vitriole but decided 'fuck it'. It's all true and it still stands. After a night's sleep, I'm not feeling any calmer. Just more tired and fed up. The person that G portrayed in his account of NYE is not me. If that's who he thinks I am than he is in a relationship with someone that I don't know, nor do I want to know.
Went to a gig last night. Former Jesus and Mary Chain - Jim Reid live. Went with Kev, Paul, Mike and his bird Corralie. Left early because I couldn't stand it. Kev's review - good, not great. That's generous. More like - out of tune, but crap.
Still fun to get out with other people and have some fun banter. Of course these awful damaging comments from G flew about my head. 'Do I really flirt? Do I put myself out there?' You know what it's like when someone says something so cutting and harsh about you that you start wondering if it's true, and that impacts how you act in the future because you can't relax and be yourself without questioning everything you do?
God, I really miss my friends that actually do know me, and know the stuff G says isn't true. The friends that would bitch slap me for brooding about it for so many days when it's not worth the mental energy. I need that reality check.
Went to a gig last night. Former Jesus and Mary Chain - Jim Reid live. Went with Kev, Paul, Mike and his bird Corralie. Left early because I couldn't stand it. Kev's review - good, not great. That's generous. More like - out of tune, but crap.
Still fun to get out with other people and have some fun banter. Of course these awful damaging comments from G flew about my head. 'Do I really flirt? Do I put myself out there?' You know what it's like when someone says something so cutting and harsh about you that you start wondering if it's true, and that impacts how you act in the future because you can't relax and be yourself without questioning everything you do?
God, I really miss my friends that actually do know me, and know the stuff G says isn't true. The friends that would bitch slap me for brooding about it for so many days when it's not worth the mental energy. I need that reality check.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Last legs
Another year, another list of resolutions to break.
1. No beer for a month (lasted one day)
2. No arguments with the boy (lasted two days)
3. No blogging at work (lasted four days)
Resolution no. 2 was not all my fault. I blame a jaded little pill, I blame Charlie, but mainly I blame him.
It started on New Year's Eve. The party started well: had a few drinks, danced with a boy that could swing dance and played Jenga.
It was all going swimmingly until jealousy made an appearance at about 1am. What an ugly thing it is from every angle. It was on both sides. Him, because I danced with that boy and 'looked deep into his eyes'. Me because this girl followed him around all night and played mind games. 'Did G ever tell you about when we did this together? Has he told you about that?' How does she know so much? Were they an item? Why is she always with him, but whenever I talk to him he walks away?
It got worse and more ugly. I caught him going upstairs many times but most of the time he disappeared completely. Possibly because he was ducking upstairs to take far too much Charlie, which he claimed he lost. He took all the pills, then lied to my face about it only 10mins after taking them in front of me and offering me one.
Because I was alone a lot of the night, many guys didn't realise I was spoken for and engaged in innocent flirting. There was no touching, just a few silly comments made. If I was sober enough to realise that was there intention, I put them straight, but mainly I was thrilled at the attention after being bored and leaning against walls. Is it my fault that when a guy talked to me, it turned out it was usually a line?
The final straw was when the married friend fell over, landing with his hand on my thigh and pulling up the dress in the process. Wife laughed it off, but I left the room humiliated and praying that George didn't find out and thump him for something that I was not sure whether was entirely innocent. I felt sick with worry about it. He found me on the stairs - halfway up, halfway down.
Just another messy night really, and yet it's led to all sorts of arguments ever since. Those sort of arguments that aren't just about what happened one night, but seem endemic of everything wrong with the relationship.
The truth we have to face is we've had some problems for a while. Breaking up and getting back together actually made things worse because I'm more cynical and less trusting than ever.
It's a new year, and the 'relationship' could be on its last legs.
I make all the effort - travel to his, meet his friends, suggest outings, organise nights out. He never makes the effort of meeting my friends, but gets jealous when I'm out for a drink with the guys.
Apparently I put myself out there too much, which reflects badly on me. I also try to hard to impress, and I do so by flirting in a sexual way. Am I supposed to stay home all night, in burqha and a chastity belt?
Until Monday, we had not ventured further than 3 streets from his flat in more than a month. We finally get into town and only a few steps from the Tube station he accuses me of being patronising because I was happy. Lovely come down company, mate.
My head is so full of accusations and misunderstandings, inability to articulate my own defence, complete shock at the left of field comments that start with 'You always...'. Do I? Does it bother you? Why not say something before? Do you think that you are misreading things, over analysing?
I'm unhappy. That's an understatement, I'm this far from being downright miserable.
The only thing I'm sure of is New Years' resolutions are for the weak, flim-flam and self-obssessed. I am not changing who I am, what I do, what I listen to, what I like, and who I'm friends with to please him.
Maybe the 'relationship' needs euthanisia.
1. No beer for a month (lasted one day)
2. No arguments with the boy (lasted two days)
3. No blogging at work (lasted four days)
Resolution no. 2 was not all my fault. I blame a jaded little pill, I blame Charlie, but mainly I blame him.
It started on New Year's Eve. The party started well: had a few drinks, danced with a boy that could swing dance and played Jenga.
It was all going swimmingly until jealousy made an appearance at about 1am. What an ugly thing it is from every angle. It was on both sides. Him, because I danced with that boy and 'looked deep into his eyes'. Me because this girl followed him around all night and played mind games. 'Did G ever tell you about when we did this together? Has he told you about that?' How does she know so much? Were they an item? Why is she always with him, but whenever I talk to him he walks away?
It got worse and more ugly. I caught him going upstairs many times but most of the time he disappeared completely. Possibly because he was ducking upstairs to take far too much Charlie, which he claimed he lost. He took all the pills, then lied to my face about it only 10mins after taking them in front of me and offering me one.
Because I was alone a lot of the night, many guys didn't realise I was spoken for and engaged in innocent flirting. There was no touching, just a few silly comments made. If I was sober enough to realise that was there intention, I put them straight, but mainly I was thrilled at the attention after being bored and leaning against walls. Is it my fault that when a guy talked to me, it turned out it was usually a line?
The final straw was when the married friend fell over, landing with his hand on my thigh and pulling up the dress in the process. Wife laughed it off, but I left the room humiliated and praying that George didn't find out and thump him for something that I was not sure whether was entirely innocent. I felt sick with worry about it. He found me on the stairs - halfway up, halfway down.
Just another messy night really, and yet it's led to all sorts of arguments ever since. Those sort of arguments that aren't just about what happened one night, but seem endemic of everything wrong with the relationship.
The truth we have to face is we've had some problems for a while. Breaking up and getting back together actually made things worse because I'm more cynical and less trusting than ever.
It's a new year, and the 'relationship' could be on its last legs.
I make all the effort - travel to his, meet his friends, suggest outings, organise nights out. He never makes the effort of meeting my friends, but gets jealous when I'm out for a drink with the guys.
Apparently I put myself out there too much, which reflects badly on me. I also try to hard to impress, and I do so by flirting in a sexual way. Am I supposed to stay home all night, in burqha and a chastity belt?
Until Monday, we had not ventured further than 3 streets from his flat in more than a month. We finally get into town and only a few steps from the Tube station he accuses me of being patronising because I was happy. Lovely come down company, mate.
My head is so full of accusations and misunderstandings, inability to articulate my own defence, complete shock at the left of field comments that start with 'You always...'. Do I? Does it bother you? Why not say something before? Do you think that you are misreading things, over analysing?
I'm unhappy. That's an understatement, I'm this far from being downright miserable.
The only thing I'm sure of is New Years' resolutions are for the weak, flim-flam and self-obssessed. I am not changing who I am, what I do, what I listen to, what I like, and who I'm friends with to please him.
Maybe the 'relationship' needs euthanisia.
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