Tuesday, 28 October 2014

So, Friday

I'm just going to put this bluntly at the very beginning of this post instead of leaving it to the end as I usually do:

I like LB.

Hands up who had already realised this before I had?

Image via

So, Friday.

PIC and I went out one last time as she was leaving early on Saturday morning when I went to work (cue me turning up to work slightly drunk and somehow getting away with it). We'd decided to go out just before midnight so hurried to put on clothes that weren't pyjamas and vaguely make our hair look halfway decent before leaving.

When we got to da club - the same da club as on Wednesday - we went straight to the bar and got a few drinks. We were nowhere near drunk enough for da club and, as it turned out, nowhere near drunk enough to witness what we did.

Having been in da club for approximately an hour and having spotted LB a few times on the dancefloor, we went to get another drink. LB had made no forms of acknowledging my presence there but I was positive he had seen me. And then, as we were walking away from the bar, I saw him kissing another girl.

That's it.

Just kissing another girl (one who was very much shorter than him, I may add. It looked ridiculous).

And I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. I genuinely stumbled back and could not bring myself to look away. It was one of the worst feelings I have ever experienced.

I told PIC what I'd seen and we quickly left to go home. I was trying so hard to keep it together. So, so hard. I am not one for crying unless I am drunk and I can assure you, I was not drunk at this point. But I couldn't help a few tears rolling down my face as we walked down the street. Public crying, again, is not my thing.

I texted my flatmate to tell her what had happened and why we were coming home early just to prepare her for the wailing mess that she would undoubtedly be confronted with. And wailing mess I was. As soon as we got in the door, I collapsed on the floor in the hall and started properly bawling. My flatmate came out of her room in a duvet and sat on the floor next to me and hugged me as did PIC. Then my flatmate started crying about something to do with a boy just as my other flatmate came rushing through the front door and into the bathroom and started throwing up. If you think about it, we are the perfect flatmates.

Once we'd calmed down a bit - and put Flatmate Number 2 into bed with a bin - we all cosied up in my room. I had a quadruple vodka cranberry and Flatmate Number 1's man thing was round singing happy birthday to me as he put a cymbal on her head and played it in time. It was wonderful. And also the cause for the 3 hours sleep we eventually had before having to get up for work/trains.

But after the aforementioned vodka cranberry, I decided it was a bloody marvellous idea to text LB and tell him precisely what I was thinking. For once, I managed to write something eloquent yet short and to the point. It went:

'Fuck you.'

Thank you, thank you, I am a lyrical genius.

He texted back right away claiming confusion. I replied that he knew I was there so what the dick was he doing kissing someone else? In so many words. He replied to say that no, it was not his best decision and was in a way, quite glad that I had seen and had this reaction. I was very confused. Pleased that I was acting like a jealous fuck? I asked him as much and he said yes, yes that was it because otherwise he didn't know how I really felt.

If all of that looked incredibly bumblefuckish and confusing then you are experiencing just what I felt at that current moment in time. I told him as much and asked him if he wanted me to spell out how I felt. He agreed and, with as much eloquence and aloofness as before, I told him that; 'I want you to like me. That's it.'

I now realise that I should have phrased it better because his reply in the morning of; 'Sorry, I do like you. And now I feel like a cunt x' confused me even further.

Like? Like me? Or like like me?

Words are the worst.

To cut an even longer story slightly shorter, we are now pretty much back to where we were before all this. Except he knows I like him and I am none the wiser about his feelings. Which is a bit shit and frustrating to be honest. I like things to be spelled out for me. This is a bloody cryptic crossword if ever there was one. Why are there cryptic crosswords anyway? What's the point in them? How do they even work? Who even writes them?

I know that it is nicer and easier to convince myself of the romance underlying these texts - even if it arises from reading between the lines and using my imagination to an extent of which I am not proud. It is easier to see things in the daylight where the shiner parts are illuminated and the darker truth is hidden away. But one cannot help but think, as darkness closes in, that once the magic of midnight and moonlight has faded, there is left only blackness. This blackness is the truth that you do not want to face. It is the horrible feeling that truth brings that you ignore time and time again because you want the stars back and you want the daylight. And you try and convince yourself that if you wish hard enough, the darkness of truth will disappear and be transformed into the light that you so desperately wanted.

Does that make sense? Does anyone know what I am talking about? Because that is what's going round my overtired mind at the moment. I know it sounds pretentious but I cannot for the life of me think of a way to describe the feeling using normal words.

Does anyone know what I should do? What do you think of this? Does he like like me? Or does he think I am a complete idiot?

Men are a nightmare. A bloody nightmare.

Monday, 27 October 2014

Manly Men & Delicate Fairies

Have you ever wondered when you're going to achieve your peak hotness? You see all these TV shows about 17/18 year olds played by 25 year old actors. And they all look crazy hot and you're like, what the dick?

Case in point:

Elena in The Vampire Diaries is supposed to be my age. I can assure you I look as much like that as a I do a potato. I probably look more like the potato to be honest. And guys get it so much better than us. I was discussing this with Troy in Budapest and we thought I'd hit my peak hotness at about 26 and it'd last maybe until 29 if I was lucky. Whereas he, as a fairly average looking man at the moment, would reach his peak hotness at 35 and it would continue for the next 20 years. By which time I would look like a raisin. It was a good conversation.

Speaking of people being older and better looking than me...

I have LB news. I have so much LB news. Some minor but still confusing TGI news but we all know how irrelevant that is.

So it was my birthday on Thursday. Officially in my last year of my teens. Which is about bloody time because I am so sick of being a teenager. My gorgeous friend from Edinburgh - one of my bestest partners in crime - came to stay for a few days and I took her out to see the cray cray nightlife in the 'Deen.

We got all dressed up in dem short dresses and went with my flatmate to one of the pre-drink bars for cocktails. PIC (Partner In Crime) got chatted up by a random New Zealander which we were all very impressed by as that has never happened to one of us before. Making out with people in clubs is not the same.

PIC and I went to one of the clubs as we had taken many tequila shots and were therefore drunk enough for clubs. My flatmate went to be with her scary punk friends with all the piercings. She quite rightly hates clubs. Anyhoo, PIC and I were in the queue when it hit midnight and turned into my birthday. We were incredibly excited about this so got more tequila as soon as we got in. Obviously. Then we hit the dancefloor where I showed off my Shakira moves. Again, obviously.

Then a medical emergency occurred as someone dropped a bottle or a glass on PIC's foot which caused general bleeding and grossness. Being the super friend that I am, I did not freak out at said bleeding and grossness and took her to the skanky first aid room to get multitudes of plasters.

Then we decided she was fine and we should go dance again. Which is where LB comes in. 

I heard a deep manly man voice behind me saying 'happy birthday' and when I turned round, there he was. Looking tall and just ugh. Manly.


Update: I have now eaten practically all the food in my house in under 10 minutes.

So yes, LB. I am afraid to say, I do not recall what happened in da club but I doubt it was very exciting because very soon, the lights were up at PIC and I were leaving. As we got outside, who should accost her but Very Forward New Zealander! VFNZ engaged her in conversation - very persistent conversation - and LB magically appeared in front of me.

So we kissed and shit and were generally, even if I do say so myself, pretty damn cute. Then I realised that PIC was being an ultimate wingwoman by having VFNZ's tongue shoved down her throat. To be fair, it was my birthday so I deserved some LB time... But not that much so we shoved VFNZ away and buggered off home.

And LB followed us. HE stalked ME. I know right. Isn't this a plot twist. Not a fucking exciting one, I know but we work with what we can. PIC and I ignored him as we walked back until we got to the end of my road and he had to walk past. So I left PIC with her bleeding foot in order to run after him in my bare feet and tell him off for stalking. Also, when we kissed, I had to stand right on my tiptoes. I have never felt so delicate and girly and fairy-like in all my days.

Once PIC and I got home, I proper medical-like bandaged up her foot with bandages and shit. And we went to bed. She fell asleep quite quickly but I stayed up to text LB. He was very jealous that there was someone other than him in my bed, to say the least.

So this sounds all fine and dandy does it not? Indeed it does. LB is into me - at the very least in the physically way if not the 'ooh, do I like like her?' way. 

And then Friday happened. Oh yes, Friday happened.

So what do you think of LB? Think he's my Prince Charming? (6'7", just sayin')

Tuesday, 14 October 2014

Jazz and Liquor: Roxie's Downfall

I may or may not have been watching Chicago recently. Bloody love that film. Also I am ferociously back on the coffee. I tried so hard, I really did but I just cannot give up that which is so very dear to me and crucial for my brain to work and my eyes to open fully. However, I have done marvellously with the alcohol ban. Or, 'limitation'. I have the teeniest glass of wine in front of me from a bottle that I started almost a week ago.

And speaking of alcohol, we may now commence our forage into Certain Times Drinking Alcohol Has Dicked Up Errything.

I do not like to blame myself for anything. Even if something is blatantly my fault, I will do my very best to blame it on some inanimate object. In this case: a bottle of wine. And vodka. And a little bit of tequila.

So after my slightly surreal night with LB, I went home fully planning to remain tres cool and nonchalant. I would not text him or message him on the Facebooks oh no, I would remain cool and dignified and have him be the one to get in touch with me.

But how do people do that?!!

It's bloody impossible! How the flying dick are you supposed to keep away from your phone and not check it every 2 minutes and gradually get angrier and more worried as time goes on and there is no new message (apart from that one from your mother that you CANNOT DEAL WITH RIGHT NOW BECAUSE THERE ARE ITEMS OF MUCH MORE IMPORT GOING ON IN LIFE THAN TRYING TO REMEMBER HOW OLD MY COUSINS ARE). I am not a patient person. In fact I would describe myself as rather impatient.

So of course, I texted him first.

And of course I was ever so slightly very tipsy when I did so.

And of course I texted him relentlessly. Every night. With wine.

And what I don't realise when I have consumed a certain amount of alcohol is how much of a dick I am when I have consumed a certain amount of alcohol. They were the worst texts. They were needy yet angry and just plain childish.

And why did I do this? Why, even though I would refuse to come out from under the covers and show the world my face just in case I bumped into him on my way to uni or work, would I then sit down with wine that very night and start the whole bloody thing again?

Well I worked out - after I sent a particularly awful, embarrassing text that made me delete the entire thread and his number from my phone - that it wasn't because I like liked him. It was because he interested me. There was something about him that caught my eye because I wasn't expecting it. I wanted to get to know him more. I wanted to see if we could get along for longer than 2 hours in the morning. If he really did have my sense of humour, if he really was as genuine as I thought, if he really did have the personality I had seen in him.

Because when you think about it, he was just a hook up in a club. He was just a hook up that had extended into nearly a month rather than just that night. And the men I have gone home with after meeting in a club (only two, quit your judgey pants) were not ones that I would have been particularly enamoured with or intrigued into finding more about them. They were just hook ups. I was lonely. C'est la vie.

So can you understand this frustration of mine? Because, thanks to alcohol, I have come across as a ridiculous, needy, annoying girl who sounds more like she like likes him than just wanting to get to know him. And you might think, come on that's not that bad. Surely you can fix it when you're sober?

That's what I thought when I got a text from him last night - after having silence for 4 days.

He asked me how my tests went. The medical ones I had done last week, that is. Now remember I had deleted his number but still knew it was him as there was one last conversation still in the thread. My flatmate and I thought it would be hilarious to reply with 'who is this?' to show him how little he really meant to me. After exchanging a couple more messages, he eventually realised that I had deleted his number which was awkward. I then relented and told him I was drunk when I did that and would allow him back in my phone if he was nice to me. He then said, (and I quote verbatim from my phone) 'I don't think that's a good idea, drunk you clearly isn't happy with me'.

I replied but haven't heard back from him since. And I am so mad at myself. Because I had the chance to have a sober conversation with him that he had initiated and seemed genuinely concerned about my health. But did I do the mature thing? Of course not. Because I am an idiot. An utter idiot.

Sorry, that was quite a lot to take in, wasn't it? I got a bit frustrated hence the lack of swearing and load of details. Don't fret, I shall no doubt regain my strength and hilarity (ha) for another post. At the moment, I am just weary. Not just tired but mentally and physically weary. I feel like I'm heading for one of those weeks that you just don't want to get out of bed and face the day every morning. It's going to be a bit of an effort.

I apologise my lovelies, I do.

Is this just me? Does anyone else do this with alcohol? And also fuck things up when sober?

Friday, 10 October 2014

Stars and Shit

I am currently sitting in my kitchen with decaffeinated tea and toast and trying my very hardest to avoid looking at the massive pile of books waiting to be read for uni. Every time I catch sight of them out of the corner of my eye, there is an overwhelming sense of guilt because they look so lovely and intellectual - Shakespeare, a Latin dictionary, Homer and Aristophanes - and I feel that I should become that person who reads all the course books and is therefore filled with aaaall knowledge and shit.

But nah.

Also note DECAF tea. This is a travesty. I was told by my GP that I have to severely limit my intake of alcohol and caffeine. I didn't even tell him about the 3/4 bottles of wine a week. He just knew. What a dick.

Anyhoo, I'm really just procrastinating telling you what a bumblefuck I am.

So in my last post, I said I went back to LB's but nothing occurred of the bed gymnastics variety. WELL. A few days later, I got a message from him asking me out for a drink. I nearly fell off my dragon. (In this scenario in my mind, I was on Facebook whilst sitting atop my pet dragon awaiting the signal to go into battle. I get very bored sometimes). 

But the thing was, I was meeting my beloved father (of the parental variety; not the religious) for dinner the day before and that always makes me sad/angry for the next few days. And sure enough, after meeting said father, I felt like poo. And I messaged LB to tell him so and therefore I would have to cancel.

Then I drank a bottle of wine and went to the beach at 11pm. I don't know if any of you know Aberdeen but it's right on the North East coast of Scotland so when you go to the beach you just see this expanse of sea which is interjected with the occasional oil rig or huuuge boat. At night, it's amazing. All the boats are lit up in the distance and the black sea is reflected in the darkness of the sky. But the best thing about going there on a clear night is the stars. Although not as obvious as if you were in the countryside, they still shine brightly and are really just gorgeous. Bloody love stars, me.

Anyway, I texted LB and asked him if he wanted to come to the beach because there were stars and shit. 

He was very reluctant to leave his warm flat and after about half an hour, I agreed that I would come to his instead of him coming to the beach. What a boring fuck he is. No sense of adventure or stars.

So I turned up at his flat at about half past 12. And we were both really tired so went to bed. Well fuck me sideways and call me Wendy. That man knows how to do the sex.

Holy fuck on a stick. I was very impressed.

But that's not even the most important bit. The most important bit was the next morning. We woke up at about 8am and talked for about 2 hours. Not proper talking, like, bed banter. But I made him laugh - a sort of sleepy smile and laugh into the pillow - and honestly, it was just perfect.

I should add that he is 22. I am 18. I can't remember if I mentioned that. So I was apparently the youngest girl he's been with. And was the same age as his sister. Which freaked him out a bit therefore I enjoyed mentioning as many times as possible that he was in bed with an 18 year old. I mean, 19 in like 2 weeks so it's not that bad...

And really, it felt like I was the young, adventurous, free spirited one. Which is a weird thing to think of just from a 2 hour conversation but I mean, you could obviously tell the age difference. But not in a bad way. I didn't think.

Then I left and went to work.

And THEN...

I fucked it all up. 

As per usual. Quelle surprise. It wouldn't be me if I didn't.

Sorry, was this boring? I'm still half asleep. I just needed to get it all out of my brain. Don't worry, you can be prepared to hear about my fuck ups later.