Puffy

Why is it, that when you have a good old cry-a-thon, the next day you look like you are missing a chromosome or something.
As if it's not bad enough that I'm feeling blue, occasionally sobbing, wallowing and feeling generally fucking sorry for myself - I seem to be allergic to my own tears.
This morning, my eyes were red rimmed and so puffy that I didn't even look like myself. This meant I couldn't really get away with trying to pass myself off as jolly and happy when my stupid fucking chromosome lacking eyes told a different story.

This self pity I might add is only temporary and a direct result of a bloody brilliant weekend away. Returning to work yesterday on my least favourite day of the week by far, along with falling out with a friend who I also work with in a school playground type way, has rendered me leaky of eye, achy of head and tired of mind.
I should also add that my ex told me he was going out on a date last night which didn't help matters along. Although I would want to know if it was significant, I told him to keep the random dates to himself.
I don't know why I care but I do. We split up 18 months ago now after 4 long years....
Is it just because I am not getting any? I think so.

Bo selecta

My favourite pub with my favourite barman and current crush has re-opened after a month of being shut.

This is a good thing. On reopening night on Monday, I realised that it would be easy to slip back into July's antics of passing by every night for a spritzer and some mild stalking.

This must stop. The object of my affections not only has a girlfriend but he is also a friend.
Time to call it quits.

I told him so with the fairly obvious and only slightly cryptic text.

Full support for the re-opening. Def gonna try not to slip into my July-every-nite habits, fuelling my alcohol habit and futile crushes!

The following day, my phone starting buzzing with a short string of the most delightful text banter....

Him: 2 quote Craig David are u walking away from the 7 days action or would you prefer a rendez-vous where u could fill me in on what your flava is?

Me: Could say it's nothing personal but that's not all the way true. No hidden agenda just no need to rewind to unbelievable July behaviour...

Him: Priceless..! my rise and fall was that I met my french bird on a Monday took her for a drink on Tuesday, we were making love on Wednesday and Thursday and Friday and Saturday but chilled on Sunday which I guess makes me slicker than your average

(Yep.....not so sure about this one. I know it's only a game but even so....TMI!)

Me: That ego is really something! U can't be messing around so don't let her go. More woman trouble and less time to party. I'm just chillin'.....

Now I should add here that neither of us are Craig David fans. In fact, I hadn't even realised he had written that many songs, most of which are contained in the above texts....if you hadn't realised already.

This kind of silly behaviour is exactly what I love. The crush is not looking to fade anytime soon so I only have my self-imposed ban on the pub to guide me through.

Nothing to see here

I have been staying in. A lot.
August here is pants. Too many tourists, no parking, shit service in restaurants and pubs...if you can even get a table to start with. No locals around as they are all on holiday/out at sea, sticky hot weather and general rubbishness. In other words, August is shite.

It seems though, that the less I go out, the less I have to write about. I suppose that makes sense.

In top of this, there have been some ex issues I have been dealing with. Some call it closure although I'm not sure what that is supposed to mean. More about that at a later date......

The more that is going on in my mind of a personal nature, the less inclined I am to write.
The same goes for when there is little in my social life of note.

September is nearly here. Issues are being dealt with and normal levels of activity will be restored shortly.

Elusive

I am apparently.

Main Entry: elu·sive Pronunciation: E-'lü-siv, -'lü-zivFunction: adjective: tending to elude: as a : tending to evade grasp or pursuit b : hard to comprehend or define c : hard to isolate or identify

I think I like the sound of that.

However some of the synonyms were not so flattering. Slippery to name one.

Told off...

So my mum is here for a month. It is day 2. I love her muchly and on Saturday, she is going down the coast for 3 weeks. I shall be joining her at weekends but it means the week will be mum-free.

We are very similar you see. Too similar in fact.

I was having a few drinks last night with the green-eyed-cheeky-chappy-ski-instructor-with-dimples. I texted mum at 8pm to say dinner would be late and then phoned at 9 to say I wouldn't be long.

She was cross. She said 'You could have let me know' in an upset mum voice. But 'I did', I replied in whiny child tones.

So that was me, age 30, reprimanded for being late for dinner. Not good.

I blame her mostly for saying on my 30th birthday that I should do whatever I want in life. She obviously didn't mean it.
And although she is not yet whinging about her lack of grandchildren (I need a boyfriend first), she has to understand that in order for this to ever happen, I must be late for dinner due to sitting drinking with green-eyed-cheeky-chappy-ski-instructors-with-dimples. And the like.

Another eligible bachelor bites the dust

And I told him so by text when smudged on Sunday.

He said he was 'weirded out' as he didn't know who the text was from - not really the effect I had hoped for, although what I was trying to achieve I have no idea.
Only the copious amounts of cold cider on an empty stomach can tell me that.

I can be a text pest this is true, but not usually quite that random.

Oh the shame.

Annoyingly handsome

I saw the ex last night. I see him all the time.

We get on. We have to. Town is small.
It took as a while though but things are pretty chilled between us now. We have mostly different friends, different drinking venues and different interests. Which is nice.

It took us a long time to get to where we are now and we are friends in the loosest of terms but it is always nice to catch up.

Yesterday we were on the same terrace, sipping iced cider on a Sunday afternoon and people watching on the first official day of summer. He was looking suntanned, relaxed and very handsome.

After everything that went down between us, the anger and bitterness between us made him ugly to me and I'm sure I was to him. Relationships falling apart can do this to people it seems.
So yesterday was the first time that enough time had passed, enough ghosts laid to rest that I could see him for what he was during the beginning of our four year relationship.

But bloody hell it's annoying to find one's ex that attractive again.

I've just seen him again (I said town was small) and that still stands. Dammit.

Crash and burn

So after spending a significant amount of time together and after three hours on my sofa this evening, the Hot Aussie coyly told me about his 21 year old chick.

Then he showed me photos.

She is very beautiful and he is very proud.

Can't believe this development has only just come to light.

No sun day

I tried to write about this last night but gave up in the end. It could have been to do with the fact that the keys on my laptop had shrunk, or my fingers had grown, however I think it was just the fact that I was too pissed to type.

Yesterday was rainy. Not much to do here when it rains. I mean nothing....except pubbage...

I managed to stay off the devil's drink, which was an achievement in itself, and just got slightly fuzzy. Not by mistake of course, which is usually the case, but very much on purpose.

I had the most unusual night with a couple of friends. For one of which I use the term 'friends' very loosely.

Without sounding like a complete cat, it's hard to try and describe the issues I have with this girl, plus sometimes they seem infinite which would take a while to document.

At times she is sweet, we get on, have a laugh. I have evenings where her company is great.
Then there are nights like last night where I am gritting my teeth and wincing with her every word leading me to boil with bad thoughts.

This town is small, it's not like I can banish her from my social occasions as we have mutual friends, but sometimes I wish I could. The way that I felt last night was tinged by white wine, yet I have a feeling it would have been easier to write about then than it is now.

I can't express how I feel the way I want to and I can't put my finger on what it is exactly that I want to express.

At this point that is as good as it gets which is quite frankly, well......rubbish.

Under the weather

Booooooo.

It's Friday night and after a quiet week by my standards, I should under normal circumstances, feel ready to rock.

I am not.

The Hot Aussie texted and wants to hook up for a few scoops after work, along with the sister and another guy. Under normal circumstances, this would be excellent news.

My illness, although mild, is constantly evolving and I feel Rubbish. The dizziness and scratchy throat had evolved into an itchy cough, slight feverishness and nausea. My internal thermostat is broken and I feel very moany.

I am unlikely to do myself any favours by going out as my seemingly vacuous brain will have nothing to say for itself.

However, I am going to pop a couple of pills and hope for the best. You never know, I might be able to spritzer my way through it.....and as a former colleague of mine once said,

"If I'm well enough to work, I'm well enough to go to the pub."

Choice

Finally succeeded in a night out with the two fave boys of the moment. It involved some careful planning of a slightly stalkerish knowing-what-time-he-finishes-work nature, and a lot of coercion of the sister to come out of her hungover vegetative state to have some hairs of the proverbial mutt.

Anyway, a top night had by all involved.....apart from perhaps the sister, who after so much resistance, enjoyed her 'hairs' so much, she fell off her bike on the way home.

The hot Aussie pretty much spent the entire weekend at my flat albeit on the sofa. Very chilled, no dramas. I weaved as many shirt-off opportunities as possible into the weekend plans, i.e. the pool, the gorge etc.

He finally cycled off at 10.30pm on the Sunday night, all relaxed and in topless photos very much stored on my camera.

No gossip to tell and no idea of his intentions, but I am intrigued all the same, if only to touch the chest! However, it is the quick witted Ralph that is still the favourite.

All this said, having not fancied anyone for ages (crushes aside), there are now two. TWO. Like bloody buses or sommat they say....

Two choices yet probably zero chances....still working on it....

Ralph did me. In the toilets.

Most pubs in this part of the world have only one toilet, two at a push. When the pub gets busy, this usually involves a queue of mainly women waiting their turn.

On this occasion, there was a queue of largely and almost exclusively Australian men.

The object of last weeks crush (who works behind the bar), asked me for a favour. Could I please wait in line with the most enormous industrial size toilet roll ever, and replace the empty one.
He hands me the key with a smile and skips* off back to the bar. This is not a bar were you can queue inside the toilet confines I might add, but in the main busy Friday night bar, in full view of well....everyone.

Comments such as 'When a girl's gotta go, a girl's gotta go', 'That's a really attractive look babe' and 'No need to ask for which number you need to go for' fly around while I try and hold onto the increasingly heavy giant toilet roll. I growl inwardly.

I enter the toilet, carry out the favour amongst other (#1) things and leave. The lads are all still laughing and one tops it all with 'Stand back lads, I'd give this one a few minutes if I were you'.
Bloody wanker Ralph.

I hand back the key with a raised eyebrow, he laughs and apologises in a not nearly sincere enough manner. I think it makes me like him more - the bastard.

Anyway, it makes for a great anecdote later in the evening when I am sitting talking to one of his friends.

A very hot Aussie lad.



*I could never fancy a man who skips so this is purely for effect.

Forever

So the name of the man I'm stalking (and I am joking about the stalking part...sort of) is Ralph.

Such a satisfying name for a start, and although this isn't why I'm stalking him, it is part of the appeal. Only a very small part obviously, otherwise that would be weird.

I've never met a Ralph before, although there are quite a few famous ones I could name, but won't.

However the one thing the name reminds me of most is the book 'Forever' by Judy Blume. I think most girls of my age (and probably some lads too!), will remember this coming-of-age-teenage-porn book. It must only have had two dog-eared pages of filth in the entire thing, of which most of us remembered the page number off by heart. Or was that just me?

Back to the point. Katherine, the main character in the book named her first boyfriend's penis Ralph. The references we giggled over and passed the book round over, mostly involved Ralph growing bigger and feeling Ralph inside her.

And all this forgotten until now.

I might even have to re-read the book.

Leering

Out for a few drinks last night with my oirish friend, making the most of the fact her fee-on-saaay is away.

She is a very bad influence and I have incredibly little willpower. Thankfully I declined her night cap offer of a bottle of champagne. It not only gives me a terrible hangover, but I had clearly drunk quite enough already.

I did some barman crush leering. It started with some friendly chat and then playing it cool, followed by some unnecessarily long eye contact behaviour as the night wore on.

What started with a sparkly smile, ended in a window-licking sunshine bus inane grin.

I think I'm in.

A new crush

A new week, a new crush. It perhaps doesn't happen on a weekly basis, but it does happen quite often.
I suspect it is just a phase I am going through.

The thing with a crush is that it can come on quite unexpectedly and often quite rapidly. For me it means my days are filled with silly fantasies and random thoughts. Crushes are fun and usually disappear as quickly as they came.

My latest one was spotted some weeks ago and admired at a distance, over a bar. Over the weekend, I met him properly for the first time and we chatted, quite a bit.

In my mind I was witty and informative. Unfortunately in reality, I have a feeling I was bellowy and show-offy. Due to drunkenness of course.

Oh dear.

A temporary thaw

There is this bloke.

He is obnoxious, arrogant and inconsistent in his friendliness.
He is the kind of man I would go out of my way to avoid, he would have no place in my social circle.
However, sometimes you are forced to deal with this sort, usually through work or a mutual friend. The one in question is both.

He rarely says hi, has been known to completely blank me on occasion and is generally quite rude and miserable. On the odd occasion we have socialised, he has been a condescending know-it-all with the ability to make me feel small. Perhaps he just intimidates me, I don't know, but I hate the fact that he can.
All in all, I am not a fan.

Then he turns up at a social event last weekend. Unexpectedly. After an initial out pour showing off about his weekend, he settles....and chats.

By the end of the day, I am starting to warm to him. Only starting, I might add - there is still plenty to dislike. Amongst all his rubbish characteristics are glimpses of self-deprecation and humour. He is in fact quite funny.

Not only am I starting to like him, I might even have a crush.

Fast forward to Monday at work. Back to being ignored. Standard.

However, the crush remains. Only slightly. How very dare he make me like him...

Premature smugness

Over the last couple of years, I have watched many a friend turn thirty, or twenty-ten, whichever they prefer.
(A made-up statistic of) 80% of them seemed to experience some kind of birthday related trauma/stress/depression.

Many of those who were in a long-term relationship pondered the make-or-break decision, and broke.
Those that were single were fed up of being so and had imagined themselves married or the like, at such an age.

As well as relationship issues, there were the 'I haven't achieved enough' issues, the 'I hate my job' issues, the 'stuck in a rut' and the 'haven't seen enough of the world' issues, to name but a few.
The general feeling was that time was moving fast, running out if you like, and that 30 marked the milestone to worry and then do something about it.

As for me, at the age of nine and twenty, I dismissed these concerns and was convinced I would be part of the (made-up statistic of) 20% who didn't care. It's only a birthday after all....isn't it?

Hell no. I am one month before the aforementioned date and I have spent the last week worrying. Worrying about all the things that I mentioned above. A lot.

This launch into the next decade is suddenly terrifying and more importantly, I am poised ready to plunge into it alone.

My friends were all right and justified. Turning twenty-ten is positively horrifying.