Festive Fuckery

Deck the halls with boughs of holly! I’m not Holly’s type so I’ll pass, thanks.

It’s very nearly that time of year where the fat man comes to visit. I dated a fat man once – he wasn’t very jolly. Not recommended for exactly that reason. He took up running (his best friend started it and he clearly doesn’t have a thought of his own – hence me dating him – very maluable). Not surprisingly he lost some weight. (seeing as how he spent 70% of his time eating and playing the xBox, not rocket science that this might happen) All of a sudden it was like a new religion.  It’s running  – you’re not the first person to ‘discover’ it. “You should go running if you want to lose weight,” said the incredibly fat man to the slightly chubby girl. Nice.  “I can’t. My illness doesn’t allow it.” “It’ll help you lose weight”. Erm…….. I’m quite happy the size I am….. Jaysus he was annoying. Do I miss him? I don’t miss any of them. Keep up!

Back to the point, BB. It’s gift season!! Oh yeaaaaaaaaaaaaah. BB does good gifts. Even if I do say so myself. (Modesty is one of my many strong points, obviously) So everyone has had their advent calendars (decent ones too. None of that crappy chocolate), and now they are busy counting down to gift day. The radio asks me if I want to find the perfect gift. (Honey, I AM the perfect gift!) No, you’re grand, I don’t need any help finding the right gift. This year I have been fabulous, as ever. I know when I’ve got the right one, when I want to keep it for myself. Being a people reader, means gift shopping is easy. Which is handy, because I hate shopping. Yes that’s right, I’m female and I don’t like shopping. I also like comics, horror movies, eating, sarcasm, and extreme sports. Yes, we do exist.

So what has Santa BB gotten the lucky people in her life? Lots of leather *snork*. No, handbags, gloves and other respectable items. Oh, you wanted to know the gifts for the rainbow? Well, Mr Green has nothing, he’s pathetic. Plus he’d probably panic that a gift from me would upset his girlfriend……. *yawn* Mr Beige too, nothing. The fact I even acknowledge their existence is gift enough! Mr Iridescent? His favourite chocolate. He has a not very well hidden obsession with certain chocolate covered stuff. So he has one of every type I could find. (There is shitloads of it at Christmas!) Mr Red? He got scratches down his back. Lucky boy. Mr Yellow got the ticket for his flight home. (I’m a good girl.) I’m considering getting Mr Married a bridge, so he can ‘get the fuck over it’. Sheesh. Mr White wanted food and scratches. I’m not sure if I can be bothered to comply. I’m kinda busy and he’s very pale…. Then there’s Mr Smoke. He’s not exactly black, so I was going to call him Mr Grey, until I remembered about that bloody book. (Which I’ve never read – sounds lame.) I can’t exactly call him Mr Vape, so Mr Smoke it is. He has the most beautiful coffee maker I have ever seen in my life. It actually made my head spin a little when I bought it home. I want it for myself! He means too much to me to let the day go without anything. BMO won’t let me buy him anything. I know it’ll tip the balance too much, so I won’t. He’s been talking about going to Dublin. I know he does it because he likes to hear me growl; but I should really unpack my passport. He also wants to see me perform. It’s always been taboo; it’s too much of an invasion into my personal life. (ironic, I know) Plus he’ll be recognised, and I’m not in the mood to constantly explain away presences.

What am I getting for Christmas? I don’t know. Where’s the fun in that? I’ll get what I’m given. What do I want? I want that thing we spoke about; that thing we planned to do; to visit that place we spoke about; that thing you pointed out to me in the window; that thing you said I really must try; a replacement for that thing I broke/lost/ruined; everything. And no, the thought does NOT count. I want the real thing. Don’t fight it, we all know I’m worth it.

Fleadom. Sweet Fleadom.

I thought about the Flea today.

As I was getting out the shower, I suddenly remembered the underwear I was putting on was the same set I was wearing when we first met. It’s the first time I’ve thought of the Flea for months. I had to smile to myself – Flea will be under the impression that they are thought of constantly. It’s the Narc in them.

Poor little unloved, unremembered Flea. Good thing you have your over-inflated ego and misguided sense of self-importance. Otherwise you’d have to consider the real possibility that you’re not relevant.

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhocking.

In all honesty, I was far too generous with my nickname.

Seems far more relevant.

See? Works both ways. Stay classy, Tiger.

I Can Sing A Rainbow. A.k.a Reservoir Drogs

Mr. Green is a wannabe. Like many of those before him, he’s decided that ‘it’d be cool’ to be a sociopath. Righto. Unfortunately Mr. Green isn’t a very good one. He’s watched the series of BBC Sherlock, seen that some women have swooned over Benedict Cumberbatch; decided it looks cool and he’d like that kind of social status. (I can see why, he needs it) He’s come out of a serious relationship and had a few mad months of fucking around (literally) like most people do, and convinced himself that this period of acting like a horny teenager was him multiple dating. One night stands do not class as multiple dating.

Mr. Green is frightened about upsetting his girlfriend. Wait, what? You should be quietly cooking in the background. He asks me for advice. “What do I do?” Admit you’re not a sociopath, give up the lie and get on with being yourself. It’s far more attractive and much easier to maintain. Sheesh. It’s sad really. A man of his age, just a teenage wannabe, and in total denial about it. The most seductive thing about sociopaths is that they are 100% confident in themselves. Sure, they might put on a face of being insecure or unsure of things; but it’s all an act, and the reassurance is actually still there, That’s why it’s so comfortable to ‘date’ them. They verbally appear needy, and sometimes it can come as a shock to their partners “Oh my goodness, I didn’t realise you felt that way” (Insert typical sociopathic response here. I can think of 2 straight off – both winners). They don’t have feelings in the way empathic people do, especially not about upsetting their other halves.

Then there is Mr Beige. (You can tell how exciting he is….) Mrs Beige traded up (note: Always trade up, don’t be polite and trade down. I did it once – not advisable. You’re left with trade down stank on you for ages. *shudder*) She’s got an absolute corker of a guy now. Grrrrrrrrwl. Good choice. Mrs Beige is now to be Mrs Corker. Mr Beige is now in “Yeah? Well I’m amazingly happy, I don’t care” defensive child stage. *yawn* You’re so beige.

Meet Mr Pink. He’s cute. Highly corruptible. It makes me twitch with anticipation. You should see the destruction possible with mistletoe. Good times 🙂

Mr Iridescent. He’s a tumultuous soul who makes me laugh, knows all the right spots to touch and has permanently marked my skin. He and Mr Red are both desperate to see me this weekend. (It’s ridiculous how damn busy I am right now. More about that later) One offers the warm up of drinks, the other of curry. I’m getting wasted and fed this weekend, obviously 😉

 

Time waits for no man

Last weekend was the first weekend I’ve actually had at home with the kids. It’s been nuts. We went into town; posed with the Coca~Cola truck; upset the staff in the Disney store by trying a lot of the masks on; ate one of everything in Starbucks and generally vegged out. Good times were had by all. I took the opportunity to go for a drink saturday night. The pub had a band on and I was in the mood for some rhythm and booze.  I’ve been at the bar for all of 5 minutes, and I’m hit on.  Nipped out last night for a quick drink with the boss, and I’m hit on again. Two of them this time. Jeez, can’t a girl get any time off? It’s actually getting tiring now, not to mention annoying. I tried desperately to pass one onto the boss. They weren’t having it. Dammit! Hahaha. Every time I’m out. Seriously, this is dumb.

This weekend is back to crazy again. As it should be. “But wait, aren’t you waiting for……….?” What, wait? Darlin’ no. You don’t get it. I don’t ‘wait’ for anything. I go, and an invitation is extended. I have a great job, great friends, (my family are batshit crazy, so that’s pretty great too). Why the fuck would I wait for anything? Plus I’m impatience and bore easily. You have to be multi-faceted and multi talented. There are sooooooooo many two dimentional people. Safe little lives, with their safe little ways and their safe little comfort zone.

Finn comes to and realizes he’s messed up, which is really good ___[1]

Ugh.

But what about………?” Yeah, well, that’s not exactly in remission, but it’s died right back and the medication is minimal again. Joints still ache like a bitch though. It doesn’t faze me. The excess chub is keeping me warm. It’s all positive.


 

 

 

 

I’m ok. Well, medically 😉 There’s a school of thought which would claim otherwise. I highly  recommend ignoring them!

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It’s coming up to the end of the year. Do I care? No. Time means nothing to me. If you measure your success in figures of any kind, you’re doing it all wrong. Know your self-worth. I’m priceless. And I’ll never get tired of hearing it.

Busting A Random

I’ll bust ya chops. You’re busting my balls. I’m busting for a wee. The telephone is busted. Busting my best dancing moves.

Lots of things get busted, apparently.

Line of communication, were open, now broken. Busted? Or repairable? I don’t know.

Have you ever seen a broken bone on a radiograph? It’s generally quite clear, unless the swelling is to the extent it’s holding the fracture or break together. (and thanks to my predilection I’ve seen quite a few of my limbs in pieces) Once it’s healed, it’s still visible as a fine line, easily traced. Bone scars, if you like.

Weaponry. Once the edge has been taken off your sword to re-sharpen you have to reduce the biting surface. (There is something almost erotic about the sound of swordplay. Well, for this lil freak there is)

You ever fallen on your own sword? I have. (Literally. I tripped over the edge of a shield and damn nearly trod on it. Gawd only knows how I didn’t see them, they’re not exactly tiny) Wouldn’t recommend it as a general day-to-day activity. But sometimes it’s a must. You’re willing to embarrass yourself to that extent to make yourself clear? Yup.

How do you feel now?

That big huh?

How do you feel inside?

Oh yeeeeeeeeeeah.

Hand gestures mean so much. I’m a “flap ’em around while you’re talking” kinda gal. *snork* (My hands, people. Get your mind out the gutter) Sign language? Beautiful. I developed simple sign language for my little dude when he was younger. ‘Slow down’, ‘hot’ ‘wait’ and ‘come here immediately’ were the ones he needed. Worked a treat.

Then there’s the ‘in’ gestures. One of my friends and her (now ex) husband used to ‘kiss’ their feet together just as they were going to sleep. JB and I used to llama ‘kiss’ if we were miles apart.

 Mwah! Dumb I know, but it made him happy.

Big Show on WWE used to tell his girlfriend “I love you” by clasping his wrist 3 times when he came down the ramp into the ring each time he fought. (She’s also now his ex, so maybe these examples aren’t so great……)

First kitten and I developed the nose rub. When she was in school productions and they were given strict instructions of “Don’t wave to your parents”, we would rub the bridge of our noses to say we’d seen each other. Our personal wave, if you like. Totally cracked me up when I went for the carol service months later and I rubbed my nose at her. For some weird reason kids like me (I have NO idea why) and I’d been into the school a couple of times to give some lessons. Unknown to me she’d told them all the code, so when I rubbed my nose, 32 kids burst into massive smiles and rubbed their noses back at me. Confused the shit out of the parents and the teachers!

Tomorrow I’m out. Much mischief is to be made and I for one, intend to make it. But if you look closer, you’ll see there’s an on-going communication through my hands.

Everyone knows this one, right? International symbol of Spiderman.

Recognise this?

 it means “I love you”, in sign language.

It’s not always what you say, but how you say it. Sometimes it’s never even spoken.

It’s not rocket science.

Not everything is uniform. Women are supposed to play with their hair if they’re interested in you. I play with my hair if I’m bored or uncomfortable.

Look at the gestures. Did they mean anything? Really mean anything? Then look at yourself. You magnificently lucky fucker. Don’t. Waste. It. That’s one amazing, hot opportunity you’ve just been handed. Go with it.

The ambiguity of caffeine

 

Forget ‘Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus’ (which I haven’t read), I need a T-shirt that says “Not a euphemism”.

I invited someone for coffee. An ex, to be precise. In doing so, I got a whole new look on how I’m seen.
Would you like to meet up for coffee for old times sake?” is apparently code for “I’m pathetic. I’m unable to move on from you, I’m desperate for sex, and I have a secret agenda for meeting you.” Fuck, if I’d known that I never would have asked. Or I’d have at least phrased it differently.

I was never told the code! I rather naively meant, ‘let’s go for a hot beverage. If I had known, I wouldn’t have spent the last 20 years telling people my coffee making abilities are rubbish as I don’t actually like it; but I’ll give it a go as that’s what they’ve requested, but I won’t be remotely offended if they pour it away and make one themselves.
Does this mean what I’ve actually been saying to people is, “I’m shit in bed, I don’t actually like sex. I’ll give it a try as you’ve intimated you’d like some; but as I’m so awful I won’t be remotely offended if you stop halfway through, roll over and have a wank instead”?

Woah. I need to rethink my conversations.

Fun fact: I like sex. A lot. Possibly too much. I have a very high sex drive, especially when I’m with someone I find physically attractive, stimulating *snork* (I meant mentally stimulating, but let’s be honest, physical works too), and who is damn good in bed. Why would you not want a lot of something that’s so damn enjoyable? I don’t lie; if I like it and I want it, I’ll say. I’m not going to say I’m amazing in bed, I don’t have much confidence in myself (especially as I’m a massive version of myself. I know I know, sex would work that right off me. Oh, shut up.) , but I hope my enthusiasm helps my less than perfect performance.

Important fact:

I’m not a whore.

I value myself far too much to sleep with anything with a pulse or who shows a vague interest, just so I can get laid. I’m perfectly capable of scratching my own itch, thank you.

I won’t jump into bed with someone who values me even less than dog poop on their shoe (or even in their shoe. Haha! Nevermind….). I’m not 16 – I don’t think letting you fuck me will impress you; I certainly don’t think I’m the best sex you’ll ever have; and I sure as hell don’t equate getting fucked as someone being in love with me. I don’t have sex to quantify myself or to validate my presence in someone’s life. Fuck that. Or not.

I suggested caffeine, and a catch up. No drama and no secret agenda. I find it funny that was his immediate reaction. Was I horny? Did I want him to be the man to resolve that issue for me if I was? No. I didn’t. As he was well aware, I have ‘buddies’ who are more than capable of attending my needs. I still have those buddies. Here’s a crazy notion, I’ve even been propositioned by others. I know, right? Clearly they’re desperate.

My ex’s opinion of me is shockingly low. Nice. Ironically that says more about him, than it does me. What he hadn’t considered was that the reason I was available on Sunday and in the area (darrrn sarf, innit?) was that I’d been out until some disgustingly early time that morning, and had spent the night at someone else’s. I was only killing time until I could get the train back.

Hey, I went last weekend for coffee AND a muffin with a different ex. In fact, we had two cups of coffee. Well, he had coffee, I had tea. (That probably means I’m a lesbian in that stupid code!) We even spoke about our sex lives (clarification: independent sex lives) and he asked, because he knows me. He then issued a open ended (not a euphemism. See? The T-shirt is getting more and more necessary as we speak) offered to cure my frustration whenever I required it. How kind. I thanked him politely and turned him down. See? Not a total whore. I’m perfectly capable of turning down sex. He invited me out for coffee and a muffin; I accepted his offer, thinking we were meeting for a hot beverage and a sugar loaded carbohydrate snack. And you know what? That’s exactly what it was. *BOOM* Fucking mind blowing, right? Er no, because some people say what they actually mean. Again, not fucking rocket science.

Yes, I really enjoy sex. I’m not ashamed of it, and I’m not going to lie about it. But I sure as hell ain’t giving it away to someone who doesn’t warrant it. No-one wants a charity fuck, and I don’t find a ‘guilt fuck’ remotely enjoyable. Now, if I sleep with a man, it’s because both of us want to. He wants me, and I want him to have me. I say now, because obviously my ex was just letting me fuck him out of politeness. Poor man, I didn’t realise it was such a chore for him. Maybe if he’d put a bit more effort in rather than ‘I’m allergic to foreplay and I like to just lay there’ I’d have made more of an effort in the bedroom too. Thank goodness I didn’t refuse all the other offers I had during our time. It was a chore for me too sweetheart. Why do you think we didn’t last? Oh yeah, I gave you some bullshit reason, I remember now……

You know the best of it? I’ve developed a liking for coffee. Sweet, sweet irony.

Caffeine And Swearing: More Randoms.

 

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Now for those of you who vaguely know me, you’ll know that this is my standard response to idiotic questions, mainly: “Oh my god, how do you manage it/cope with it all?” Generally they simper when they say this. Can’t stand a Simperer. (Is that even a word? *shrug* It is now.)

“Well, I’ve taken to drinking coffee and swearing a lot. Haha.” The laughter is generally sarcastic. (It is my most preferred form of conversation) I have no patience for banal questions, but apparently I attract them like bees to honey. (must be my shower gel)

The Twitch – definition: That involuntary small movement which can mean a multitude of things. For example: The Nose Twitch (a.k.a The Kermit). I don’t believe you. The Big Blink = I don’t believe you. The Raised Eyebrow (either one) = I don’t believe you. The Shoulder Shudder = Someone just kissed the ‘right spot’ on my neck. (Dear gawd how I like this one.) The Constant (a.k.a Buzzing) = I’ve had coffee. And it was a big one. Also comes with huge pupils and the inability to do anything slowly. (Remember folks – caffeine makes you do stupid shit more quickly)

Yesterday was sponsored by Starbucks. And boy, was I buzzing. Two huge coffees with a shot of sugar syrup too, I have to thank my complete inability to handle caffeine for the trip I was flying on. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!! I can see everything from up here!!! The heart palpitations are very enjoyable, they tickle. Oh yeah, I was sooooooooo caffeine tripping. I actually tripped over my own feet and got asked if I was drunk. Embarrassingly I had to answer honestly, no. Aaah, caffeine how I love you.

Depth and magnitude. I’ll admit it. I’m fairly flaky. I get bored extremely easily, so I tend to zone out of conversations. Thank goodness my subconscious stores them all, so I can repeat them verbatim back to you. (it’s a tedious skill, and not one I’m best pleased with, but it sure beats my ability to kill headphones.) Also good for catching up on what I wasn’t listening to in the first place. Weird how that works, but hey, I’m not going to argue with it. (Oh hell, who am I kidding? Of course I’m going to argue with it – I’m female and Irish – I’ll argue with anything) One of the conversations I had over the weekend gave my little bubble something to mull over. For the politeness of the internet, I’ll use his nickname.

Background: GB and I attempted dating about 10 years ago. I warned him it wasn’t going to work (what? I liked the guy, I wasn’t going to lie to him) and I promptly didn’t let him down. I think we managed 8 weeks before I finished it. (Hey, I never claimed to be an Angel) Anyhoo, just recently he split up with his long term gf. Cue drinks with his favourite girlie. (Yes, that’s me. Shut up)

Me: So, how’s it all going now, GB?

GB: “Ok, I guess, F (his nickname for me. No, it doesn’t stand for ‘Fuck’) I really thought M and I were going to work out.”

Me: Me too. GB. I’ll admit, I wasn’t 100% sure at the start but then it seemed to work, and you were happy….. *tails off as I realise that it’s probably not very tactful to highlight how happy he was. Oops*

GB: I know what you mean, F (phew! That was a close one.) I normally date crazy chicks, and she was quite boring.

Me: *chews bottom lip, as that is exactly what I meant*

GB: She wasn’t that interesting, but she was kind and I liked her. She never sent me naughty pictures like you did – which you can again now, btw – no excuses that I’ve got a girlfriend. (As much as I love being devil’s advocate; I won’t intentionally mess up people’s relationships who I like. M wouldn’t have been able to handle semi-naked photos of me being on her bf’s ‘phone, so I’ve been refusing his requests for photos for ages now) There wasn’t the same kind of excitement which I normally have with my girlfriends; but then it actually lasted, which it never normally does. Probably because they were crazy! Yes, I include you in that, F.

Me:  *grin*

GB: Did you know, it took me over a year to get over you, F?

Me: *chews bottom  lip* No I didn’t. This is slightly awkward, mainly because I should probably feel something (embarrassed? Sorry? Guilty?), and I don’t.

GB: It’s ok, I’m over it now.

Me: Fuck I should hope so, it’s been nearly 10 years! (I know he wants to pick up with me again, he’s never hidden that and frequently asks. Well, between girlfriends)

GB: I’m glad you’re back to yourself again. It wasn’t nice watching you go through that. You had us scared for a while. I’ve known you a long time and well, I’ve never seen you like that.

Me: Yeah well you were there when I first got diagnosed (6 years ago – it was a mess. I was a mess. Last year was the peak, shall we say; but hey, fighting and denial gets you nowhere. Chilling the fuck out really helps, y’know?) and I appreciate that you’re still here now (urgh. emotions….!! I struggle with voicing crap like this. What I really mean is I’m not remotely comfortable talking about this kinda shit. *shudder*), so er…. thanks. It’s done now.

GB: I’m not going anywhere, F. You know that.

Yeah, I know. My dependable GB. My knight in shining armour, who inadvertently rescued me from getting beaten the shit out of and possibly worse (yes, I do believe there is worse, and I’ve no doubt the sicko would have gone there) in my own home when I was clumsy. I was lucky that day. And foolish, really fucking foolish. Never let your guard down BB, you know this; and always, always watch your six. Yeah, looking back, I really threw myself into some crazy, crazy shit. Hahahaha. Good times, man.

After that I got to thinking. Is this what people do? Do they long for the excitement but settle for mediocre because it’s safe? How depressing is that? Sacrificing your happiness or desire; just so you’re not alone? That’s soul-destroying. You should never need anyone to complete you. That’s not remotely healthy. I spent last year fighting physical and mental ‘demons’. You have to be yourself, life just doesn’t work otherwise. You can’t jam yourself into pigeon holes that other people expect you to be in. My life is so much better now.

Like it was said at the weekend – I’m still crazy, but now it’s just the good kind.

Concerning conversations: I know that one-sided conversations can often cast a completely different spin on the actual facts. Especially if you don’t know the back story.  I love the fact my conversations regularly sound unacceptable.

Getting out the car last night, the child lock was on in Burritos car.

Me: Dude, I can’t get out, your rape lock is still on.

Burrito: Oh sorry, force of habit.

Wrong. Just wrong.

Noticing that someone else I know is vaping

Me: Aw man, you’re a wanker as well.

Slim: I know, right?

Discussing the different flavours of vaping liquids

Me: So what is your preferred flavour to wank to?

Beemo: I’m a Toffee Apple wank man.

Me: Gros. Bet that stinks.

Wrong, Just plain wrong.

Offers to help but with limited ability to carry. This unfortunately was a tangent conversation completely off subject, but followed directly after this conversation: Boss: “hey, I have a single friend, he’s into comics too, I was thinking of inviting him down on the 20th”. Me: “How old is he?” Boss: “he’s 24”.  Me: “24! Geez, that’s kinda young. He’s old enough to date my daughter.”

Burrito: Oh hey, I noticed your status on facebook. What I didn’t realise was how much masking tape I’d go through. Want me to give you some rolls?

Me: That’d be perfect, great, thanks

Rest of the guys: “………”

Classic.

Also last night:

Gunslinger: Did you have a drink last time, before that?

Me: Before what?

Gunslinger: In Norfolk, before that. Had you had a drink?

Me: Er, yeah, we were at a party.

Gunslinger: Well you’re not drinking this time. No drink for you!

Me: *pales* What? Why not, was it really bad last time?

Gunslinger: No, but this time it was perfect! That’s it! No drinking for you.

Boss: Did you just tell her off for being good??

Me: “………”

 

Welcome to my fabulous fucked up life. It’s a blast. And I love every second of it.

 

 

 

Randoms: Shake, Rattle and Cold.

So, um yeah. My thoughts; have wandered back to him a few times.

Well this is fun. My nose is killing me. So freakin’ painful. But only one side. Seeing as how I don’t stick any medication up there (or anything else up there either!), I’ll just curse about it, giggle about it and move on. It makes for interesting gurning on the train on the way home.Sometimes I catch myself in the window, oops, that’s not a pretty face. Giggling in the quiet zone is quite frowned upon, I’ll have you know.(Speaking of coaches, my quiet zone now has pink stickers, instead of the blue. I’m so not a fan of pink. Still, c’est la vie.)

La paperwork is complete, so I am now free to do as I please. Huzzah. How ironic that ‘s its not actually ‘available’ to me right now. Aah, irony you twisted little bastard.

My new high is 16. 16! Can you imagine it?! Where the hell do I get the time? It loses the glamour when you realise 4 have to be taken at the same time. Mmmm, pretty……

Winter is now definitely coming *snork* I’ve already lost one pair of gloves, so it’s official.

Costa are doing their Christmas range again, so I’m back to looking at the tattooed eye candy in my local. Mmm mmm mmmmm. I’m not proud, Starbucks can spare me for a while. Plus I’m sure that blonde one is dating one of my exes.

Chocolate velvet cake. Will I ever tired of it? Possibly not. Do I care that I’m the size of a house? Nope. I accepted it weeks ago.  (Fuck you, medication!) I’m definitely a girl who’ll shade you in the summer and warm you in the winter. Except I won’t because I’m as cold as ice. Sorry. So, seeing as how I’ve blown that phrase out the water, let’s just call it how it is. I’m faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat

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Spaghetti and Apple Pie. It’s part of the new cartoon dinner range that’s currently being tried at my place. Next weekend it’s coarse sand and whores.

The end of the month is so nearly here. So nearly here!! Squeeeeeee!!!!!!! *oink* Classy.

I’ve started shouting in my sleep. That can’t be remotely annoying. Fabulous!! hahahaha

I’m currently playing a game of ‘life chess’ with a certain someone. Your move, fatty.

I used to have 2, but now I have 3. And the new one is sooooooooo tiny. I’m in love with it already. The neighbours hate it. Good.

The best news is, well………… I’ll tell you next week 😉

Beauty Is In The Eye Of The Beer Holder

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So you’re having a coffee or beer, or whatever you fancy. My treat. Pull up a chair! Sit down and get comfortable. You’ll have to excuse my appearance, it’s been a rough month. So…….. how’ve you been?

What last weekend taught me:

  • However old you get, denial doesn’t change the situation.
  • To some, I’m beautiful.  ‘Some’ are bloody kind. Thanks for that.
  • Being “in a relationship” onfacebook, but ‘hiding’ it, doesn’t mean I don’t know all about it.
    • You’re really not as clever as you like to indulge yourself into thinking you are.
  • The latest tablets have got my sense of smell so acute it’s ridiculous.
    • Great, Bat hearing and now Fox sniffers. Not to mention the Whale coating!
  • Pink champagne tastes better than the other stuff.
  • There’s someone I miss in my life. A great deal. *frowns* Not quite sure what to do with that information
  • I got Halloween treats for everyone.
    • It’ll come as no surprise that I ate most of them. *bites lip* FFS.
  • The end of this month is when it all happens.
    • I’ve waited a year for this.
  • Burrito doesn’t like to be called Burrito, and he’s the diva.
    • I’m so glad he told me, I had no idea. Especially the diva bit.
  • New strings make everything sound better.
  • 3 meals out this weekend. I’ll be in my Homer Simpson tent dress before I know it.
  • I’m bored of boxes.
  • Losing sensation is my fingers and hands is funny. Not sure it’s a good thing.
  • My family are rubbish at lying. Awful. No wonder none of them are poker players.
  • One more day to Spider-verse and it’s not how I’d thought it might go. Bollocks.
  • Starbucks is no less enjoyable, even with Soya. *shudder*
  • My ability to sleep has been stolen.
    • Medication is an absolute bastard.
  • Fur. Not appreciated. In. The. Slightest.

Are you going to eat all that muffin? I only ask because you’re taking ages, and I’m hungry. Okay, great, thanks.

  • Being honest is much funnier when the person you’re finally being honest with is still lying. And very badly.
  • 8 wheels is better than 2. But not as elegant or sexy.
  • You’ve just scratched the surface, I’m waaaay deeper into it than you.
  • All your reasonings about me are futile, naïve and wrong.
    • Your superiority is laughable.
    • There is jealousy over you, which again, I find laughable. But sweet.

 

No, one’s enough for me, thanks. Any more and I’ll be flying round the room. Yes, I’m aware it’s decaf *sigh*

 

Just to throw a spanner in the works:

dandelion……….Hmm……….

 

 

 

 

Incendium

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No one… No one understands! I am alone, and you made me like this! You made me! You made me! You’re… my… Glob! You’re my Glob!

“You need me”

I actually caught my breath when the message landed.

“I don’t need anyone.”

“Yes you do. You need me.”

My beautiful Beemo. I admit, there’s been times I’ve missed him. Some nights I’ve found myself thinking of him and wanting his form in my bed. It’s laziness for me wanting his touch – he knows what I like and how exactly to please me.

“Is it bad?”

“Is what bad?”

Everything. Is it bearable? What are you doing?

Damn you, Beemo.

“You’re a real pain in the ass”

“That’s a yes then. Why didn’t you call?”

And interrupt your wife?

“She’s my EX wife”. I know the buttons to press with him too. Especially the ones to piss him off.

“Alright, alright. Gawd only knows what I’d have been interrupting if I’d called. Anyway, we never call. That would be weird”.

“We used to”. Fuck. Not this, not now.

“We used to do a lot of things, which we don’t any more.” Crap, I need to break this mood. “For example, you used to be able to touch your toes, fatty”

“You arrogant wench! lol”

Ugh. I loathe lol’s. It’s too lazy, even for me. That doesn’t make any sense to Beemo – apparently it’s all part of my Irishness. Or as he puts it “stop being so fucking Irish”.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve changed the subject. And don’t chew your lip.” That little turd. I know he’s not watching me, (although it has been known in the past. He’s quite the little shadowman at times) he just knows my reactions. “You’re coming to me, no arguments. Friday.”

The room is gorgeous. There are fresh flowers on the side, and champagne chilling in a bucket. He’s spoiling me, and for once, I’m letting him.

He’s wrapped in a towel, I’m starting to think it’s my favourite outfit on him. He pours some champagne. Fuck he looks hot in that towel.

I shake my head. “I shouldn’t drink. You know that.”

“No, you can’t drink. There’s a big difference. But when have you ever followed instructions?”

I grin at him. “I need a shower”. I drop my bag on the chair. “I’ve got commuter stank. Ew. Plus, I want to get naked.”

*sniff* He wrinkles his nose in distaste.

“Fuck you.”

I kick my heels into the corner of the room. They are ridiculously high. Fabulous. I have his attention. I slowly unzip my suit dress and let it drop to the floor. I’m left stood in lingerie and stockings. He smiles, forever the predator.  I aim to please. I can’t resist and twitch my eyebrow at him. He growls. Shitbag knows it makes me hot in under a second.

“I’m going for a shower”, I toss over my shoulder as I sashay into the bathroom.

“Need anything?”

“Music”.

He laughs and holds out his hand. I throw my phone to him. “Be good”

He bows. “Naturally.”

It’s the unspoken rule. There’s no devils advocate this weekend. I hide nothing from him – we’re too similar to bother. No ‘phones, no bs, just us.

He’s flicking through my photos, I can see it from his face. “Hey!”

“Sorry, couldn’t resist”. *grin*

Turd.

I ensure he’s watching as I slowly take my stockings off. It’s having the desired effect, that I know. I wink at him and push the bathroom door to, as I start the shower. I love this hotel, no prizes in guessing why –  it’s got the biggest shower I’ve ever seen in my life.

He’s chosen a dirty rock 80’s track. Good choice, BMO

I’m up to my elbows in shampoo when I’m aware my shoulder is getting licked. Damn you, ninja BMO. Now my neck is getting massaged. Dammit, stop hitting all the right buttons. Wait, what happened to Def Leppard?

Del Amitri? I didn’t think he’d ever have listened to them. I twitch and he looks at me. His pupils are huge. Something’s going down here. I nibble my lip. He’s tucking my hair behind my ears, little turd knows I like to do that to gain time. He swallows.

“You’re covered in bruises. And you look like a teabag.”

“I know, pretty right?” I can feel my throat tightening and my eyes getting warmer. Curse you Beemo, stop looking right through me.

“No, it’s not pretty. It’s painful to look at. Plus I would swear I heard you rattle earlier” He’s tracing the bruises on my hip.

“It’s life. Shit happens, y’know? Plus I don’t need to dress up for Halloween”

“Don’t throw that crap at me. I’m not him, I don’t believe your bollocks.”

“Then don’t look if it’s that fucking ugly. I can’t rattle I’m too fucking fat, now get the fuck out my shower!” He’s gone too far. I don’t need this.

“And you have to go outside if you’re having a wank!!” I yell as he leaves the bathroom. I know he’s going for a Vape. Pussy.

He burst out laughing. I haven’t heard him laugh like that for ages. “Well I have no idea what the neighbours are thinking now, but they’re too damn scared to go onto their balcony!”

I snigger. It was possibly wasn’t the most well-thought thing to yell at him. And boy, did I yell.

“Yeah well, it’ll give them something to talk about”. I’m such a petulant child at times. I refuse to apologise.

“I bought you something”. I’m drying my hair with the fluffiest towel. The thought of leaving with them in my suitcase trots through my mind, not for the first time.

“Mmmmm?” It’s a tongue piercing. It’s to replace the Spiderman and Superman I swallowed. What can I say? I have a taste for superheroes 😉

“Always” Wait, what?

Always”

“And never”.

“Good.”

I finally get it.  “Shut up”, I whisper. It’s not romantic, but shit, it’s honest. He nods. It’s almost imperceptible, but it’s there. Fuck. He loves me. In so much as he can, and ever will ‘love’ someone. I’m staring at him. Love? I don’t even know what this is. Is the definition of love people being relaxed around each other? Surely not. No-one ever went to war over the fact they were slightly un-relaxed.  It’s got to be more than familiarity. Love apparently moves people to do ridiculously huge things, in the name of it. I can just about be bothered to get out of or into bed. That’s not love.

Well, I’m fucked if I know what love is.

Tomorrow he’ll go home to her, and I’ll go back to mine. And we will rinse and repeat for weeks, months, years, until we get bored. This changes nothing. We are who we are. We’re two combustibles – totally ill-advised.

It’s 3am when we finally decided to let the neighbours get some sleep. He does a wookie stretch that makes me giggle and pulls me in to curl up beside him.

“Take it back”, I whisper.

“I can’t. What is done cannot be undone”

“You’re really fucking annoying, you know that?”

“Mmmm.” He kisses my shoulder and pulls me in tighter.

He’s my BMO and I’m his Impossible Girl. I guess in my own warped, fucked up way, I need him.