I woke up at the end of my sober, man-free weekend hungover and in bed with a guy. Some would say I failed, and I would totally have to agree. I had done the exact opposite of everything I'd set out to do. But I can't say it wasn't fun.
I woke him up before I left for work by repeatedly shoving him, made me feel a little less like a door mat. We then had our usual banter before I made him ring his taxi; he would be relatively nice and I would call him a scouse c*nt and explain that his stupid accent meant I didn't understand a word of what he was saying so I'd rather he was silent. It was all in good humour though, and even though I'd known that inviting him over hadn't been the best idea, I had actually been looking forward to our nonsense chat in the morning. He could give as good as he got, which was a change. Most men retreat into their shells when they wake up the morning after the night before, but not him. Keeping him near me for 'buddy' uses was beginning to seem like a brilliant idea. That was until he text me later that day offering to take me out sometime.
Why is it that when we are single was crave attention off men, and dream of them taking us out and being prepared to commit, and when one actually does we run a mile? I totally freaked. Don't want a relationship. Don't want dinner. Don't want to reply to that text. It was such an over-reaction! My friends talked a little sense into me when I explained that it was all going way too fast and wasn't heading in a direction I wanted to go, "It's only out for tea.". They were right, and it hit me; I didn't want to give up my social life and men, I just wanted to give up meaningless one night stands, so why not just date? Of course this is all roses and rainbows in theory, but in practise? Was this a better approach to my problem?
I hope so, because I've decided to take him up on his offer. Perhaps being treated nice by a guy isn't such a bad thing, so long as I keep my knickers on. With all this in mind, I've decided my next venture will be figuring out whether dating has actually ever worked for me. I have been with a LOT of men for my age, and it isn't something I'm proud of (well, maybe a little) but it's taught me a lot about them and how they work and what works for me. I just need to organised my, umm, knowledge lets say, so I can organise the here and now.
I'm going to tell you about my 27 dresses, and the 27 men that took them off.
Tuesday, 29 November 2011
Monday, 28 November 2011
Day 3- Saturday, AKA The Big Fail.
Work hard play hard. One of mums favourite sayings, always seems to crop up when I'm getting bogged down with uni work or stressed about my exams. But when I'm playing hard, well, she likes to remind me I have my whole life for that. My life in the future, not my life now. Life now is for working and studying and working some more. So when I read on the work rota that I had the whole of Saturday off I knew I should start on my assignment due for the next week. And so, with that in mind, I proceeded to procrastinate in every way I knew how; I watched The O.C, tidied my room and the living room, washed a shit load of pots and glasses and did some laundry. Domestic goddess much? I figured it still counted as work, except maybe the part with the O.C marathon, but that was going to be my 'play hard' for the day. That was until my room mates came home at five with a bottle of vodka, bottle of rum and a wicked plan involving drinking games and drunken heart to hearts. Knowing full well the deal I'd made with myself involving no alcohol they relished my short lived internal argument before pouring me a drink at 10:30pm. By 2am we were all well on our way to declaring our undying love for each other whilst planning trips to Korea and Greece. Sounds like a brilliant night yes? I was starting to think that maybe I'd been wrong; maybe alcohol didn't always mean men? Maybe I could have a cheeky drink with friends without totally humiliating myself in public? The humiliation was kept to a Facebook minimum, with only 2 frapes that night, both about the size of my vagina and my need for, and I quote, "soft penis like a floppy, uncooked sausage". I have some very mature friends.
We proceeded to discuss Kevin and Perry go large, creating our own scouse version where we were the stars who went to Ibiza and made in big in the world of DJ's. We also discussed politics and concluded that Nick Clegg is in fact a total c*nt with the dignity and morals of a regurgitated fur ball. Talks of funerals, holidays, university work, landlords, laminate flooring and body piercing ensued. My room mate now has pierced ears courtesy of myself, some cheap ladybird earrings I got from Claire's Accessories 12 years ago, and my mad, never before used skills.
Everything was fine and dandy until about 5am when we ran out of alcohol. This meant only one thing to us; we needed reinforcements and we needed them soon. Bed time in Saturday Club isn't until 7am at the earliest. So I text the gingers boss. I should explain here that it wasn't totally out of the blue, as he'd been nagging to come back over since our first rendezvous, I just hadn't let him. I should also probably mention that he wasn't some weird creep who would get up in the middle of the night to deliver us alcohol; he works at a bar in town so would have been finishing at any moment anyway, with nowhere else to go but home to his bed, alone. As you can imagine my offer was definitely the best thing he had heard all night and replied instantly, saying he'd be over as soon as he could with some friends and a bottle of sambuca. They took their time.
While we were waiting we began talking about my man-ban again. It seemed I was doomed to fail in this as well, which really annoyed me because I didn't want to carry on sleazing around like I had been. When you come out of a long term relationship, often the only way of coping with the loneliness is to throw yourself at some unsuspecting, but willing victim. The only problem was I seemed to throw myself at victim after victim, with no end in sight. I just couldn't bare dealing with those break-up emotions yet. So I ignored them, masked them with sex and strange men. I had soon realised however that it wasn't helping, hence my man-ban, but now I was in a rut; a routine that I couldn't seem to get out of. My friend confessed that she had been through the same thing only a year ago, and had decided to make the same choice I had, to evade men. However she had committed to six months of abstinence. I wasn't sure I was ready to make such a bold statement. She agreed that maybe it had been a little extreme, but it hadn't been as difficult as she'd first imagined, once she got into it, and it really helped her sort herself out. Irregardless of what we say to guys, we women really are complex, even though we often don't realise it ourselves. This means that sometimes the best thing of us is, well, us. To be by ourselves, with our own thoughts and nothing conflicting or influencing. So as the gingers boss made his way to my house, I knew I was doing the wrong thing, but it was too late to say no now.
Besides, he was bringing sambuca.
We proceeded to discuss Kevin and Perry go large, creating our own scouse version where we were the stars who went to Ibiza and made in big in the world of DJ's. We also discussed politics and concluded that Nick Clegg is in fact a total c*nt with the dignity and morals of a regurgitated fur ball. Talks of funerals, holidays, university work, landlords, laminate flooring and body piercing ensued. My room mate now has pierced ears courtesy of myself, some cheap ladybird earrings I got from Claire's Accessories 12 years ago, and my mad, never before used skills.
Everything was fine and dandy until about 5am when we ran out of alcohol. This meant only one thing to us; we needed reinforcements and we needed them soon. Bed time in Saturday Club isn't until 7am at the earliest. So I text the gingers boss. I should explain here that it wasn't totally out of the blue, as he'd been nagging to come back over since our first rendezvous, I just hadn't let him. I should also probably mention that he wasn't some weird creep who would get up in the middle of the night to deliver us alcohol; he works at a bar in town so would have been finishing at any moment anyway, with nowhere else to go but home to his bed, alone. As you can imagine my offer was definitely the best thing he had heard all night and replied instantly, saying he'd be over as soon as he could with some friends and a bottle of sambuca. They took their time.
While we were waiting we began talking about my man-ban again. It seemed I was doomed to fail in this as well, which really annoyed me because I didn't want to carry on sleazing around like I had been. When you come out of a long term relationship, often the only way of coping with the loneliness is to throw yourself at some unsuspecting, but willing victim. The only problem was I seemed to throw myself at victim after victim, with no end in sight. I just couldn't bare dealing with those break-up emotions yet. So I ignored them, masked them with sex and strange men. I had soon realised however that it wasn't helping, hence my man-ban, but now I was in a rut; a routine that I couldn't seem to get out of. My friend confessed that she had been through the same thing only a year ago, and had decided to make the same choice I had, to evade men. However she had committed to six months of abstinence. I wasn't sure I was ready to make such a bold statement. She agreed that maybe it had been a little extreme, but it hadn't been as difficult as she'd first imagined, once she got into it, and it really helped her sort herself out. Irregardless of what we say to guys, we women really are complex, even though we often don't realise it ourselves. This means that sometimes the best thing of us is, well, us. To be by ourselves, with our own thoughts and nothing conflicting or influencing. So as the gingers boss made his way to my house, I knew I was doing the wrong thing, but it was too late to say no now.
Besides, he was bringing sambuca.
Day 2- Friday
Today was actually no problem at all. Well, until we went to the pub at dinner. Luckily for me I could only stay for half an hour before I needed to catch my bus to work, but on the eyes that place is easy with a capital E... I mean talk about hotties! I go into the library quite often (believe it or not) and see so many hot student guys talking with friends or working away, and always wonder what they study and where they hang out, because not one of the guys on my course are hot, and the only ones I meet on nights out are creepy good-for-one-things. Well now I know; they dwindle the hours away playing foosball and snooker in The Brookhouse, our local student pub. And if I hadn't been sober I'd most definitely have started up a conversation with one or two (or nine) of them. But I guess that means I'd have also slurred about my ex and shown them my Beyonce-esque moves, so it's probably a good job that I was again drinking my alcohol-free beverage of choice; good old faithful diet coke.
So I fled temptation and got my bus to work as planned. I even managed to muster up a smile when I saw my dreamy colleague stood behind the bar; I had asked him only the week before what we were, because the constant texting and flirting and the proceeding to tell me about his latest conquests were a little confusing, and he had replied with the classic "well I've recently come out of a relationship so I'm not really looking for anything, so it's up to you what you decide", to which I reluctantly replied with the old "well lets just be friends, we do have to work together after-all". So now we were being friends, who act friendly and chat about friendly things. Urgh I hated it, but wasn't going to let him know that so continued to smile politely when I saw him and cheerily (maybe a little too cheerily, bastard) said hello.
Work turned out to be OK in the end, and I realised I did really get on well with Dreamy as a friend, however I could never seem to fully shake the thought of him pinning me against the bar and hitching me skirt up. Bad person I may be, but self controlled I was becoming... on the outside anyway. And when 10pm arrived I pulled up a chair for a post-work beverage, as usual, and then proceeded to order a lemonade and lime. And they laughed. My 'work-buddies' laugh so much, I got a little pissed at them. After all, these people had only known me since I had started there 6 weeks ago, and had already got such an accurate opinion of me; slutty drinker. I didn't cave though, and left with my head held high and my back straight (that way Dreamy would see my bum at it's best).
When I lay in bed later that night I considered how easily an opinion can form. Look at my reputation at work; in just six short weeks I had been in a relationship, slept with a colleague, been through a break up and turned up to work hungover for at least 90% of my shifts. Fair enough they didn't know about me and Dreamy, as he didn't want his skinny, blonde ex finding out, and neither did I (I suppose) but they had a good idea that I liked men. Lots of men. If they had already formed such a well-rounded picture of me and my life, what had others picked up on? And more importantly, how long would it take to change these opinions?
I'm guessing a lot longer than two weeks.
So I fled temptation and got my bus to work as planned. I even managed to muster up a smile when I saw my dreamy colleague stood behind the bar; I had asked him only the week before what we were, because the constant texting and flirting and the proceeding to tell me about his latest conquests were a little confusing, and he had replied with the classic "well I've recently come out of a relationship so I'm not really looking for anything, so it's up to you what you decide", to which I reluctantly replied with the old "well lets just be friends, we do have to work together after-all". So now we were being friends, who act friendly and chat about friendly things. Urgh I hated it, but wasn't going to let him know that so continued to smile politely when I saw him and cheerily (maybe a little too cheerily, bastard) said hello.
Work turned out to be OK in the end, and I realised I did really get on well with Dreamy as a friend, however I could never seem to fully shake the thought of him pinning me against the bar and hitching me skirt up. Bad person I may be, but self controlled I was becoming... on the outside anyway. And when 10pm arrived I pulled up a chair for a post-work beverage, as usual, and then proceeded to order a lemonade and lime. And they laughed. My 'work-buddies' laugh so much, I got a little pissed at them. After all, these people had only known me since I had started there 6 weeks ago, and had already got such an accurate opinion of me; slutty drinker. I didn't cave though, and left with my head held high and my back straight (that way Dreamy would see my bum at it's best).
When I lay in bed later that night I considered how easily an opinion can form. Look at my reputation at work; in just six short weeks I had been in a relationship, slept with a colleague, been through a break up and turned up to work hungover for at least 90% of my shifts. Fair enough they didn't know about me and Dreamy, as he didn't want his skinny, blonde ex finding out, and neither did I (I suppose) but they had a good idea that I liked men. Lots of men. If they had already formed such a well-rounded picture of me and my life, what had others picked up on? And more importantly, how long would it take to change these opinions?
I'm guessing a lot longer than two weeks.
Day 1- Thursday
So today I decided that enough was enough. I'd had enough of getting drunk and waking up next to a fat ginger. I'd had enough of waking up the following week, hungover, next to the fat gingers boss. I'd had enough of logging into my Facebook only to cringe when 12 notifications were telling me that new photos from the night before had been uploaded, and my uncle had commented on them, which meant that at any moment I was due a phone call from my mother, lecturing me about my life-style and lack of self discipline. Worst of all, I'd had enough of going into work and seeing my colleague, who was supposed to be my re-bound guy after our steamy but alcohol induced one night stand, flirting with my other much blonder and skinnier colleague. So today I decided that, for two whole weeks, I would give up alcohol and men, as the two, particularly combined, were making my life somewhat of a train wreck.
This meant that come 4pm when my lecture finished and I went to meet my friends at the pub I would be ordering a diet coke, no ice, slice of lime. And that's what I did. It wasn't even hard, but my friends found the whole thing highly amusing, and as they sat glugging away pints of cider and black, so did I. My entire social life evolved around trips to the pub and one night stands.
Shit. I was screwed.
This meant that come 4pm when my lecture finished and I went to meet my friends at the pub I would be ordering a diet coke, no ice, slice of lime. And that's what I did. It wasn't even hard, but my friends found the whole thing highly amusing, and as they sat glugging away pints of cider and black, so did I. My entire social life evolved around trips to the pub and one night stands.
Shit. I was screwed.
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