Confessions Circle

He gave me an appraising look over the top of his drink, and I smiled back nervously.
"Call me," he said, taking out his phone and snapping my picture.
Cue psychobabble- "Oh, I can't. I mean, I want it, but I gave my phone to a hobo last week, I mean, I don't usually do generosity but.. oh, no. I buy the Big Issue and that so.. but no, I mean, I was having a drunken spat, and I haven't got a new one yet cos the shop didn't have any of them in in pink, and..."
He smiled then, a real smile, and wrote his number on the inside of my arm, "just in case you accidentally lose it."
At door he paused and looked back at me.
Walking over, he took my drink out of my hand. "I'll be lonely if I go home now," he said, sipping on my cocktail. "Do you want to come back to mine?"

* * *

A few days later saw my return to the same pub, but this time with different company- my Alec and Sophie flatmates, Sophie's rather charmless girlfriend Gnome flatmate and a few others. We walked in, chatting away, then simultaneously turned from the bar and claimed a table on the opposite side of the room to where we were originally headed. The table sported several used glasses and a smoking cigarette tray, but it had one thing going for it- a clear view of Him.
We sat in silence for a moment, before hurriedly commencing our original conversation.
Gnome came back from a trip "to powder my nose," and caught us all peeking across the room under our eyelashes.
She laughed, and we all started surreptitiously checking for dribble.
"C'mon, be honest, who's had him?"

Silence.

Alec downed his drink and grinned slightly, hiding behind his jazzy new braided hair. He half raised his hand, "freshers week, last year" and two others followed suit, "freshers week, this year"
Determined to keep my dignity I slunk off my seat in the direction of the ladies, but was stopped mid-slink by the threatening glances cast towards my handbag and a few poisonously coloured cocktails that promised to leave a lovely accidental stain if I ran away from all this.
"Oh OK, fine, I had him the night before last. Well, not had him because thats a horrible expression, but... yeah."
We all turned to stare at Sophie and Gnome, the only two remaining.
"Us?" They both grinned, "Unlike you lot we're able to make up our minds- we don't do boykind."

Looks like lesbianism is the only way to avoid the charms of this one.

Current affairs

Due to an unfortunate incident just before my own birth, whereby my heavily pregnant mother was stuck in the smokers carriage on a train to Carmarthen, I've been seriously handicappped throughout my life.

You see, the problem is I have no music taste to speak of.
Bad is simply unacceptable.

The point here, of course, is that I'm in a thoroughly Eeyore mood and have been on and off for many many days now. Well, since Thursday. My current favourite musical supergroup the loveGods (google them, I'm too lazy to do the whole linkability shennanigans- ie, I still don't know how) were meant to be playing the Borderline Thursday night. Got all glammed up, wandered round the streets in the constant drizzle and in the sub-zero temperatures, and for what?
They'd bloody pulled out.
There was more material in the umbrella I was driven to begging off the slightly overwhelmed stranger I found staring at the tube map in blind panic- well do I remember that feeling- than there was in my entire outfit; the umbrella was simply enormous. By grouping together in a manner not unlike that of schoolyard bullies (although from the amount of arms around my waist they'd have to be very gay schoolyard bullies) we managed to fit five of us under the stripy brolly.
And thus we were saved from death by excess hair frizzage.

Admittedly it wasn't quite the loveGods' fault; not only are they splitting up ("we still love each other!") their lead singer ("we're having musical differences!") was also having visa issues and was turned back at the gates.
With pitchforks and flaming torches, possibly.

Their website has yet to be updated, but according to the lovely gentlemen at the Borderline, they're returning next month. I have tickets, and if they don't play I'll be thoroughly fucked off- it's their farewell tour.
You'll all hear about it.

Fingers crossed, eh?

I've never, have you?

Statements in bold are true:

I've Never Kissed A Member Of The Opposite Sex - "loosely moralled" is the polite term, I believe.

I've Never Kissed A Member Of The Same Sex - points upwards.

I've Never Crashed A Friend's Car - I have (Sorry Dylan!) but it was his fault anyway. I did tell him the story of How I Managed to Pass my Driving test (hardly legal) but he still insisted on seeing me drive.

I've Never Been To Japan - but this is soon to change, unless I'm for not seeing my absolute eldest brother for another 18 months. Decisions decisions.

I've Never Been In A Taxi - of course I've been in a taxi. Just not recently, cos a taxi across London costs an arm and a leg, and I'd rather use my arms and legs to walk with; s'all about balance, dontcha know.

I've Never Been In Love

I've Never Had Sex In Public - oh, yes. I had sex in a lift when I first moved to London, and nothings changed; I'm still impatient.

I've Never Been Dumped - last week was the most recent example, but I can't be doing with that "mutual agreement" rubbish.

I've Never Done Cocaine - which is suprising in itself; I'm a boarding school girl, most things were available- I'm just suprised it never came up.

I've Never Shoplifted - Penny sweets, for the most part, and I still do this. But the main things I shoplifted as a kid were cheap hair bobbles from the local chemist; I'd slip them round my wrist and saunter out with noone any the wiser.

I've Never Been Fired - mostly, I suspect, because I've never had a real job. But there's plently of time for all that, right?

I've Never Been In A Fist Fight - my, how very common. I've been slapped, and had a drink thrown at me by an irate ex, but... no.

I've Never Had Group Intercourse

I've Never Snuck Out Of My Parents' House - there was never any need, plus I'm too clumsy to sneak in a house full of china dogs and african art; and it would be too expensive, what with the host of blackmailing little siblings. If I wanted to go clubbing I'd be "staying at a friends", or I'd just wait til they went away. Now, sneaking in and out of my room at school was something else entirely, and an art form.

I've Never Been Tied Up - and let me just say, rope burns are the hardest thing in the world to hide from prying eyes. Particularly if one has to play bridesmaid at a wedding the next day.

I've Never Regretted Having Sex With Someone - it happens. My first ever girlfriend, the completely unstable one from a previous post is one of these.

I've Never Been Arrested - I've been in a car that was pulled over; my fault entirely, since I was so drunk in the passenger seat I was slumped in an unfortunate position that may have looked to passers by like I was giving the driver a blow job. I wasn't, but who knows what goes on in the minds of policemen?

I've Never Made Out With A Stranger - after a few drinks I lose all sense of proportion and propriety..

I've Never Stolen Something From My Job - I don't have a job :) but give it time.

I've Never Celebrated New Years In Times Square - I've never even been to America, it just doesn't appeal to me.

I've Never Gone On A Blind Date - I'm so glad I can say this!

I've Never Lied To A Friend - Oh, of course I have. Lies range from the thoughtless "no darling, that looks gorgeous on you" to the slightly more serious.

I've Never Had A Crush On A Teacher - Many many years ago; he was the rogue male in an all girls school, and he was cute. He had these little grey side burns and an unidentfiable accent.

I've Never Been To Europe - Well, yeah. Turkey, Ireland, Britain, France, Germany, Holland, Luxembourg, Switzerland. If any of those aren't actually in Europe, just don't tell me.

I've Never Skipped School - I missed every single Physics lesson in my last year of high school; no easy feat, let me tell you, but before that I was ever such a good girl. Thinking back, that might explain why I failed my GCSEs and was subsequently rejected by four of my six universities.

I've Never Slept With A Co-Worker - I've slept with many a fellow student, but I've never had coworkers. Unless you count the work experience I did aged 15 and my brief Xmas stint as an elf- no to both; smelly archeologists and balding greasy shop keepers have never appealed, funnily enough.

I've Never Cut Myself On Purpose - no. No no no, I'm far too much of a sissy to do anything of the kind, and its not like I don't cut myself enough accidentally without trying to do it.

I've Never Had Sex At The Office

I've Never Been Married

I've Never Been Divorced yawn. I'm the child of divorce, and its really not as bad as teenybopper mags like to make out.

I've Never Had Sex With More Than One Person Within The Same Week

I've Never Posed Nude - I don't do photos, not even fully clothed ones; I can't seem to get the knack of smiling on command without looking like a special. And special as in, there are schools to teach them to dress themselves, as opposed to precious and fab.

I've Never Gotten Someone Drunk Just To Have Sex With Them - but this does seem to be quite the thing to do on my uni campus; I may not do it- I'm far too cheap to buy someone else drinks- but it has been done to me; I'm just working on getting the self-extraction-after-just-enough-drinks thing down to a T.

I've Never Killed Anyone

I've Never Received Scars From My Sex Partner - I have nail marks on one of my wrists from, once again, the scary ex who's been honoured with a whole post to herself. Clingy clingy clingy.

I've Never Thrown Up In A Bar - I've thrown up in the toilets at a bar, but I'm choosing to believe this doesn't count.

I've Never Purposely Set A Part Of Myself On Fire - again, I might be drama queen with a love of the limelight, but I refuse to go quite so far.

I've Never Eaten Sushi - Ooh I adore sushi!

I've Never Been Snowboarding - very true, and I don't regret this one bit; sport doesn't appeal- I can't even ski- and extreme sport makes me vair nervous.

I've Never Had Sex At A Friend's House While They Were Throwing A Party

I've Never Had Sex In A Dressing Room No! There's always a gap at the bottom of the curtain, and the curtain never pulls all the way round anyway- I don't do public shows. Sheesh.

I've Never Flashed Anyone - I'm a lady plus I've heard far too many stories about people drunkenly flashing people in bars who later turn out to be their parents' new friend.

I've Never Met Anyone From Online

Of Fat and Fiction

"If you're fat, then I'm tall- and lets face it, noone could ever say that about me."

I found this letter, you see, that one of my favourite people in the world- Laura- wrote to me in our first year of college; I'd spent the night before with a friend. Leaning out of the window the next morning I kissed her goodbye, then she pulled back, squealing "oh my god you've got a fat bulge!", and then ran away from the bus laughing.
Cue paranoia and instant bad mood. Bitch- I don't talk to her so much any more.
Later that afternoon in double history Lau started concernedly (later, she informed me she was alerted to the depression by a lack of laughter at our teachers insistence that "Germany does not exist!") flicking bits of paper at me from across the room, and the above letter was born.

What Miss Lau missed out on, quite rightly, was my Irrational Pregnancy Fear- something all parents-to-be should take note of; if you will insist on sending your impressionable daughter to a boarding school run by a failed nun, then that child will forever carry the burden of the Irrrational Pregnancy Fear. This fear exists, like alll good phobias, despite all evidence to the contrary. Of course one can't get pregnant from sitting on a boys knee- but the Irrational Fear ignores such biological facts, and the thought springs to mind every single time. I've managed to lessen my Fear through years of decidedly loose morality, but the thought lingers on even today- four years after being exempt from her misguidedly diligent care- bringing a half smile to my lips.

Mrs Timpson had the kind of attitude towards alll members of boykind that is more commonly preserved for sheltered children on their first visit to the zoo; trepidation and wonder. She was the terrifying voice of comfort and concern-

Gain two pounds? Been holding hands with a boy? Tsk, you're pregnant.
Feel poorly? Been sitting on a boys lap? Pregnant.

God forbid the boys from our partner high school should ever dare to cross the empty space on the dance floor at school discos and ask one of her charges to dance.
It was always much more fun to hide in our rooms playing spin the bottle with the more worldly of these boys.

The first time I saw a tiger- being one of the sheltered children mentioned above; to this day I've never been to the zoo and have no intention of going- I was in Turkey, and there was nothing between us but a set of bars; despite knowing the tiger would have my arm if I ventured past the confines of the cage, there was nothing I wanted more than to touch it. In my less lucid moments I still regret holding back- sometimes.
Mrs Timpson had a similar attitude towards men; it was widely acknowledged- ie, a schoolyard fact- that she'd abandoned her chaste vocation at the nunnery after a fleeting eyes-met-across-a-crowded-room moment; and the real story, as I found out later, wasn't far off.
Tick. Playground rumour's seldom wrong.
Sex Ed lessons were possibly the highlight of my highschool years. Every lesson was a treat, from the first "We are not here to talk about sexual positions girls so be quiet and pay attention! Sexual intercourse is no laughing matter, you could come a great cropper one of these days!"
To the last- why one should never ever go to the cinema with a boy, even if he offers to pay and even if you feel gratitude for being bought a nice meal (because it's dark, and it's the nature of all boykind to take advantage of unsuspecting girls and have their wicked touchy way with them, if you must know). Although I don't kow about you, but I was never taken for a posh meal by a boy during high school. Of course, the uniform might have had something to do with that- I never did look good in blue, but I have always adored hats, blue, straw, or otherwise.
*Adjusts beret*
But it's thanks to her, the lovely Mrs T that, despite being condemned to a lifetime of the Irrational Pregnancy Fear, I've never had any problems with the whole condom side of things*; I was putting condoms on boiling tubes before I was unwrapping tampons. Fact.


*On that note, does anyone have any idea where I can get a polka dot condom from? There's nothing I like more than novelty condoms. But not for one night stands- the one night standish members of boykind tend not to have the biggest sense of humour when, giggling, you pull out a glow in the dark condom and insist on using it.

Peer pressure

There's a colony of ants living in my beautiful laptop!

Well ok, one ant. And the laptops not that beautiful- it's silver and pretty, but it's a mac ("beauty is what's on the inside") and I'm a corporate Windows whore, and have next to no idea how to use it's more celebrated functions.

But seriously, why on earth are there animals living in my jazzy laptop!?
If it were charmless Gnome flatmate's wizzy computer gadget then I'd understand- jam smears and crumbs do tend to attract wildlife, or so I would assume. My knowledge of wildlife is gathered only by hours of watching mind numbing animal related tv shows during extended visits to my maternal grandparents' home- personal experience is seriously limited.
Plus, we don't like her so she'd deserve it. She may be sleeping with my beautiful Sophie flatmate- so we love her by extension- but we just don't like her.

It's a bad influence, is what it is, this Windows beast. And its blue.
*shudder*
Well, there's no two ways about it.
I'm just going to have to curtail their fraternising time.

UPDATE: I stand corrected- it really is a colony of ants- I just saw one flaunting its presence on the keypad, then it fucking vanished beneath the keys.
Fuck. Maybe I should lay a trap, lure them out with an open jar of jam- I'd use Gnome's laptop, but God only knows what else my poor silver baby would catch.

Princessa

My unreasonably beautiful Sophie flatmate has a cat! Its a rescue kitten, and horribly horribly tough; it pushed me off the couch this afternoon, but I gather institutionalised creatures are forced to fight for their space; I would have warned her about this, but she seems to have forgotten to tell any of us. Suprisingly, impossible Alec flatmate has taken to it, and she's given him the rather dubious honour of naming the creature- something he's decided to delay til tomorrow, as we're all feeling somewhat delicate today.
Last night was the fabulous fancy dress party thats been looming all week; we all spent yesterday day in a last minute costume related panic; a panic well fuelled by me, as I'd lost my pink sparkly princess hat*. By 8pm even I was ready to go, by 10 we were burning sugar cubes over glasses of absinthe- the universal appeal of something quite as evil as absinthe finally ceased to amaze me after learning this little trick.
I'm from a teeny tiny rural backwater in Cheshire, ok? I was late learning the tricks that make certain strains of alcohol bearable.
By midnight we were having our hearts deepest desires answered by a magic 8 ball, and at 4am I kissed the wrong person in farewell**, and I now have a new- very very short- admirer; he came to visit earlier, but I managed to avoid his amorous advances with the aid of the Beautiful Sophie.
Although the he scores mucho brownie points, because he came visiting bearing a box of princess themed chocolates.


*My childhood love affair with all things pink and sparkly never really ended.
**I'm still not entirely sure how I managed to do this, as he was wearing a fake beard one could lose my princess hat in.

Une feuille

I've managed to terrify myself into turning over a new leaf, by the deceivingly simple but unbearably harsh means of absentmindedly looking in the mirror- scary stuff; puffy eyes (think, MIB beetles), big hair (think, natural beehive do) and a weeks worth of eyebrow regrowth (think, cookie monster).
I'm just blessing my lucky stars I'm not a peroxide blonde, cos I don't think I'd be able to bounce back from the sheer shame of living with contrasting roots.

Thank you all, by the way.

Cigarette in hand (fuck! What happened to quitting?), I waited til the flat was empty then proceeded to lug a bin bag full of That Bloody Womans chick lit, rom-coms and anything of that ilk down the stairs and abandoned it by the back door.
I fled it's guilt laden stare and didn't stop til safely back behind the locked door of the flat. I lit another cigarette, hands shaking slightly from the sheer physical exertion- I haven't had that much exercise in a week, alright? And realised I was leaning, back against the door-

This rom-com stuff really gets to one's subconscious, doesn't it? All the situation needed was for J to come aknocking, and possibly proposing, just to set the scene. And, because of the RC infiltration, I would neither answer the door nor tell him what a complete bastard he is, although I might tell him half heartedly that I don't want to see him, before seductively opening the door with perfect hair and clean teeth, and just happening to be clad in a silky negligee. Although that said, the Rc production teams aren't into smokers these days-
its neither big nor clever, children-
So maybe I'd escape that little melodrama.

But perhaps I'm just bitter I don't live in a film full of incidental dance numbers and mood music.

Extended bout of self pity

"If you want anyone to stay with you," she said, scribbling furiously, "you're just going to have to change."
I stared at the top of her head as she spoke, watching the elegant hand with the engagement ring flit across the table top. My mouth half open, nose scrunched in thought I headed towards the sofa for comfort food and extended thought.
Is she right?

Earlier this week J and I had something of a tiff-
"Fuck that!" he said, "You're lucky to have me! You're just so fucking self absorbed you don't realise!"
- and I stomped out and spent the rest of the day, and most of the following, sitting in the pub trying to find a solution in the bottom of a succession of cheerily coloured cocktails.
No more Cheeky Vimto, please. Ever.

I'm having a bit of a Bridget Jones moment too- I simply knew reading the books would be a bad idea when it came to future neuroses (neurosi?), but would I listen?
Would I hell.
So I'm now desperately wishing I hadn't given my FabulousSwankyPink phone to a hobo in a fit of somewhat misguided generosity fuelled by a good...*counts on fingers* thirteen hours of solid solitary drinking, since the flat doesn't have a landline as yet- out of the five of us, not a one has the patience to withstand the battlefield that is the BT system. But the real reason, of course, is that none of us can actually count without using our fingers and toes, which always makes the Division of the Bills great fun- the tally system I were taught as a child (mainly used for counting sheep, and the number of crab apples on trees) in that lovely backwater that is The Area of Cheshire in Which My Mother Lives just doesn't stand up to modern numbers.
Anyway before I rudely interrupted myself I was making a point- I don't have a phone and therefore can't check to see if he's called; but even this doesn't stop me from jumping and checking my makeup in the mirror whenever I hear a phone ring. Not that I'd answer if he did ring, of course.
Bloody Bridget Jones.

So I've spent most of the last week in varying stages of introspective inebriation, with the ocasional bout of misguided advice seeking; my sadistic streak has me asking advice from those who are least likely to be suitable sympathetic.

"I love you, but I wouldn't come near you relationship-wise with a ten foot barge pole."

Of Mobile Phones and Admitted (Minor) Mistakes

"Oi! You at the back there!" was the sound which dragged us unceremoniously out of our comparative Shakespeare induced stupour. Forcing our eyes back into focus and bringing an abrupt end to our individual fantasies, we looked up.
Sigh. Another half hour to go. But the yelling wasn't over.
"I am NOT being paid to watch a class full of obnoxious students sex texting under my nose!" He smiled then, and there was a collective gasp- smiling makes such a difference to some people's faces. Half the class began to slip back into their Individual Fantasy- exactly the same as it had always been, but with a new face in the starring role.
Exposing a previously unseen side to his character- before today I'd have described him as somewhat melancholy looking with a penchant for mouth breathing and mildly unfortunate ears, but this has changed my opinion; I can admit it when I'm wrong, y'no- he continued; "Right then! If you won't bloody stop, I want a 6000 word essay with the heading 'A day in the Life of a Mobile Phone', and I want it handed back to me personally this time next week."
Instant silence, a straightening of backs, and a furtive shuffling of mobile phones back into pockets. The room even lost its green tinge as laptop users rapidly closed all games

As we left, she came shuffling over, "I have to plot it and everything! What kind of storyline shall I use? Should it get stolen? Or broken? Chewed on by a small child? Or maybe," she went on, a manic glint of enthusiasm in her eyes, "it could even get traded in!"

Good lord. If that had been me I'd have dropped the class.

The Club of the Unloved

The ex-girlfriend is a terrifying creature. Weapons include the ability to throw a convincing tantrum seemingly at the drop of a hat, and the ability to cry at will- an unfair tactical advantage in any argument. But to us commitment phobes, it’s always a bad sign when the person you’re most likely to describe as ‘someone I sort of sleep with sometimes’ knows more about you than you do yourself. By the time this rather charmless conversation occurred, I should have taken it as a sign to start running for the hills (and if my latest gym venture is anything to go by, a head start and pennies for a taxi would also be a good idea).
HER - Come round this evening?
ME - Uh, no. I can't, I've got my period.
HER - No you haven't, you had it two weeks ago.
ME - What? No. Did I?
At the same time thinking, Fuuuuck. But this time it wasn't a lie- it had been last time I used it though.

But there’s commitment phobic and there’s commitment phobic. There’s the kind where the merest suggestion of intimacy leads to an increased heart rate, a hand tightening round their heart, and a panicky self-extraction.
Or there are people like me, for who intimacy is desirable- as long as the pressure doesn’t get to the level where you’re getting yelled at for flunking an essay, for still being friends with various exes, or for going out without them.
I mean, how very dare I?

Such things don’t so much scare me, as send a shooting pain up my right arm, provoke a gagging reflex in my oesophagus and similar involuntary reactions, polluting the darkest canyons of my psyche. The seemingly unfathomable chasm that lies between me and H is highlighted rather than lessened by constant interaction- we had nothing in common beyond using the same brand of toothpaste- and I knew that almost from the beginning. I mean, how bad a sign is it when a one night stand, whose name you didn’t even stop to get, tracks you down? Bearing gifts?
And a week later celebrates your one week anniversary? And sulks, when she realises you didn’t even think about it?
But I didn’t. I stayed, and I waited, and eventually, we fell apart. But what can you expect when the relationship evolves around arguments and fundamental disagreements? Some things are just too complicated to be worth the effort. Eventually, things descended to the level where, whenever I went out without her, I’d check my phone the next day and find huge numbers of missed calls and voice messages alternating, like Jekyll and Hyde, between angry and upset. There’d also be text messages-
Just wot ru doin 2 feel u hav to turn ur phone of!? Fucking slag
Charmed, I’m sure.
And I resent that- while I have been known to cheat on people, it’s a rare occurrence. Plus I wouldn’t have dared to do it to her- I have seen Fatal Attraction, and I’m somewhat attached to my rabbit. Well, teddy bear.
And now, things are still complicated. I heard a rumour that a relationship continues to affect those involved for the same length of time the relationship thing actually lasted.

One month to go before she's theoretically out of my hair. Hopefully she’ll not try to have another bar brawl with me, as per last night, because I just can’t be doing with it- I grew up watching Eastenders *shudder* and I know exactly how very un-fabulous such things are; fights in pubs are up there with going to the chippie for a first date, and buying clothes from the market- after damaging them slightly so they’re reduced, of course. Because everyone in London is does such things.