Hey barkeep, you know caffeine’s an aphrodisiac? No, it’s not… Oh, well I’m just horny.

You may have heard me giving out about our bodies and their inability to follow orders such as “lose weight now” or “go to sleep” or “stop with the periods, I have no interest in mothering right now,”

You may have heard me, after a particulary pain and shame filled eating binge, cursing the lack of gods out there, because if there were gods and I’m not worshipping them, then maybe they would smite me with intestinal flu or whatever it’s called.

Well.

Lookee here…

I spent Monday through Wednesday in what can only be described properly with TMI so I will leave it at, for the first time since my legal separation hearing, I got exactly what I wished for! A stomach bug!

The only bad thing about getting sick now is that it’s a few days too soon- Skyrim (it’s like, a really awesome game, for those of you too cool for computer games. I bet you play farmville, you sick fuck) comes out on Friday so if I take a day off work because I am legitimately ill, I will waste my time at home with nothing to watch or play. If I hold out until Friday and then just go around with wet hair or don’t wear my slippers in the house, maybe I will get sick again (I am better today. awww) and then can have some time off.

Oh doom! I was just informed that I have to work a double shift tomorrow, meaning I won’t get home til 9pm to play. And then theoretically I should go out and socialise it being Friday night. With real people. But then I wouldn’t play Skyrim at ALL until Sunday!

Also I stupidly promised my family I would spend time with them on Sunday. I am only good at lying to my mother and not my dad’s side of the family so I can’t imagine inventing an illness just to facilitate wallowing like an icky hermit in my eating-sleeping-self-loving-gaming-area. I will have to get properly sick.

Leave it with me, I’ll think of something.

Anyway the so called vomiting bug may have cancelled some of the effects of my recent overeating, but 2 months of having eaten slightly more than my previous allowance of almost nothing means I have piled on the pounds anyway. I’m ok, but I’m not great. I thought having reached something near my goal weight very quickly and for the first time in my life looking good in stretch fabric I could afford to slow my weight loss down and I dunno, incorporate some cheese and some pasta into my diet. NO! WRONG! ERRONEOUS! Foolish girl.

Back to soup sans le bread, salad for dinner, and absolutely no more getting up at 2am for wedges of brie and olives and hot chocolate.

Ok so I have really let go of the diet, it’s true. But still.

I am going to be serious about it now and stop eating. Body: obey! Make me all hot and skinny again. I want the gap between the tops of my thighs. Or at very least, no more freaking overlap.

In other news, sexy homeless guy said hi to me today as I walked past him on the way to the sexy barman bar.

I was not expecting that as usually we do this “I avoid his glance, he stares at my legs reproachfully” thing. I guess having been in the same bar as me a few times getting coffee entitles him to say hello to me. If he was not a homeless guy that would seem kind of make sense, I’m just being a snob. Oh la di da, I’m better than a homeless guy.) . Anyway I was going for the usual pretend to be looking for my keys move and looking away so when I heard his friendly hello, I made a strangled bird sound. I don’t know if my sound, being a response of sorts to his hello, now means I acknowledge him as an aquaintance and will have to accept and return pleasantries with a freaking homeless dude I walk past EVERY DAY.

Anyway I don’t think he’s homeless, like a bum, I think he’s one of those hippie or anarchist types who live rough as a lifestyle choice and probably sleep in a squat somewhere.

But he begs.

Anyway I don’t think hes sexy any more, he was just hot from the distance I always keep between myself and all footpath dwellers for purposes of hygiene and to avoid their guilt inducing stares/ accidentally stepping on their chalk artwork. Up close, as he has been lately because we share a bar (and I am NOT giving up my sexy barmen for any reason, if it turned into a fucking soup kitchen I’d still be there twice a day) he isn’t that great. He’d be a lovely piece of man if he washed his hair I think. But he don’t, so I won’t. Anyway enough about him.

I have taken my stalkership of sexy bartender to the next level.

(I can’t remember who’s who at the moment with the names of my hot barmen. I think I used to call a different one sexy bartender. Anyway whatever, I’m sure you can keep up. This is the hottest one but I have seen him kiss a girl a month or so ago but they might not be together any more so…)

So next level, in the sense of my psychosis having advanced a grade, not like I’ve started flirting with him or anything- no way man. We are at the OH MY GOD I AM ACTUALLY IN LOVE WITH YOUR FACE stage of stalking. I have no idea if this guy is a racist, a homophobe, a secret hippie, into bestiality, does he like that guy on youtube who talks with a squeaky voice, does he think Lady Gaga is a visionary, does he have a tiny knobbly sort of penis, does he have a girlfriend, does he think Paolo Coelho is a good writer, does he think something’s true just cause Freud said it, does he have itchy crotch bugs, or does he call his mother every time he takes a crap, does he believe in UFOs, does he think homeopathy works, does he enjoy watching the SAW films, or does he think hot chocolate thickened with fucking corn starch is better than hot chocolate made with cocoa and milk (Italy, man, sometimes they get it wrong even with the food)

I don’t know does he listen to Cradle of Filth in the bath while shaving his chest with lavender scented bubblebath. I don’t know does he play farmville, for fucks sake.

But I don’t fucking care. I could forgive any of the above, and more.

If he told me he was part of the Aryan resurgence movement and had a basement full of Hitler memorabilia, I’d be like “oh really, that sounds… interesting?” and then secretly I’d be like, well… come on, I have to compromise somewhere. He can’t be perfect. Maybe I can change him? I will make him watch Seinfeld until he learns to love the Jews. And listen to Bootsy Collins and Sly and the family Stone until he admits that a master race is a load of bullshit. And if that doesn’t work, then I can break up with him…

Although he looks like a really nice non Nazi guy. I subscribe to the Renaissance artists’ school of thought- that the character within is reflected without. I can’t believe someone this hot would ever be mean to anyone. Why would you be nasty if you looked like that? I bet waking up without needing to put on makeup, looking fine already just out of bed… it would be like walking on clouds, the sky full of sparkly rainbows and flying unicorns and even dog shit on the ground probably yells “look out! don’t step on me!” as you approach, because you’re so beautiful.

He’s just gorgeous. I look at his face and he’s so hot, I forget what Hot Barman the first looked like. Black hair or brown? Can’t remember. He was all right I guess. This guy is a freaking adonis. He’s gorgeous but he doesn’t have a girly face (a problem with many good looking Italians) Now originally I hadn’t been perving on this barman, so you would be forgiven for thinking woah where did this come from you never seemed that into sexy bartender at first, but yes I was, he’s just too out of my league so I didn’t bother obsessing after all the wasted energy and money with hot barman the first.

He’s so hot. I actually don’t ever say this about a man, it always seems really cringey… but I want his babies. His genes look like they know how to party.

If I ever got him into bed I would poke holes in the condom (or, more likely, just not insist on one) so that, even if he does wake up and see me all normal looking and think damn what was I thinking, I can still play the “it’s my body, I have morals, blah blah” card and against my natural inclinations (to remain a child myself) keep the kid. Then for the rest of our lives he is stuck with me in his life and will have to see me occasionaly to hand over the kid and talk about the kid’s awesome grades (from my side) and lovely teeth (his side). And then sometimes when he’s really depressed about having missed out on his youth and had to take on responsibility and pay child support and all, he will find himself at my apartment late at night after dropping off the kid and I will offer him a glass of wine and we will hook up and then he will realise that as a single father he has kind of lost his attractiveness to a lot of women so he can’t actually do much better than me any more, and also the kid will be really important to him and he’ll see me pretending to be an awesome mother and think it’s best for little Fabio to live with both his parents. And he will settle, goddamit he will settle.

And I will know victory.

I know, I know, I shouldn’t have babies. Even if my baby wasn’t born as a result of some sociopathic scheme to trap a hot barman, I would most certainly wind up using it as a manipulation device of some sort. But I don’t think I’d be mean to my baby because it would be a good looking baby. As long as it doesn’t inherit my nose. That is I am convinced the only thing keeping me from being legitimately good looking. If the baby gets sexy bartender’s nose, and his friendly appearance and tan and my intelligence and eyes, I am sure I couldn’t help but be insanely proud and make it homemade pureed fruit and spend hours building things out of lego because I am really good at lego. And then when it’s old enough to hold a mouse I will teach it everything I know about how to get stuff for free off the internet, and infuse its delicate malleable little mind with vitriol and skepticism and most importantly, my wishy washy understanding of the scientific process. Oh man I should totally reproduce, I would make a superbaby.

And I could train it to catch spiders for me. I could make it a game. I’d be like “oh I have a fun idea, let’s play catch a spider and kill it and dispose of it without the other person seeing! YAY! You be the spider hunter, Mommy will just get herself a nice drink and close her eyes.”

Ok I’m going to have a little rest from that train of thought now as I am starting to freak myself out with how maternal I am sounding.

Don’t worry, I’m not actually going to shoot out mini mes any time soon. (I want to get rich before I have to deal with any more responsibility than I currently have to, ie, keeping myself from smelling bad and pushing back the ever encroaching tide of debt and filth in my house.)

So yeah. That’s the state of things right now. I’m bursting with shallow unrequited barman love. Although he has been giving me some seriously warm, lovely smiles. I am pretty sure I’m not making this up, and it’s not just my ego….

I know it might seem like, what ego? I’m talking about these hot barmen being so out of my league with their faces and I have an icky nose that I forget about because I see it full frontal all the time and then bam out of the blue I’m trying on a dress and there’s a side mirror and oh god no. If only I believed in Chinese face reading, because then I could take solace in my reading:

” A high straight bridge with a round nose tip and full wings on either side bodes well for wealth. Nostrils that are not visible when looking straight on suggest that the person is better able to hold onto wealth, whereas open visible nostrils indicate a spender. ”

But I don’t. Pff. Face reading.

Anyway. I don’t know what to say about my conflicting views of my appearance. Sometimes I look like hot shit, sometimes just shit. My ego is like a lasagne made of alternating layers of insecurity and overconfidence. I’m pretty sure the absolute bottom layer is reality, that I’m nice looking enough for my purposes and to get what I want and need, just not enough to like model or hang out with really shallow millionaires. but that’s a really difficult thought to hold in my head all day as I go about my business, so I just swing between wow I look brilliant, can everyone else see how brilliant I look today? Yeah they totally can… and I can never leave the house or people I don’t know will see my face and laugh at me for thinking there was any point in putting on makeup. I’m a pig in lipstick! I must die.

But it’s all the more confusing when it comes to men… I know they don’t fawn over me like they do over my bona fide hottie friends, but then… I don’t know. It does definitely feel like sexy bartender and hot barrista (whatever) are giving me some very clear signals, but I’m just too paranoid and jumpy to decipher them.

Again, I’m only trained in the art of drunken or ecstasy fueled flirtation, or the technique of hey hey we are apparently kissing now, how did that happen? And oh man your eyes are so big and beautiful, don’t you think it would be fun if we got into the bath with a bunch of rice cakes?

I don’t know how to sober daytime flirt. I am just showing up every day and smiling and looking nice. That is all I can do.

I have no other moves.

Anyway.

I’m getting a little bit antsy in the run up to my game being released.

I can’t even gush over how excited I am with my friends on facebook or whatever, because all the menfolk I know just play first person shooters which for you uneducated people out there are basically games where it’s like “oh no the bad guys are attacking, your job is to run really fast and kill loads of guys along a specific route and maybe pick a key up off some bad guy then plant a bomb given to you on a certain predetermined spot.” They suck so bad because all you are doing is just what you are told. And I am rebellious even in my nerdlife.

So I can’t handle that shit. And men seem to love them. There’s no personality in it. It’s just taking orders and executing them in the same exact way as everyone else “you- go there, do this, kill some motherfuckers.” Maybe most guys like this, I don’t know. I know I find that shit super boring.

And whatever it is most women like to play, I don’t have a clue, because not a single one of my female friends would spend more time using a computer than is absolutely necessary.

Where the nerdy bitches at?

Anyway. I am procrastinating like mad here, because I set today as the cutoff point for all cleaning and personal hygiene tasks. Tomorrow night I will have a choice of either socialise with some Italians and get quite drunk and obnoxious, or stay in on my own and steal virtual weapons and food from a virtual world.

I can kill her if I want, or steal her stuff. But then I'd get in trouble, so I probably won't.

I will be either massively hung over on Saturday and working through it, and spending all Sunday marinating in my leisure time and pyjamas, or I will be staying up playing until it gets bright and I realise shit fuck try to sleep now, work to go to…

Either way, gotta get the house clean now.

Like a new daddy getting the house ready to bring home his wife and newborn child, I better clean this shit up because it’s the last chance I get before all order breaks down. Except I’m not putting up a “welcome home” banner for the new family member who can’t read.

But the analogy carries over nicely into areas like I will lose a lot of sleep too, and I will have less time to party and my work life will probably suffer too. But it will also be terribly worth it, won’t it? Won’t it?

Ok. That’s all folks.

5 responses to “Hey barkeep, you know caffeine’s an aphrodisiac? No, it’s not… Oh, well I’m just horny.

  1. so I wrote a reply to your post and then the page refreshed like a MOFO!!!! and it was lost….

    Summary:

    ~My husband wants Skyrim
    ~I want Skyrim
    ~I pretend I don’t want Skyrim because I know it will fuck up my sex life.
    ~I secretly hope that he brings it home because I know that I am almost done my Fable III character.
    ~He is finished with Fallout, Oblivion and Mass Effect and is waiting for the new Mass Effect.

    I think to myself that if we sexually survived all of the previous games without interference then Skyrim shouldn’t do harm but I am secretly scared….

    Hugs, xx
    Love UR posts.
    Val

    • Yo Val, I’m hearing bad things about WordPress lately, seems it has been playing fast and loose with some people’s writing… hate that. I’ve never played Mass Effect but I have been obsessed with Fallout since I played Fallout 1 when I was 15… I think. Fallout 2 was just the bomb. I know the graphics are nothing like its descendants but damn it that was one hell of a game. I was hooked on Oblivion but ultimately it was a much smaller or emptier game I think.. it felt that way anyway. Not a whole lot of interaction to do… I think Skyrim is going to make me very happy even if it doesn’t have any guns in it.

      Don’t worry about your sex life, remember the old adage “the family that plays together, stays together.” Just don’t forget to feed your son and take him for walks (or whatever children require) because these games are addictive. Mine is installing now. Huzzah!

  2. Jezz, you poor soul, Miss MFO. A stomach bug ON RELEASE DAY?! Waiting to last Sunday to possibly be playing the game?! I shamefully put 20 hours into it this past weekend. And the only reason I stopped was because I got a certain late night knock on my door. My friends and family called me Monday to make sure I was alive. I didn’t even want to pick up the phone.

    The game is everything I want in life. I’m going to be late on my post this week just because of it.

    (ugh I cringed when you mentioned Cradle of Filth, everyone is guilty of listening to bad music when they were young right?)

    • I have spent a ridiculous amount of hours playing. I have no idea how many but basically I have used all the hours at my disposal on Skyrim. I’ve been going to sleep at 3 or 4am every night/morning. It’s an awesome game. And i haven’t even begun to scratch the surface of that map. I posted at work or I wouldn’t have written anything… my laptop is now officially my designated skyrim machine, it needs no other functions

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