Something about playing hard to get? And hair removal. And some more insecurity and stuff.

The thing about playing hard to get, is that it gets easier and more enjoyable with every passing day.
Stop- sorry. I do this. I get ahead of myself. I am by no means qualified to write a paragraph about playing hard to get because this is honestly seriously the first time I have even attempted it. My previous idea of playing hard to get was avoiding saying “I love you” during sex and then pretending to be offended if the guy in my bed asks for a sandwich, when hello? feeding men to make them like me is my favorite. So this right here, this not contacting him for like four days is a new record for me, in fact no, it’s like… this is the moment we start the records.

This is like when the weather people say “THE WETTEST SEPTEMBER SINCE RECORDS BEGAN” and you’re like holy shit no way I can’t believe I am alive to see this, I’m gonna need more than three tins of chickpeas to tide me over although hooray, food shortage = look amazing in jeans, but then you realise records only began like a hundred years ago or something so in the grand scheme of things, you aint witnessing SHIT. Our ancestors lived through a fucking ice age, put that into perspective bitches (I think. My history knowledge is akin to my science, scrappy, wikipedia-based, and often inspired by movies and dreams.) Except that’s irrelevant, so let us swiftly move on….

Now, after initial restlessness in my pants, and some internal wheedling when I tried to pretend I wanted to message him just to “ask him a question I have about engineering” (I did have a relevant question about engineering but I also have the internet, and knowing someone who knows shit is barely even useful any more) we have arrived at Thursday- the day I previously allowed myself to contact him for some wonderful booty call.

And I spent last night- 3 hours, mind, de-hairing my legs with what can be desribed to menfolks as a mechanical tweezers and to women as an epilator.
That’s right. You know the concentrated yanking sensation of pulling out one hair at a time with a tweezers? No? I don’t know what men do to pass the time really, maybe you have never pulled out a follice in your life. Bastards. In that case, you rugged manbeast creatures out there reading my narcissistic ramblings, it is kinda like pulling out a splinter from when you were cutting large swathes of lumber, topless. Except splinters are a little bit more satisfying to pull out.
Anyway, pulling out one hair means you can uproot a pretty damn short hair like the little bastards I have going on right now, but it takes too fracking long to do all your legs that way, especially because I have long legs and also before you think I’m being a vain bitch, there are a shitload of hairs on them. So the solution here is to make a whole bunch of pinchy tweezer things that rotate and you run it over your body like a little mechanical piranha machine going “om nom nom nom nom” and it’s really sore but you can get used to it, you just need to get in the zone, grit your teeth, knock back some whiskey if you have any, and ride that mother til you hit the crest of the pain wave and hit the plateau of feeling where you don’t even know if you are in a lot of discomfort or excrutiating pain or if you are even attached to your body any more.
It took 3 hours and I was pretty fucking lucid for most of it.
I quaffed some pain killers first, being all out of whiskey (to be rectified this evening. Man I have no alcohol in the house at all right now, it doesn’t feel right.) but I didn’t notice any improvement.
My legs are considerably better than they were yesterday, although they are still crying rape and I’ve put as much nappy rash cream on them as will sit on the skin without coming off on the hand that is applying it, but still they punish me with redness and a sensitivity to cold and my tights.
Anyway tonight I will have to tackle the remaining stragglers but if I get some booze on the way home it will be much better, also there are not a whole lot of hairs left especially compared to yesterday.

And I wonder what I will say to Fabio when I finally cash in my 4 day Desperates Anonymous chip?
I don’t know, but I feel kind of like I should play it like Susan Sarandon in Alfie. I’m not going to buy him expensive gifts or end up going for someone even younger than him though so I need to rewatch that movie to remember what else she did. She kicked ass though. I also don’t know if I should lay down some “oh by the way this is just a sex thing, I don’t want you to kiss me or hold my hand anywhere outside your bedroom or my apartment, and I don’t mean avoid eye contact but if your eyes catch mine, make it brief and to the point. There will be no gazing at me.” and also he knows a lot of the people I know, including his flatmate who knows my husband-separation story, so I don’t know if I should just drop the H-bomb straight away so he doesn’t hear I’m married from his flatmate and think wtf?
I don’t know if I’m supposed to say anything or not. I’ve had fuck buddies before but it has always been a complete farce, like I have been really into them but too afraid of them not liking me enough for proper relationship stuff so I have just gone along with the sex only thing until it has blown up in my insecure face and left them thinking I was a total freak. I have never worn the pants, I’ve always just waited for the dick I’ve been hanging around with to define the terms of our interaction.

Anyway I am on the verge of sending him some message to initiate round two and see what fun and frolics may be instore: but I am sort of dreading it too. Because the moment I hit send on whatever over-wrought message, you know, 2 hours re-writing a sentence to hit just the right level of nonchalant, then it is OUT THERE and I have just thrown away all the cards I was holding. Right now I am hard to get, or as hard to get as you can play after fucking the guy the first night you met. The moment I send that message, whatever it may be in the end, I will be right back at the holy crap it has been six minutes and he hasn’t replied, maybe he hasn’t seen it yet? OR Maybe he is laughing at me and he will never reply and I won’t know what the fuck is going on and he doesn’t like me because of my low quality boobage and all the weird and irrelevant stuff I said.

So I like the mental peace I have right now. I don’t want to throw that away, but then I don’t want to be too aloof and miss out on sex. And also, the poor dude has low enough self esteem, he’s probably weeping into a tub of Ben and Jerrys right now (actually they don’t sell that here I don’t thnk) whimpering “oh god I am SUCH A FAT PIG now wonder she doesn’t like meeeee”

This is possible.

I should put him out of his misery.

But my precious upper hand!

What to do?

What to write?

AND if I do wrangle a meet up out of him, what the fuck do I wear?

Stupidly weak, I can’t stay away from shops lately… I’m just so surprised I can fit so much stuff that would have looked so shit before.

I tried on a pair of super slutty hot pants. I didn’t buy them, but I fell in love with myself all over again. They are the kind of shorts a slutty girl might wear to hand out free samples of Red Bull on a main shopping street or something. You know. Yeah.

Anyway I made myself not buy the shorts because they were basically underwear, but I got a new bra (it’s nice, leave me alone… all my other bras sag on me now because along with dropping jeans sizes comes the unwanted side effect: no more fatty cushioning under mah breasts either. So I need new bras. Hence, justified. Booya. See how I do that? And also, and I haven’t got a justification for this purchase yet, but I’m working on it- I got a little see through cropped lace jacket. It serves no purpose except I could wear it with my new bra underneath and look terrifically slutty.

Then I went into the tights and socks shop. I can’t resist tights, I have probably got over 100 pairs of tights. I am a disgrace.

Anyway I’m paying for my exorbitantly overpriced tights and considering buying a pair of lace topped stockings, when the sales girl is like “and can I interest you in some Christmas present ideas?”
And I’m lost in a daze of imagining myself opening the door to Fabio in a corset, suspenders, stockings and for some reason a trenchcoat with a whole bunch of condoms attached to the lining, and she jerks me out of it with this unexpected selling technique and I’m like “Whu whu what?”
And she’s all “Christmas presents? Can I interest you in…”
And I’m like… “uhhh no I just buy presents for my little sisters so…no thanks”
Damn why do I do the same shit customers always do, tell the employees unneccessary shit like that. They don’t care. They are paid to tolerate my presence and try upsell (she’s a better employee than me, that’s for sure), not look at the pictures of my sisters in my wallet which I had to get rid of anyway because I didn’t want hot barman to think I might be old and have children. Who knows how old I look, I did smoke for like 7 or 8 years.
She’s all “oh well we have kids socks too. Instead of toys, it’s a really nice idea.”
You what?  Why the fuck would I get my sisters socks for Christmas? I love my sisters.
They are kids. Is this bitch calling me poor? Does she think my sisters are orphans whose little scruffy faces would light up at the sight of a wooden spinning top, or a piece of licorice?
I feel sorry for all these children who are getting socks for christmas instead of toys because it is “a nice idea”. Yeah that’s a great idea, toys don’t keep your feet warm while you dance for coins anyway.
So I know it’s just some pushy saleswoman thing like “do you want to supersize your meal” or whatever and I am not supposed to take it as a personal judgement, but I still sort of hate the woman for saying it. Also I feel challenged by her superior work ethic, because I can barely restrain myself from making fart noises with my mouth when customers speak to me, let alone actually encourage them to buy more things. When a customer holds out money to pay for something I just rejoice they are willing to work through my barrier of hostility and I don’t push my luck, also I want them to leave already.
So she keeps going on about this, being like “oh are you sure you don’t want to look at some of our socks? We also have slippers too?”
So that annoys me. You know I don’t like being asked if I’m sure about something, unless it’s something I might really regret.
If I misjudge my desire for a cup of tea or some socks, I will not be weeping in remorse. If only skeevy dudes who get me drunk would ask me if “I’m sure” before I sleep with them, that would be great. I’ve never said “sure I’ll suck your dick” only to be asked “are you sure?”
Anyway I think I have been over this at length before in some previous post. So many posts about so many rambling topics.. hard to keep track.
So I start being kind of a dick to this woman, in my own passive aggressive way.
I’m like “actually, I did want to look at some stockings”
and she’s all, “oh well here we have blah blah blah, stockings, hold ups, whatevs”
and I take one she’s holding out, and I’m like, “hmmm, I don’t know.. You see I’ve bought these in the past and they always fall down, but if I get the smaller size, they are too short on my long long legs”
And she looks at my legs and I can tell she’s totally jealous because her legs suck.
She’s all, what about these? These are the biggest size.. they should go all the way up”
And I’m like, “No, they’ll just fall down.. It’s SUCH a pain to find stockings that are long enough for my legs but not too big for my thighs. Thanks anyway”
And I smirk and leave.
I love pulling that shit on petite women. I like to think it hurts their feelings as much as it hurts mine when pixie footed women see a shoe that is two sizes too small for me on display and go “uh are these MENS shoes? They are so big?”
Fuck you, tiny women… You can choose between ALL THE MEN and you get to look feminine while I panic that I may actually be half manbearpig, half bear, half pig and half woman and sob about how even if I met Johnny Depp in the flesh and I managed to challenge Vanessa Paradis to a bitchslap fight for his love and beat her too, and she looks like she’d fight dirty too, I would be too tall for him and it wouldn’t be hot for me at all. Anyway I’m over Johnny Depp. I really am. He lost all street cred with me when he did a SECOND pirates of the caribbean film. Ok, one movie doing a hilarious drunk character for sober people to laugh at, I forgive you… but two? It’s a family movie. Any drunk in a family movie is an object of ridicule. I disapprove of that negative portrayal of drunks.
Anyway, petite women: IT IS ON. It is so on.
You can’t have everything. I get to reach for the high up railings on the bus and oh boy does that make me smirk to myself.
Smirking is actually somethign I have to stop doing so much because seriously I only have wrinkles on one side of my mouth. Like it’s quite a fucking pronounced difference. I should never have bought a 2 sided mirror. I don’t know why they invented them anyway. Assholes.
Oh I’m just procrastinating again.
I am going to write some message to Fabio….
fuck shit balls.
Groaaan I don’t wanna…
I just want him to contact me so I can play defence, but he already did, and I let him make a fool out of himself by replying last (mwahahaha) and now I presume the ball really is in my court, if Italians are anything like Irish people, which no, no they are not.
And I guess if the ball is in my court it is tennis, so there is no such thing as offence or defence, or maybe there is, I don’t understand tennis. Or any sports. I know love means zero, and that about killed my interest in the beautiful game. Oh no that’s football. Whatever.
Ok I’m going already.
Oh btw- here is something really freaky and hypnotising and disgusting for you to look at if you want.
Warning: NSFW.
Viewer discretion guys… you can’t UNsee this. It may give you bad dreams. Just sayin.
I sent the stupid message.
I am not happy with myself… all my power is gone.
Damn it.
No reply yet.
I wish I had bigger boobs.
Fucckkk reply now you bastard, reply now so I can use you for sex like a badass maneater before the neediness of being ignored eats up all my aggression and I am left feeling like you’re better than me.
Ok it’s only been half an hour, I’m being ridiculous.
It has been like 2 hours now.
Urgh should have just kept going with the hard to get thing. I will learn from this.

10 responses to “Something about playing hard to get? And hair removal. And some more insecurity and stuff.

  1. hahaha! let the games begin!
    He will call/text. Itals are sensation junkies. food, sex, shopping for shoes, and they love their stupid phones and making you sweat…that is what they do. I love to make them think I won’t sleep with them then change my mind at the last minute. I am such an asshole. mwa-hahaha!!!

    • I know I know… I’ll wake up tomorrow to a message of some sort. But damn it I don’t like waiting! I’m sure he just hasn’t checked his facebook yet… But I have been comfort eating this evening after all my feeling great and skinny and triumphant, I ate a whole bunch of ricotta based sweets I made. I wish I had your strength but I am not able to even pretend for a minute that I am not going to sleep with someone! What do ya think though with your experience of southern boys… do I need to bring up the “by the way, this is just sex” thing? That is, if he writes back… of course he’ll write back. URGH the insecurity of it all!

  2. Aaah, the epilator. That tortuous tool reserved for the most private areas of my lady garden. Areas restricted from the general public (or pubic). Like that garden in Nottinghill, where only houses facing onto the patch are allowed to use it … except, like, for people (and the odd gardner).

    In the immortal words of Kamahl, why are epilators so unkind? It’s like keeping a piranha (or Courtney Love) for a pet.

    • Meanwhile, good luck with Fabio. Doesn’t matter what you write. He wants sex, you want sex, it’s pretty full proof, yo. Hop on the good foot and do the bad thang, whaaaaat (to be said like Gus in Psych).

      • I woke up this morning to: “Sorry I didn’t reply to you sooner, I had to go back home because my granny died. I will be back in town tomorrow night”. Dude…. what’s the etiquette here? Do Hallmark have a “sorry to hear about your loss” card that when you open it there’s a pop up “LETS BONE!” Anyway I am put at ease… can stop blaming my breasts for repelling men. Deep breaths. (ps. damn Hiatus, I want to get my Psych on)(you know that’s right)

        • Crumbs. Granny kicked the bucket and he still replied. Way to go Fabio. I’m beginning to like this kid. Mmmm… think some mode of sympathy is called for. Maybe ‘sorry to hear your Gran’s gone to the great retirement home in the sky’ but like, respectful and shit.

          Meanwhile, Psych is back baby! New season all ready for ye downloadin’ pleasure (up to Ep 6). Whoop! Whoop! Shaun’s hilare but still fat (since Season 3, did ya notice?). Whaaaaat.

          • Ah wuc, of course I have seen up to ep 6… I mean the 2 week hiatus now that means waiting for next week for next ep, I think.. I hate when shows do that, they suck you in and then give their staff holidays around December. (This wouldn’t happen if you had gone along with the locking the Psych team in the basement idea. Jus sayin’) and yeah, big up to Fabio… I only hope he doesn’t require comforting or any follow up condolences…

  3. Crack up. Yeah the mini hiatus confuses me, like an old man when he discovers he’s wearing two pairs of giant, white underwear (and no pants). Huh, what? In Aus, the season runs from start to finish, none of this sabbatical shite. True, our shows generally suck. But in a continuous fashion, yo.

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