The Hunt for Red Cock-something

Hmmm where was I?

Oh yes… FREAKING OUT about some guy.

No, I won’t be continuing in that vein. Sorry about the last post… It’s just my ego is my achilles heel… And it doesn’t even have a small surface area like the heel… my ego is like a top-heavy iceberg, 90% visible. What lies beneath? Self-doubt maybe. I’m not sure. This analogy is boring me.

Let’s move on.

Ok, so although you might never want to read another line about that guy (I called him Ross last week) and his stupid asshole face, he is actually, maybe, probably going to be reappearing here…

A week after his ego-massage hit and run, just when I was back to feeling like a strong independent woman on a lady razor or tampon ad, seizing the motherfucking day and throttling it with my bare hands, when out of the fucking blue, my phone emits an uncharacteristic sound… you’ve got mail, biatch.

Probably my mother, I thought. It’s always my mother. “Hi chicken, just having a walk with the dog. How are you?” ARRRGH Stop calling me chicken. I am a grown-ass woman. And stop fucking texting me all the time for no reason. I keep thinking you are going to be some hot guy I must have forgotten giving my number to or even a friend asking me to join a magical adventure that involves dressing up nice and wearing makeup.

But it wasn’t my mother. It was Ross, the asshole cuntfaced bastard wanker I had just convinced myself I never liked anyway and he was some scrub who can’t get no love from me. (In a side note, I just discovered that in my favorite 90s anthem, No Scrubs, they don’t sing “A scrub is a guy can’t get no love, he’s also known as a bus stop,” which was like my favorite line in a song ever, they are in fact singing “also known as a buster” which was just like finding out there is no santa, or easy way to lose weight, or cure for herpes. (even if you haven’t got herpes, the day you find out it’s for life and not just for Christmas is a harrowing one. You play back all the frivolous snogs of your youth and realise just how easily you could have become infected and how bloody likely it is for one of the next hundred unworthy slimeballs to rummage tongues in your mouth to be carrying the virus) So that sucks. I’m disillusioned, though of course I still love “No Scrubs”.)

So he texted me asking me out that night, he had tickets to see some band… I think I might have actually squealed when I read that yes, maybe I had played it a little too cool… that it wasn’t a case of he didn’t like me, more like… he did like me, but he made a bit of a tit of himself by spilling his guts that night and coming on too strong… and then probably, when I wrote to him the next day with no mention of our weekend love-in plans, he must have thought it meant I wasn’t interested. Anyway I don’t want to wreck your heads with my reverse engineering the whole situation through new, more confident eyes. Suffice it to say, knowing he does actually like me, makes it possible for me to say I do actually like him too. He may have been a bit too keen, but fuck it… somebody has to be more interested, and I’d rather it wasn’t me.

I told him I was busy that night (the truth, actually…) but we could do something some other time.

So there, whether or not this specimen stands up to sober scrutiny, I have no idea. He may turn out to be immature and clingy. But the thing is, I haven’t met someone who I could really stand at all… in so long. You know this… I’ve been writing this thing for over a year now, since January 2011, and not once have I actually come across a man I’d like to go out on a date with.

BUT that’s not what I wanted to talk about here, I swear.

In my last post I talked about the sex with Ross… wherein we ended up fucking with a flavoured condom (strawberry.)

I have since been informed that flavoured condoms are only supposed to be for oral sex. I would never have actually bought the damn things… they came in my STD clinic party pack. So that actually makes sense as to why it got a bit sore and uncomfortable after a while. Anyway. The point is, it was a RED condom.

After he left and I was lying there all hung over and stinky, I wondered where the condom had ended up. It was flung away somewhere without being filled, and maybe it fell down the side of the bed and maybe it was tangled up in the sheets. Or maybe Fabio’s odd habit of taking his condoms with him when he left… wasn’t that odd after all. Maybe Ross took the condom or put it in his jeans pocket or something.

I don’t know, I mean I thought it was fucking weird when Fabio did it, I would be like, dude, I live alone, you can throw it in the normal bin, no one will see it! And he’d just be all, “it’s ok, I can throw it in a bin on the street.” And I didn’t want to insist because maybe then he’d think I was going to get out the turkey baster as soon as he left and try to make a little copy of his admittedly fine DNA. I tell ya, with his looks and my personality and intelligence and everything else, we could have made some kick ass babies. But obviously if I had this guy’s babies the chances are, he would get involved in their upbringing and there’s the risk of my own offspring winding up Italian with boring personalities.

So no.

But I thought, maybe this is normal.. taking the condom home with you… maybe it’s like, the way women don’t put their period crap in with the normal bin because you don’t want some guy coming across your icky evidence of normal bodily functions. So I guessed Ross might have taken the thing with him. It certainly wasn’t under the bed, or behind the bed. And then I forgot all about it.

And a few days passed.

I spent St Patrick’s day in a sober den of Seinfeld and solitude. And masturbation. Lonely, sad, low self esteem masturbation. The only kind I would really approve of calling “self abuse.” Sometime in the evening I ran out of Seinfeld to watch decided it was too pathetic, so I called Steve my sober friend and we went for dinner with another friend of his and then to a trad music session. It was very civillised and enjoyable. I had NOTHING to drink. Go me!

I stayed in my mother’s house that night because it was closer to get back there and I didn’t really relish traipsing through Dublin city alone with so many drunk people roaming the streets. Steve and I walked home, it was like a forty minute walk and it was dark and scary and we talked about stupid sexual things as usual. We joked that he would have to rape me so that no other rapists could get to me, because you can’t get raped twice, everyone knows that… And I’d rather be raped by someone I know. You might think this is my way of flirting, and to be honest… I have no idea if that is right or not. I might have been flirting. It wouldn’t be entirely out of character… I remember talking about having semi-decomposed corpses in my apartment, that night with the army guys. I sometimes wonder with Steve if he takes all my sexual talk personally. I wonder how he sees it… I don’t mean to flirt but I feel like I’m one of those stupid sinks with two taps- the hot is too hot and the cold is too cold.Why two taps, why? I want to wash my hands with hot water but not scalding so I wash for two seconds and then have to blast with the cold. Disappoints me every time.

I might have run a bit too hot but it’s hard to tell because it’s an unspoken thing between male-female friends. How much are we in denial and how much are we really, honestly, deeply friends.

Anyway, having drunk nothing all day, I woke up without a whiff of a hangover, also, alone!

And right there in my mother’s house, on mother’s day. Total brownie points there.

I didn’t have a card or gift, but my stepdad had been sent this “make your own robot” kit by mistake from Amazon, and so I made my mother a robot out of cardboard. It took less than 2 minutes to assemble. She was like, oh a cardboard robot, how… sweet? (Sarcastically)

So I wrote in biro on the head of the robot, “To a very efficient mother. Terrabytes of love from your progeny, Abby”

My mother’s eyes welled up when she read it. That is so… sweet. TERRABYTES OF LOVE!! AWWW and she hugged me…

My stepdad looked at me cynically, as if to say “I know you’re really a total jerk and I don’t know how you get away with this bullshit. I wont say anything because your mother is obviously happy but… I’m not buying it.”

I found it a little difficult to believe I had gotten away with assembling a shitty cardboard robot for my mother and writing some smarmy bullshit on the head in blue biro, but what can I say… my mum is a hopeless romantic, and I’m a chancer…

Anyway we had a lovely meal, I didn’t wash any dishes after or anything although I did consider doing something to help as a special mother’s day treat.. I enjoyed the satisfaction of having thought of something that would really make my mother’s day like that, but then I got distracted by these shoes I had left behind, that I wanted to bring with my to my new place. In the end my mum washed the dishes and then drove me up to Dublin. She came into my apartment for about half an hour. She sat down on my couch and looked around and noticed things.

“Ooh I like that scarf, is that silk?”

“That’s a lovely little tin, is that for your sugar?”

“Oh I see you found your red slippers!”

Basically, she just looked around the room while I made some tea. It’s a small room.

The couch is red.

The armchair is red.

The armchair is directly accross from the couch.

My mother was sitting on the couch.

I don’t know if you get where this is going, but my mother eventually went home, she had to drive in rush hour traffic.

Happy mother’s day indeed!

And as soon as she left my house, I went over to my armchair to pick up my red slippers which were sitting there.

And beside the red slippers, on the red armchair, directly accross from the red couch…

WAS THE MISSING, RED, STRAWBERRY FLAVOURED CONDOM.

Now I don’t know… if my mum saw it or not. I know she saw the slippers… she’s not the kind of person to say something if she did see the used condom lying there. She’s too passive aggressive to actually start something like that.

Suffice it to say I spent the rest of mother’s day with a face that matched my furniture and slippers and condom.

One of my friends, when I told him about the condom thing, was like “ah at least she knows you’re having safe sex.”

Which is like, yeah… but I actually didn’t have safe sex that time, and also… I had been moved into my place for TWO DAYS before having that sex. She knows I only went out that thursday night. She knows that. So if my mum did see the condom, she’s gonna think… she’s gonna KNOW that I found someone new to fuck just two days after landing in Dublin. There’s no way that looks good.

Anyway. That’s all I have to share. I have been out and got drunk since, but it was just fun and I didn’t do anything stupid. OH except that we were in this nightclub and some guys were talking to me and one of them said he was Italian so he was talking to me in Italian. I was pretty pissed so I didn’t think to try and get away from the annoying Italians… I was just proud of how well I speak Italian. I was showing off. but the second or third phrase out of the guy’s mouth was “have you ever had a threesome.”

SO I being drunk, and the proximity to my actual recent foray into group sex…

I blurted out

“HOW DID YOU KNOW?” and looked at this guy, mystified. I presumed, he must have known. Why else would he ask that?

He was of course, like “I didn’t know.. you just told me.”

I’m like, what?

He’s like, yeah you just told me by saying “how did you know.” I didn’t know.

I’m confused. I’m like, oh. He high fived me and I think asked me if I liked it or if I would be interested… I just shook my head and said “oh well I don’t remember anything so I couldn’t tell if I enjoyed it or not. Sorry, I just don’t know if it was any good…”

I don’t remember how that conversation ended but I certainly didn’t have group or even two player sex with anybody. Oh how sad it is that that makes me so very proud. One night out, heavy drinking, jagerbombs and vodka… and I didnt sleep with anybody.

I didnt’ kiss anyone either. One 20 year old boy cornered me in the smoking area (I have now finished the pack of tobacco so that’s the end of the smoking. Will not buy another pack again, that was so fucking stupid) and told me “you complete me!” several times.

Instead of being a jerk I went the other way and tried to give him serious chatting up women advice. That is probably the purpose of using such an awful chat up line. I felt sorry for him. He told me I was amazing… I was like, yeah I know… but seriously, you’re too young for me…

He said I looked 17.

That pissed me off so I told him I was 25 which is not true, I am 24.

Anyway I got bored there and went dancing, which was terrible because I am the worst dancer… you know this. I’m not supposed to dance. I was very drunk…. I bumped into the young guy but I think when I danced in front of him he was put off so he pretended not to recognise me on the dance floor. Anyway, still going to count going home alone as a success.

And that’s all my news. I am currently looking.. scouring the web for a job. I don’t even care any more, I just need some fucking money. I’m so fucking broke… I miscalculated how much money I have in my bank account. Rookie mistake. Anyway I’m poor… I need monies. I need a fucking job.

Can’t even afford to go out…

I’ve just been obsessively cooking and cleaning my apartment.

Yesterday I made pizza, pesto and pasta all from scratch. They all turned out beautifully but I’m worried if I don’t get a job soon I will just get fat. The day before I made banana bread and a huge pot of soup. The soup is amazing. But I made far too much.

Anyway I’m gonna cut this short (ish) now because I have actually nothing left to report.

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2 responses to “The Hunt for Red Cock-something

  1. The Hunt For Red Cock-Sober…lol…baaaad Joke sorry.

    Here are some alternate possibilities of other things that your Mom could have mistaken the used red condom for:

    1. a wrapper from a lollypop.
    2. a deflated balloon (that’s kinda what it is sorta)
    3. the peel off a weiner…you know what I mean right?
    4. a small parachute suitable for mice.
    5. a very well chewed piece of gum….(okay that’s pushing it but I am out of options)

    Hope that clears your mind! lol

    xox
    Val

  2. Hey that’s not a bad joke! I couldn’t actually think of anything good to put at the end, hence the “something.” your joke is better.
    Thanks for trying to make me feel less embarassed but it wasn’t crumpled up it was stretched out, long… it looked like a condom. Or a transparent red balloon of the snake variety. I don’t think she’ll ever bring it up though so I’ll never get to pretend it was from a watersnake balloon fight with my female friend. (best excuse i could think of) :)

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