Grabbing the bull by the balls, and hoping I don’t end up covered in cow-jizz

Where we left this…..

I was drinking some whiskey and waiting for the death sentence on my love affair. Half-preparing wheedles and rebuttals to all the excuses he would surely produce to avoid being with me.

I drank quite a bit of whiskey and hot rebound photog guy came online. Entered a halfhearted flirting loop and didn’t really know how to get out of it. He went to the shop and got whiskey and we drank together online while the butterflies fluttered for another man.

I got quite drunk and whipped out my I’m about to lie to you phrase, which as you may know is “to be perfectly honest,”

Told rebound guy that the whiskey was urging me to be honest. In all honesty, I said, I’m just out of a relationship and still pretty all over the place about it. Just… wanted to put that out there, let it shake its thing… just FYI.

Oh, he says, I didn’t realise..

Yeah, um… the guy you took photos of me kissing that night. The one I told you I was in love with that night.

Oh right, he says. That.

The boy does smoke a lot of spliff, he practically chain smokes joints, so I guess that memory evaded him.

He told me it’s cool, he’s in a similar state himself… He’s easy going, it’s cool.. do you want some space?

Hmm. Well not really, I don’t mean.. I want space. (I don’t want to cut off my access to that amazing oral, especially as I don’t even know where things stand with Monsieur Plan A… and I don’t want to gain weight now that my primary source of excercise has been taken from me)

Just… hmm… I struggled with how to rework I’m attracted to you but in love with another guy and will jump at the chance to be with him again and leave you alone with your pot and all those photos of me…

In the end I said something like:

I may be a bit hot and cold, I just don’t want to be a dick.. you’re too sound to use as just a rebound guy. Sorry I’m just being honest… (Lies… lies… I could totally use you for a rebound guy, it just makes me feel a bit icky that I’m still carrying on a love affair with someone else and he might even potentially contact you to get copies of those photos, and then it could blow up in my face… and nothing compares to him. Nothing, not even fantastic head…)

It’s cool, he said, I dig honesty.

Ok. I feel like I have set up my escape route now, it’s all fine. Wait for my love to come back online. He appears late of course, and I ditch rebound guy in a heartbeat. Night night! I have to wash my hair and get an early night… laters!

Nerves jangle me into the conversation I steeled myself for… but it didn’t go the way I dreaded, I didn’t have to wheedle much, I just told him I thought that he didn’t have to see it as this huge decision, together or not, we could just try one step, and go from there. A visit. A little weekend together.

And he wanted to give it a shot… it won’t change anything, he said, but he wanted to see me anyway…

Booked flights yesterday. Going to Italy for 10 days to see my family and then France for 3 days to see my lover and hopefully will be all rosy and relaxed and have beach hair after 10 days by the sea, and I’ll be able to work my manipulative magic on the guy and give him the impression of how great it would be, just him and me, and make him want to work for it somehow, any way.

I’m looking forward to seeing my dad and his wife and my sisters. The adults are the voice of reason and talking to them always inspires me and gives me resolve… Every good decision I have made, I made standing on their shoulders, and they never bully me with advice unless I’m lost. My dad couldn’t be asked for money to start a new life following some 21 year old who isn’t sure of anything, but he’d certainly pour out options for me.

Why don’t you do a TEFL course? Get a job teaching English? What have you got to lose? You could stay with your aunt, it’s nowhere near where HE lives but it’s France and you could learn French there, rent free… until you’re ready to get a job….

I don’t even know what he would say really, but he’s bound to shed some sense on my confusion.

And I get to spend time with my sisters… in a good mood, optimistic… looking forward to my weekend with my garcon, not moping around after it’s over… Thank fuck I got the flights in that order. Good idea. Not my idea, but a good idea. HIS idea.

And I find myself getting carried away and googling things about moving to France. I don’t even know, I don’t know… it might be a disastrous venture. I’m not saying I will, I’m just enjoying the idea. It’s possible, of course it is, and even if I wound up in Italy mark 2, lost and friendless, isolated, hating the differences and missing the craic, well it’s not like I’d have a fucking mortgage there. I could come back to Ireland having lost only a shitty job and an expensive apartment I’m only renting.

I know I’m falling into the trap of picturing myself dabbing baguette crusts in melted butter while I type blog posts that are infinitely less skeezy, in some attic with annoyingly slopey ceilings, while an elegant French cat hops lightly in the window and gives me a haughty French look, and then a noise will stir me and I’ll throw open the painted shutters and lean out and down below will be my monsieur with a bottle of wine under his arm shouting things in French up at me like “Je suis venu, mon amour! Ouvre moi le port!” And I’ll have to go down to let him in the building because it will be an old building and there will be one of those lifts where you have to pull the metal grating closed and then ricket up two floors and we will kiss passionately in the lift and then stumble into my apartment and make love all over the place while the air cushions us with summery warmth and there will be so many stars in the sky and maybe I’ll have an affair with a painter who looks suspiciously like the French guy inn the Simpsons who Marge nearly cheats on Homer with and he’ll paint me naked.

I know in all reality that won’t actually happen if I move to France. I would hate to live in a slopey ceilinged attic with an old lift, I’m scared of lifts. Also I don’t really feel the desire to have a pet right now. And if I had my lover coming over with wine I wouldn’t want to have any affairs with painters.

Actually hot photog guy is not a photographer he is just an aspiring artist so he does paint. Initially I had a thought that maybe I would get to be painted and then I would have this really cool painting of myself as a young, slim naked woman to keep forever. But I realised that if he painted me he would probably keep it and not just give it to me, and I’m not sure I want men who I am probably going to hurt, in posession of naked photos or portraits of me. And oh I did feel weird after we had sex the last time, and sort of during. I felt at times like I was actively stopping myself from saying my French guy’s name. Like it was an effort to summon the right name to the front of my mind, and it was with a sad pang… and I decided against saying any name at all and just thought of the two of them, to and fro, to and fro… and I eventually faked an orgasm because I just felt sad. And I never, ever, ever fake orgasms because I like to be honest with the men I sleep with and because if you come once, there will always be this “did you come that time? Awww” so you just have to keep faking them all the time, and then when you DO come you can’t even let them know how special and wonderful THAT time was because all far as they know, you’re like a karma chameleon, you come and go, you know?

But I faked it with hot rebound guy and then felt like I’d sort of justified myself a bit, like I’d undone some of the betrayal to my love by putting a lie in between my intimacy with the other person. It’s mental fuckery and I’m sure no man would look at it that way. A fuck is a fuck is a fuck.

And I haven’t done anything wrong to my main man, because we are not in a relationship really we are just in love. He has the freedom to be with anyone he wants, and so do I. I’ve only made myself feel weird by poisoning the purity of the situation, because rebound guy is a common aquaintance…

Anyway.

That’s the lie of the land.

Also I am coming to entirely the end of my patience with work.

I sat there for three hours with a dejected, miserable, awful look on my face and all my colleagues tried to tell me to chin up and get on with it and that just made me angry because oh my gawd am I the only one who gets how shit our job is? Are they just superior people, that they can soldier on? Or am I revealing myself for the egotistical cunt I really am, sitting there sulking because I’m too good for a job that they maybe clearly are not?

Umm… I sat and stared and hated my job for three hours in the afternoon, well for most of the day but the last three hours I didn’t even bother hiding it any more. I made 200 calls which is what is required of us but no one ever manages, and I got 0 success out of those calls. Can’t blame the fuckers on the end of the line for saying no, I wasn’t exactly smiling down the phone. Ah well. Hate job so much, would kind of like to be fired.

Although I have never been fired before.

But anyway.

I made it through a whole 4 days of the week so far and tomorrow is a slightly shorter day because we have team meetings and then go home early because we work extra mon to thurs.

This is shamefully the first full week I will have worked in 2 months.

Bad employee.

Sure amn’t I always?

I’m just too good for all this shit.

I just want to be recognised for the splendid human being I am, and sit in a big office somewhere and occassionaly have someone come in and ask for my opinion and leave again and then have my friends over for lunch and then go home after lunch. And make shitloads of money.

what is that job called? That’s the job I want.

CEO of something.

Or President.

If only CEO had been a course in college I am sure I would have been able to stick it out for what, four years?

I know there’s an awesome job out there for me that could make me rich, I just need to get hooked up with the right contacts.

I have lots of good ideas and while I’m not punctual, I always come up with really interesting excuses about why I am late. In fact I nearly started a website called excuses.com but I think someone else did that already, where I came up with plausible excuses for why people didn’t go to work or school or their family wedddings and sold them and possibly called the boss pretending to be an emergency helicopter medic.

I have lots of great ideas…

I’m just lazy.

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2 responses to “Grabbing the bull by the balls, and hoping I don’t end up covered in cow-jizz

    • Yeah I’m not going to the same city or I’d definitely pay hot barman a visit/stalk… My family will be in tuscany so il get some sun and sea this time, where I lived was kinda crappy and landlocked. Viva la baguette indeed!

      Sent from my HTC

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