Takes me a good thirty seconds to realise ‘hottie’ was me.
“Oh sorry, hello”
“So, do you come here often?”
Didn’t start off well really did it. I mean that’s the scraping of the barrel.
“Erm no I don’t actually, this is my first time here”
“I can tell, you’re very unsure of yourself in here aren’t you? I’ve watched you since you walked in”
Great. Fucking great. Why do I always end up with the weirdo?
“Oh, do you often watch girls?”
Valid question. Good to know from the off.
“Oh no. You’re just an acception”
I laughed. Not in a nervous girlie way but in a “for fuck sake get me away from this guy” way.
“So what do you do for a living?”
“I’m an English teacher”
“Ooooo going to tell me off if I’m a bad boy? Give me a detention? Just me and you?”
Erm. I’m still not sure how to react to that. Even at the time I gave him a ‘awww bless you’ve just blown it’ frown and walked off. But still, no verbal reaction. I don’t know whether that’s because I’m shocked, disgusted or numb.
I’m really tired of it all. I’m not a temperature. I’m not a dirty stripper teacher. I don’t like stalkers. And I don’t like cheesy chat up lines. Fuck off.
I’d like a normal guy or in other words…I’m going to be single for a very long time.
Friend: “If I was in your situation what would you tell me to do?”
Me: “I’d tell you to walk away”
Friend: “Well then…”
It’s so damn easy to dish out the advice like I’m in some kind of mass produced fast food restaurant. “Order 201 here is your meal of ‘he’s obviously moved on’ with a side helping of ‘have enough respect for yourself to walk away, it’s his loss’. Enjoy your day, if you need anymore fish the sea is over to your right”. Advice is better given than received. It always tastes sour, off, especially when you know they’re right. EEEEEUUUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHH *SPITS OUT THE “YOU CAN DO SO MUCH BETTER” SPEECH*
I won’t take yours.
I’m more of a giver than a receiver.
You dirty minded lot. There’s a time and place for that shit guys, grow up.
Are we afraid of being without them?
Are we afraid of being alone?
That’s the question.
On a lighter note I was just writing a text message that included ‘I’ll do’ in it and just because I forgot to add one little space between those two words, my phone spelt ‘dildo’. Dirty fucker. It’s too late for that shit.
I create my own luck.
I create my own problems too.
If only I was a man and couldn’t multitask. I think I’d love my life a bit more. I’d also never have to push anything out of my unmentionables and never admit that I’m wrong. Of course I’m being stereotypical here, not with regards to the labour thing though..you really can’t do that. Just incase you didn’t know.
That’s the problem with wearing a giant baby grow, you have to time toilet breaks perfectly. You almost need to know you’ll need the toilet before your bladder does. Three minutes ago I was doing the toilet dance across my landing. For those of you that aren’t familiar with this, this is a dance that consists of: crouching, the crossing of legs, hopping, occasional jumping and galloping. Bit of ‘ooooooo’ing and ‘bloody hell’ing too but that’s optional.
I thought it was too late.
I thought it was game over.
Turns out I made it.
My first thought was ”I must buy a onesie with a zip for easier access”. It should’ve been “stop wearing giant baby clothes, act your age and wear normal pjs you idiot”. Naa screw that, eBay do rabbit onesies! With zips! Get in!
So here is the last, promised, piece that I wrote for the novel:
I can remember everything. Is that normal? Is that obsessive? I can remember it all. The first kiss. It was slow, lingering and meaningful. The whole world stopped as I closed my eyes and it hurts too much to admit that I’ll never feel that intoxicated by someone ever again. Never. I’m roaming around looking for an answer, a way out, a way of making me stop wanting him, us. But what happens if I do find the answer? Am I going to grab it with both hands? Or am I going to bury it and pretend I never saw it? Am I trying to convince myself that I’m moving forward whilst I’m looking over my shoulder? Am I? Am I trying to prove to myself that I don’t need him when every part of me wants to run to him because he feels like home?
He makes me feel like a woman and a little girl all at once. The way he looked at me, like I was someone you know? Like I meant something. Can that type of love ever be over? The type of love that makes you weak enough to surrender and strong enough to fight? Can it just be over? Maybe. Or maybe it’s unfinished business. I know I’ll love him for the rest of my life and I’ll never let it go. I’ll never be over him.
So here it is. My last lickle bit of writing. The publisher may well scrap it or alter it but what comes from the heart can never be wrong.
“Life will throw you challenges and you must rise to them”.
My Mum is a wonderful human being and she is the heart and soul of our family without a shadow of a doubt. She is the glue that keeps us all together…and the woman who advises me that putting a pink t-shirt (accidentally) in with a white wash is not the grandest of ideas unless “your life’s goal is to roam the world looking like a human dose of candy floss”. Her words exactly. Such a treat.
So she said this last night:
“Life will throw you challenges and you must rise to them”.
And yes she’s right, not only because she is my mum (and genetically programmed to be so) but because she has a secure grasp of what it means to live. Life wont always deal you the hand you want so what are you going to do? Cry into your pillow or wallow into a tub or two of Ben and Jerry’s? No. You take life by the short and curlies and you show it what you are made of.
Challenges aren’t there to put you down, they aren’t there to make you feel low. Challenges are there to make us better people, to make us strive and want for a better life. We all get the same chance in life. You can sit back if you want to but I don’t plan on watching life pass me by. I want to be running along with it knowing that I have risen to every challenge that has fallen in my path. I may lose a few fights here and there but I don’t plan on losing the war.