Men: The Greek, The Brazilian, The London-Scot and The Albanian…

What is it about the sun? For the past couple of weeks we’ve been heatwaving in London. It’s been fan-fucking-tastic. I’ve got a nice tan, I’ve been in dresses non-stop…I love, love my city when it’s like this. Everyone’s happy, smiling, drinking and FIT. I’m telling you, all the hotties come out when the sun shines. It’s been aaaaages since I updated my blog and this is a long arse post – but then I have been a very busy girl ūüėČ So…lowdown:

Following my last post, I met with The Greek on that Friday night. I was pretty adamant I wouldn’t fancy him. Way too cocky for my liking, not tall enough, too young (25) list goes on. About 10 minutes after we met, I realised I fancied him. Balls. We had a really good laugh. His banter was good, though not as good as mine, and he was very cheeky and flirty. We ended up out until about 3am drinking and dancing, before chilling out on the steps of St Paul’s Cathedral. It was fairly obvious there was an attraction there (what with me having unleashed my inner sex goddess over the past few weeks) but I didn’t go back to his. Instead we chatted about all sorts of things. His past, my past, his fucked up childhood (abuse etc) and my less fucked up childhood. But it wasn’t like, really intimate – there was no feeling of ‘I really like you in a romantic way’ more of a ‘I want to fuck you’ sort of way. He asked if I wanted to meet up the next day and I said maybe, depending on what happened with meeting up with a mate. So, I behaved. Took his hoodie (it had got a bit chilly) and went home. The next day however……yeah. Not so much. Went to his to ‘watch a film’ – we all know what that means. He’d talked a bloody good talk about his mad skills in the bedroom so he had a lot to live up to. I’d give him an 8/10. Easily the best foreplay I think I’ve had in a very, very long time. But, there was no orgasm for me. He found that quite fascinating, and I told him it wasn’t that easy for me. Think he feels it’s a bit of a challenge now. So, yeah that was interesting. I stayed the night and then left about midday to rush home, shower and go to meet….

The Brazilian. Yup. We’d arranged to meet to go to London Zoo. I had an hour to go from East to South London, shower, eat, and then jump on the tube up to Camden to meet him. It was roasting. I think that was the first day of the heatwave and I remember standing outside the tube station, waiting for this hunk of a man to appear. And appear he did. And we set off to go look at animals. And I was massively disappointed because…there was just no spark. Goddamit! The man is beautiful. I made sure I touched those abs at every opportunity when I laughed, trust me, they were like bloody rocks. His teeth were pearly white. It was one of those situations where I could see women looking at him and his biceps but for me, there was nothing going on. I don’t know if it was a language barrier thing, or just him. We had a nice day anyway, wandering around in the heat, taking the piss out of the monkeys and then went for a drink. Funny enough, he just messaged me on Facebook to go for a drink in the sun next week. I said yes, because he’s a really nice guy, even if there’s no spark there. So, as I left him to go home, my mobile beeped and it was….

Mr Poker-Face (this is the guy I met when The Brazilian was supposed to come out but didn’t). We’d been texting regularly since we met, which was unexpected and nice, because I really didn’t expect to hear from him. It did catch me off guard though. He kept asking questions about me – I know this sounds weird, but it’s true. They were really silly questions like, which biscuits were best, bourbon or custard cream. Totally silly, but the way he asked seemed very…probing. I liked it.

I have to say, it was starting to get to a point where I was having to double check what I was texting to who, to make sure I didn’t say the wrong thing to the wrong guy. Really?! This is me! When do I ever have a string of men in my line of sight? Thank god for inclusive text, calls and data otherwise my bill would be horrific.

Anyway, the following week, amidst all this action, The Greek asked if I wanted to go over again, but of course, Aunt Flo decided she wanted to pay an early visit. I was most unhappy about that. But there was always the weekend Um. No. I happened to see him comment on a Facebook event for his birthday house party, but he kept telling me he wasn’t doing anything at all which pissed me off. I’d never expressed an interest in being anything more than casual with this guy, but you still need to have an element of honesty I think. Don’t out and out lie about it, just say, I’m having a birthday party, so I won’t be around. It’s not like I know his friends or even him all that well for that matter. In any case it didn’t matter, because I had plans to go to a BBQ with my French friends. The day of the BBQ it was insanely hot, and so….

The Albanian from across the block texted to see if I wanted to sunbathe up on the roof. I had a couple of hours to kill before getting ready to go out, so I went. Wish I didn’t. He’s a nice guy, but talk about smarm. At one point, we were both looking over the side at the view and he came up behind me and put his arms around my waist. Ermmmmmm. Considering I literally hadn’t given him a single come on, and he was topless and sweaty it was most unpleasant. I pretty much scarpered straight away. I know I’ve been told I give off a sensual vibe but dude, please. Off I went to the BBQ and had a great time, thank you very much. And then who texts but The Greek, asking what I’m doing, do I want to come over? I called him out on the party and left him hanging for a bit. I eventually rocked up there when I’d drunk way too much at the BBQ and only a few people were left at his house. And I made sure to string him up about the party thing too, especially when he said it happened ‘kinda last minute.’ My arse. He seems to bring out a side to me I’d not known before. I get super fiery with him which of course leads to great sex. Which we had. In the garden. I think I got home at around 4pm the next day, all the while texting Mr Poker-Face who’d also been on a night out.

Fast forward a week, and Mr Poker-Face suggested we meet up. So we met up. In Manchester – roughly equal distance for the both of us between our respective cities. While I was on the train (first class, as you do) who texts me but The Greek. He’d been fairly quiet all week and now he wanted to know if I wanted to come spend the day and night. Told him I was off to Manchester for a night out and he told me to get a train back to London when I arrived there. Yeah, right. I *do* have a life, thank you. Bit more notice next time? So I told him I wasn’t available and let the train carry me up north to meet Mr Poker-Face. And you know what? He’s actually really nice. He’d cut his hair, which I was a bit miffed about because it was kind of Harry Styles nice and curly before, but whateves, he was still cute and super funny. We had a couple of drinks in the sun before checking in at our plush hotel. I have to say, hands down, he has THE best arse I’ve ever seen on a guy. Wasn’t expecting it whatsoever, but my god. It was like a literal peach. In fact, he had a nice body all over. But. And there’s a but. I think he was a bit…shall we say…nervous. The sex wasn’t bad, it was just….I dunno. It seemed like he couldn’t make up his mind exactly what he wanted to do. Hmm. But that aside, it was good. And as time went on, he got better, so I’m putting it down to nerves.

We headed out to eat at a funky bar with molecularly mixed cocktails and then down to the locks for drinks. I was looking exceptionally hot, I must say. See through blouse, high waisted tiny shorts and killer heels. And he looked good too (gets top marks for trendiness). We had a great time. Drank way, way too much and danced a lot. And more with the questions. We played a game where we took turns to ask each other questions that had to be answered honestly and couldn’t be asked again by the other person. He asked me things like, if I could repeat any day in my life, what would it be. And then progressed to things like, had I ever cheated in a relationship, and how many men had I slept with (ahem). I actually underestimated the answer to that question slightly, but it was a real honest mistake. Oh well. He seems like a normal, nice guy so far (apart from being an Aquarius). Privately educated but not posh, geeky (maths degree and masters in electrical mechanical engineering or some such), good job in banking. Like I said, nice guy with good credentials. We went back to the hotel, had more sex and crashed out. The next day, we checked out, had a mahoosive breakfast in an Alice in Wonderland themed cafe in the gay district of Canal Street, before sitting out by the canal with a couple of jugs of Pimms under the blazing sun. It really was an awesome weekend. And then when I got back to London, I headed straight out (after a shower).¬†

It was Bastille Day and long story short, the group I was with ended up back at one of their houses for a BBQ. It was a nice evening with yet more alcohol. I ended up walking home in the balmy heat at around 11:30 along the Thames and over Tower Bridge. It was one of those evenings where I felt nice and content. It had been a mental weekend but all was good with the world. I was walking in the heat (about 25 degrees) along the river with the twinkly lights of London’s cityscape in the bakground. Pretty damned perfect.

I’m expecting a nice, quiet week now. The Greek and Mr Poker-Face both went on holiday today, so I can rest my text thumbs for a bit. I say quiet, but I ended up completely shit-faced last night after meeting a friend for drinks (too much wine), rocked up home at 12:30ish, put the kettle on and promptly fell asleep. Fear not, I woke up again at 2:30 to finish that tea and then back to bed.

As a side note – a mutual friend of mine and The Ex’s told me he honestly still thinks I’m sitting around pining after him. If only he knew! I’ve given her carte blanche to show him my Facebook photos, just to put his mind at ease. Hehehe.

Life is bloody hectic right now, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.




Dying Alone

It’s been a busy week. I went out for dinner with some girls from work tonight and came home to watch a film. Instead, I watched Dreams of a Life,¬† a documentary I’d found on Netflix. It was shown on Channel 4 last night and I thought, I’ll watch that instead.

Its about a woman who lived in London, Joyce Vincent. She was beautiful, sociable and had a full life, meeting amongst others, Nelson Mandela, Isaac Hayes and Stevie Wonder. Yet she died aged 38, alone in a bedsit in Wood Green. And worse, her body was undiscovered for three years, lying on the sofa with the tv still on, surrounded by wrapped christmas presents she’d bought.

Three. Years.

I remember reading in the paper in 2006 about this and thinking, how on earth could this happen? How could nobody notice? Her friends? Her family of four sisters? She was discovered by bailiffs due to unpaid rent. Her neighbour attributed the smell to the communal bins. It’s crazy and very, very sad. The documentary was contributed to by ex colleagues at Ernst and Young, a major global financial company where she worked for four years, old friends and ex boyfriends. And none of them could believe the effervescent girl they knew could have ended up like that, with a cause of death unknown due to extreme decomposition and only being able to be identified by comparing her teeth to an old photo.

I know this is an extreme case, but it’s so shocking to me. I’d like to think that could never happen to me, or any of my friends or family.¬† That I’d know if someone I cared about had died, let alone lying dead for three years. There are people I’ve fallen out of touch with, it’s a part of life for majority of people, but the thought of it makes me feel sick. I don’t understand how in today’s society,¬† something like that could really happen. It’s stranger than fiction. By all accounts, the documentary revealed a woman shrouded in mystery, who never revealed much about herself, a chameleon who fixed herself into the lives of the men she dated. Clearly she had some demons but then, we all do. And that’s what makes me so uncomfortable. That could be any one of us or someone we used to know.

When I was with The Ex, we used to go to Wood Green all the time. We’d go shopping in the centre adjoined to her block of flats. We’d sit in the car literally metres away from her block while he and his mates got stoned. It wasn’t until I watched the documentary that I realised just where she was, and while she lay there, decomposing, everyone went about their daily lives,¬† walked past her door, without knowing what happened.

Its left a bitter taste in my mouth. The pictures of her and the video footage of her at a speech given by Nelson Mandela are on repeat in my head. In this age of social media – twitter,¬† Facebook, blogging – it’s so easy to just write a message to someone instead of picking up the phone. You think, I’ve not heard from so and so in ages, but when they don’t write back, we just attribute it to our busy lifestyles. One of the boys I grew close to before I moved back to London was a friend I’d speak to every day until it petered out after I moved. I last saw him randomly on a night out back in my hometown and he looked great. We became Facebook friends, probably around 2008. Then, when I logged into Facebook one day,¬† I was reminded it was his birthday. When I went to wish him a happy birthday, I learned that he’d died from aerosol abuse. He was the same age as me. He was my friend. I’d partied with him, cried with him when I was dumped by his best mate, stayed at his family home when I went back to visit – yet I didn’t know he’d died.

The world is a strange and sometimes fucked up place. Bonds can be formed so easily with people thousands of miles away, while those who live down the road fall by the wayside.

All I can think is, how sad.

That thing between life and death…what a bitch!

These are the words of a text I¬†received¬†from The Ex today. What a headfucker of a day. At 4.15am, my phone buzzed and woke me up – which doesn’t often happen. It was a text from my Ex (a particularly boisterous text) followed by another asking for me to call him. I replied, asking if his text was meant for me. No, was the reply. Fair enough. I turned around to fall back asleep, and then my phone rang. What followed was a 3 hour conversation.

We covered a lot of ground. Initially, he was calling because a mutual friend of ours (ish) had told him I was doing coke, sleeping with his friends etc etc. I know who he was talking about and I don’t understand why she’s saying this. I haven’t done coke. I tried a little on my gums on a night out with Mr Music because I wanted to know what the fuss was about. It was disgusting. And I’d told my friend this while we were talking about coke in general. As for me sleeping with his mates, well. I haven’t! One of them tried it on with me, twice, but I said no. Furthermore, the friend of his who tried it on is now sleeping with the friend whose been stirring shit. Lastly, I wouldn’t dip into that genetically inbred pool if you paid me. So, of course, I told him all this. He said he believed me, he just couldn’t understand why she was saying these things. The conversation then covered our relationship, our new relationships and everything in between.

The worst thing he said, was that this time last year, when I was begging and dying for him to take me back, he said no because he didn’t want to feel like I was doing it out of pity for him and the way he acted when I left him. He wanted me to take the time to really think about what I wanted, but that he did want to get back together. That hurt. A lot. I don’t know how I could have made it any clearer that I wanted him back. When he left me crying until I thought I’d vomit up my insides, twice. When I’d call and text and call and text. I don’t understand how he could have thought it was pity. He said saying no was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. I felt incredibly sad and I told him that. Throughout our relationship he could be the master manipulator. He could pull anyone’s strings and have them marching to the beat of his drum. But there’d be times he’d do things and I wouldn’t understand why. He used to tell me he wanted me to figure out the reasons why instead of him telling me. He said, that there were certain things in life that he didn’t want to influence people over, so he would do things without explanation to make them think about why he was doing what he was doing. And if that sounds complicated, it’s because it was. I don’t know how many times I’d told him while we were together not to do this. I could never figure it out and it inevitably led to arguments. It seems that him rejecting me, almost a year ago to the day, was borne out of the same idea. He said he wanted me to¬†want to be with him (which he would know was for real after a period of absence), and make that want known, followed by ‘hint, hint, nudge, nudge’. He said there was one point when we’d met and I was so upset, but I still couldn’t tell him I wanted to come back. And that even now, he knows I wouldn’t be able to say that, even if that’s what I still wanted because I’m that stubborn.

It was a hard conversation. Very emotional, very deep. Despite that, we still laughed like we were old friends. He told me I sounded strong and sexy, like the 17 year old girl he fell in love with and not the 27 year old woman who left. He told me he wanted me to give 100% of myself to the next guy, like I didn’t with him. And for his part, he told me about what he’s been up to. About his relief at easily being able to make a woman come in bed, which he did maybe three or four times with me, though not through lack of trying. In fairness, his new girlfriend sounds nice ¬†enough. It sounds like she’s giving him everything he wants and was never able to get from me. We spoke about friends we used to hang out with. His best friend (who’s friends with Gym Buddy and the reason we met in the first place) is back with his girlfriend. When they were together, we all used to hang out. I really liked her and then when they split (in a particularly nasty fashion), I never heard from her again. I actually contacted her again this year and we swapped a couple of emails before she dropped off again. Turns out they’re back together now after being apart for a couple of years and expecting a baby. I don’t know why but that news really got to me. In my head, we were always going to be the ones to do that first. We were always the couple our friends used to talk about as the pinnacle of what relationships were. Hard, yes, but solid. Which was the case for many years. We were meant to get married first, have kids first. Now, that’s happening to them instead of us. He said the same thing, that I was meant to be the grandmother of his grandchildren and now that’s not going to happen. In the end, he started to get upset and said he had to go, at 7.30am.

I was confused. I was tearful and I was sad. He was such a huge part of my life for so long and I couldn’t understand, why now? Why are you telling me this now? We’ve had comms throughout the year, it’s not like this was the first time we’d spoken since the split. We ended up texting until around midday. What have I deduced from this?

He feels regret. He says he thinks he loves his new girlfriend, but she isn’t me. I almost felt like sending him the link to my post about moving on. He said he felt like he’d ruined me and it had been playing on his mind for a long time. That he felt I’d become someone else as a result of what went on during our relationship. To be honest, I think he felt guilt. He’s really into his new girlfriend but it isn’t the same. He said that a lot. The sex is great, but it’s not you. She’s very reactive, but she’s not you. She’s great, but she’s not you. I told him that of course it’s not the same. It’s not meant to be. But if he really likes her then he owes it to her and himself to really try, instead of holding onto memories of what we had. He said he’s learned a lot from our break up (though he’s still on the coke??) and he understands why I left. He doesn’t want me to only tell people about the bad times because he has apparently never badmouthed me. To his friends, to his new girlfriend. It sounded a lot like a case of ‘what could have been’. ‘If only’. If only he hadn’t of played this mind game with me last year. If only I’d have tried for one more week to get him back. He sounded like he didn’t know what he wanted. He said he didn’t know what he wanted. Distracted by memories and nostalgia and I told him that it wasn’t fair to put me through this just because of those two things. He replied by saying he thinks he knows what he wants, he just hadn’t properly dealt with things until today. And knowing that I’m happy makes that easier. I’ll always be the love of his life and even though he’s old school and therefore bound to hate The Frenchman or anyone else, he’s also an adult and wants me to be happy.

By the time we said our goodbyes, I felt a bit better. It felt like he just needed to talk some things out and figure things out in his head. And although I shouldn’t be the person he goes to for that, I can’t deny it was nice to talk to him again. Our break up was hard and messy, but the comms we’ve had since then have been friendly enough. After ten years, of course I care about him. Of course I want him to be happy. He’s such a strong person, I know how much it takes for him to talk about his deep feelings, let alone cry. It goes against everything he was brought up to believe, so I knew how much he needed to talk last night.

It’s left me unfocused and with a headache. My trip to the National Gallery turned out to be a waste of time because I couldn’t focus on anything at all. Not because I’m confused about my feelings, or anything like that, but because I’ve been left with this feeling that I can’t describe. This feeling of…..this. I have to agree with his text. Life is a bitch and full of what ifs and regrets. But I do know that this year I’ve been happy. I can’t lay my unhappiness all on him – I know I could have done things differently to make myself happy – but I wouldn’t have done even a quarter of the things I’ve done this year if we’d have got back together. And it’s only after I’ve done said thing that I realise how much I’ve changed since I left. Or reverted back to my old self.

But I still can’t help the feeling that all of this shouldn’t have happened. And because of a massive case of crossed wires, miscommunications etc, it has. And that is such a shame.

Quarter Life Crisis

I’m in a strange mood today. Well, I’m a bit strange most of the time, but today I’m in a particularly strange mood. For some time now I’ve felt like my life has been stagnating, which I guess has been made worse by my splitting with the Ex. For a long time, I’ve held a distant dream of travelling but it’s now developing into a serious want, which isn’t helped by my awful penchant for impatience. In fact, it’s getting to me so much that I’m blogging from work, something I’ve actively tried to avoid.

It was something I’d discussed often with the Ex but we had wildly different views. His idea of travelling contained way more adrenaline than mine. He wanted to go trekking in rainforests and hiking up mountains and to be honest, I’m a little too chicken for that. I just want to see the world, without having a near death experience, so we never made plans to travel together since he’d only get annoyed at my reluctance to hike up a mountain because of my ridiculous fear that I’d slip, fall back down again and die.

There’s a couple of things that have brought about this current bout of…wanting. One, was a post I’d read on BAExpat’s page, which I came across as it was ‘Freshly Pressed’ (lucky thing). I haven’t been able to get it out of my head since and I’d recommend the read: He’s doing what I wish I was…

The other thing is my career. I have a great job but I’m getting more and more bored. My problem is that to move on in my chosen field (which is specialist), I need more qualifications. I left school at 16 and went straight to work. No college, no uni. The qualifications I have above GCSE level are either NVQ or professional qualifications, but not at the required level for me to achieve my ultimate goal of working abroad and earning a decent wage. Nor are they enough for me to leave my current job and go into another specialist role at the same level or salary. And to be honest, the thought of applying for and starting another job in London just depresses me right now. After some investigation, it looks like the course I’ll need to take to get me to a decent standard lasts about 2 years, at a cost of ¬£10k. My company would pay for it, but it means I’d have to stay here for another 2 years once it’s completed. That’s 4 more years working here. The twist is that within the next 18 months, it looks increasingly likely that there’ll be a massive reorganisation which means the threat of redunancy. And the draw of taking redundancy money, which would be great. It means I’d be able to pay off my debt and travel without worrying about sustaining an income to pay my bills. The downside? If I study, my company would take the cost of the course out of that lump sum. Not so good since it would likely eat up most of, if not all of the money.

In an ideal world, I’d wait it out, hope for the redunancy money, pay my bills off and get out of here. But then it doesn’t solve the issue that when I get back, I’d still have to study to get to a decent level in my field.

What to do, what to do?

I don’t want to study for another 2 years and then not be able to travel. A lot can happen in 2 years. I look at my friends getting married and having babies, and it’s the last thing I want. Well, it isn’t. Of course I want to settle down and stuff, but you know what I mean. I’m free and single for the first time in almost 10 years and I feel like I should be doing something with my life. Who knows what could happen. I could meet a really great guy, my soulmate, and get married and start popping out babies in 2 years time. I’ve seen it happen with my friends. But equally, my sensible head is saying that I need to get this qualification. It’s something that would set me up for the next x years of my working life.

The other thing about travelling, is that it would push me out of my comfort zone. I can be naturally shy and tend to stick to routine. I don’t like to eat from dodgy places. I like comfort. But I wasn’t always like this. I used to be outgoing and gregarious. I want to be that person again. It feels like I AM this person inside, but I’ve supressed her for so long that I don’t know how to find her again. I hate that I didn’t do what everyone else did. If I’d have gone to college and uni, I’d have the qualifications I need already. If I’d have gone travelling when I was younger, I’d not feel so lost right now. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret committing to a long term relationship at the tender age of 17 – I’ve learnt a hell of a lot. It’s just that it feels like its come at a price. Namely, my life.

The thing is, it feels like I’m running out of time. The longer I put off studying, the harder it will be to progress in my career. But the longer I put off travelling, the less likely it will be to happen. It feels like this is one of those moments in my life where I have a crucial decision to make, like I’m on the cusp of…I dunno…something. Or maybe I’m just putting too much pressure on myself and doing what I tend to do…over analyse.

Oh, life.

And apologies, I think this is the first whingy post I’ve done. Shall not be making a habit of it!

The Ex-Factor

So I¬†received¬†a text from my ex a little while ago. Given that I’d seen him on the way to work yesterday I was kind of expecting it. Turns out, he misses me. Finds it hard to understand life without me etc etc etc. Given that I’d have pretty much sold my soul to get back with him at one point, all I could do was shrug my shoulders. The fact he’s still shovelling coke up his nose and living like a party animal speaks volumes, though apparently its because he feels guilty for it taking over our relationship.

Apparently he thought I looked good yesterday (I didn’t) and reckoned it was because I looked more confident. And you know, maybe that’s because I am. It sounds so cheesy, but I feel like I’ve found myself again, and yes, I am confident. I walk around with a smile on my face and a bounce in my step. It would appear that I’m finding this altogether easier than he is.

A month ago, I’d have read into his text messages, thinking, maybe he wants me back. But now, I know better. He’s feeling lonely and has caught a glimpse of me at my best and now he’s thinking about the good times we had together. Nothing more and nothing less. Like I said yesterday, I change my mind more than most girls change their knickers, but I’m not changing my mind on this. Because the fact is, if he loved me, and I mean really¬†loved me, and really missed me and wanted to do something about it, he’d have made changes. He’d stop spending obscene amounts of money on Columbia’s finest and sort himself out. He’d put me first for once. And even if he did, I honestly don’t think I’d go back anyway.

I love my life now. I haven’t felt so happy for a sustained period for years. I feel like for the first time in a long time, I’m excited about things. I want¬†to go out and meet people and have fun instead of being cooped up indoors. I don’t want to have to sit up until stupid o’clock while my boyfriend gets off his nut and chats ten to the dozen. I want to live my life the way I¬†want to.

I think some people find it weird that I can be so OK about everything after such a long relationship, but I genuinely am. I’m not big headed, but I know I have a lot of good qualities about me. I have plenty to offer to the right guy. I’m smart, I’m independent, I have a great job and great prospects, and when I love, I love hard, with everything I have. While I’m sad for him having to block out reality through a haze of Class A substances, I’m not going to sacrifice myself for anyone. Love, I’ve discovered, is not the be all and end all, and in a relationship, it’s most definitely not enough on its own.

I devoted almost 10 years to him, I’ll always love him on some level, he was my best friend and I owe him a lot. If I hadn’t met him, I definitely wouldn’t be in the job I’m in now, since he pushed me to study, and I wouldn’t have met my closest friends. But I deserve ¬†a hell of a lot more than I got.¬†All I can say is that I wish him well.