Everything has been a bit sketchy lately:
Seeing last year's fuck buddy Alex for the first time in six months and fancying him for the first five minutes, then being done;
Seeing S - girl who I went to bed with at my party and lecherously fancying the pants off her (not literally, unfortunately);
Seeing Brabs - a guy I threw out off bed because he wouldn't tell me how old he was (since learned he is 41) and feeling quite sheepish that I ever considered sleeping with him;
Being reminded off the "bus stop barrister" by walking past the cafe that we had breakfast in the morning after in Stoke Newington (and therefore being reminded of Alex, as I went from being in bed with Alex until the afternoon to rushing off for a date with said barrister);
Seeing E and being cross at myself for still fancying the pants off him;
Not remembering how last night ended and therefore requiring being filled in by G - thankfully nothing embarrassing happened, though maybe he was just being polite;
Looking through my text messages this morning from last night and realising that I made plans with sleazy Dave to go to some show at the Royal Opera House, but having no recollection of doing so.
It used to be that my husband was the drunken daft one and I was the responsible one. How roles change.
Sunday, 22 July 2007
Tuesday, 17 July 2007
mouse
There is a mouse in the flat, has been since we moved in. I can't decide whether I find the pitter patter of little feet comforting, or whether I should get some traps and kill it dead.
I keep putting off the decision, and the mouse keeps getting more brave.
I keep putting off the decision, and the mouse keeps getting more brave.
Monday, 16 July 2007
hot sex and planes
I have finally managed to put two and two together and sort out what is going on with E - friends who occasionally have (really hot) sex. That the is the beginning and end of it, no matter which way I look at it.
On Thursday night we stayed at the pub until closing, about 1:30ish. We then went back to mine and stayed up listening to music and talking until about 3:30am, when I decided it was time to go to sleep. However, being in bed together got the better of us, and we stayed up shagging until 5:30am, at which point the sun was coming up and I was slightly anxious that I had to be at work in 3.5 hours.
For better or worse, I have come to the conclusion that there is no point sleeping with any other guys at the moment, unless it happens to be going somewhere, because it would just be a waste of my time. E is fun, open-minded, slightly kinky, not afraid to speak up about what he wants, and incredibly persistent in trying to get me to orgasm. I can't really go wrong, except that our sexcapades are not frequent, tend to be mid-week and therefore make me late for work and turning up looking slightly disheveled.
I did manage on Thursday to pin him down for the air show on Saturday. I collected him in his sleepy state at 9am on Saturday morning and off we went to RAF Fairford. On arrival we were both grinning ear to ear, pointing enthusiastically at planes. He was the best possible person to bring to an air show - a complete geek about planes, who knew a heck of a lot about 98% of the planes, both on the ground and in the air. It started to scare me a bit when he could rattle off not only the name, the country it was built in, what it was used for and when, and some random facts about the design, mechanics, or that it broke a speed record in such and such year. I knew he was strange, but that just blew me away.
We had a fabulous time looking at the planes, eating dodgy food, drinking beer, and taking photos. He had wanted to get back in the early evening to get some drawing done, but we ended up staying until around 7:30pm and getting back late. It was all a purely friendly affair with no hint of romance or any such thing. We parted at King's Cross (I was off to Camden, he was going home to draw) with a hug and a friendly peck on the lips.
I don't mind - obviously I wished it were a bit more, but I understand his situation and to be honest, I don't think I could have a fuck-buddy who was more generous in bed. The only problem is, how is one supposed to make a booty call by posting a letter?!
On Thursday night we stayed at the pub until closing, about 1:30ish. We then went back to mine and stayed up listening to music and talking until about 3:30am, when I decided it was time to go to sleep. However, being in bed together got the better of us, and we stayed up shagging until 5:30am, at which point the sun was coming up and I was slightly anxious that I had to be at work in 3.5 hours.
For better or worse, I have come to the conclusion that there is no point sleeping with any other guys at the moment, unless it happens to be going somewhere, because it would just be a waste of my time. E is fun, open-minded, slightly kinky, not afraid to speak up about what he wants, and incredibly persistent in trying to get me to orgasm. I can't really go wrong, except that our sexcapades are not frequent, tend to be mid-week and therefore make me late for work and turning up looking slightly disheveled.
I did manage on Thursday to pin him down for the air show on Saturday. I collected him in his sleepy state at 9am on Saturday morning and off we went to RAF Fairford. On arrival we were both grinning ear to ear, pointing enthusiastically at planes. He was the best possible person to bring to an air show - a complete geek about planes, who knew a heck of a lot about 98% of the planes, both on the ground and in the air. It started to scare me a bit when he could rattle off not only the name, the country it was built in, what it was used for and when, and some random facts about the design, mechanics, or that it broke a speed record in such and such year. I knew he was strange, but that just blew me away.
We had a fabulous time looking at the planes, eating dodgy food, drinking beer, and taking photos. He had wanted to get back in the early evening to get some drawing done, but we ended up staying until around 7:30pm and getting back late. It was all a purely friendly affair with no hint of romance or any such thing. We parted at King's Cross (I was off to Camden, he was going home to draw) with a hug and a friendly peck on the lips.
I don't mind - obviously I wished it were a bit more, but I understand his situation and to be honest, I don't think I could have a fuck-buddy who was more generous in bed. The only problem is, how is one supposed to make a booty call by posting a letter?!
Monday, 9 July 2007
Royal Mail
On Wednesday I wrote and posted a letter to E. I believe I have reached an all time low in terms of desperation - posting a letter to a man who lives a ten minute walk from me because I have given up on all other forms of communication with him. That and he has never once, as far as I am aware, telephoned me, despite his assurance last time we shagged that he "would be in touch."
Letter posted and I awaited a response. By Saturday, not a peep. I was in "T mood number 137", i.e. insanely hyper hangover mood, and decided to call his house because it was a nice day and I was going to the park. E answered, sounding a bit under the weather, but my invite to the park was turned down, in his roundabout and polite English sort of way ("well, I'm going to watch Le Tour de France, but if I don't, I'll come by" - fucking hell you will, I won't hold my breath). I then cheerily asked whether he received my letter. He said he did and he had intended to respond - he had even gone so far as to start to write back but he "got bogged down in prose". Is this guy weird or what?! (Rhetorical question - we know the answer to that one.)
At this point in the telephone conversation I was handed over to his flatmate, who was also unable to come to the park, but we had a bit of a natter anyway. End of conversation.
So, I thoughtfully came to the conclusion that no matter what I might think otherwise, E and I are just friends who sometimes fuck when we see each other, which isn't all that often anyway. And bearing this in mind, I need to get over it.
I still wonder though, will I see him at the pub quiz at our local tonight?
Letter posted and I awaited a response. By Saturday, not a peep. I was in "T mood number 137", i.e. insanely hyper hangover mood, and decided to call his house because it was a nice day and I was going to the park. E answered, sounding a bit under the weather, but my invite to the park was turned down, in his roundabout and polite English sort of way ("well, I'm going to watch Le Tour de France, but if I don't, I'll come by" - fucking hell you will, I won't hold my breath). I then cheerily asked whether he received my letter. He said he did and he had intended to respond - he had even gone so far as to start to write back but he "got bogged down in prose". Is this guy weird or what?! (Rhetorical question - we know the answer to that one.)
At this point in the telephone conversation I was handed over to his flatmate, who was also unable to come to the park, but we had a bit of a natter anyway. End of conversation.
So, I thoughtfully came to the conclusion that no matter what I might think otherwise, E and I are just friends who sometimes fuck when we see each other, which isn't all that often anyway. And bearing this in mind, I need to get over it.
I still wonder though, will I see him at the pub quiz at our local tonight?
Sunday, 8 July 2007
First sun in two months
It's finally a nice, sunny weekend in London.
Why do men feel the need to honk/catcall a woman wearing short shorts?!
My legs aren't *that* nice and anyway, its just obnoxious. Itmakes me want to make insulting gestures back, but rather than provoke, I just ignore it.
Why do men feel the need to honk/catcall a woman wearing short shorts?!
My legs aren't *that* nice and anyway, its just obnoxious. Itmakes me want to make insulting gestures back, but rather than provoke, I just ignore it.
Thursday, 5 July 2007
Annual Garden Party
Just when I thought I hadn't done anything embarrassing when I was drunk at a work do last night, I was reminded that I had been dragged away from the pub after snogging a guy in a blue fringed leather suit, who looked like he had escaped from the circus.
The fact that I went through all day today having not remembered that particular part of the evening is more troubling than the act.
Thankfully, no numbers were exchanged.
The fact that I went through all day today having not remembered that particular part of the evening is more troubling than the act.
Thankfully, no numbers were exchanged.
Monday, 2 July 2007
happy smoking ban
I have been left feeling slightly cheated by the weekend. Friday night was the first in a long long time that I stayed in, despite an old flame having been out with some of my mates. I simply could not drag myself out of the house. Records, codeine, in bed by 10pm.
It might have been the fact that I was working overtime on Saturday, which nearly did my head in and threw my conception of space and time for the rest of the weekend. After a long day on Saturday, a coworker and I went for a few glasses of wine, I nicked fags of some guys at a nearby table, and counted down until the smoking ban - 12 hours to go. I rang E and miraculously he answered and we made plans to meet up at our local sometime after 11pm. Around 7:30 I staggered out of the pub, did some drunken grocery shopping, and headed home. Some friends were going to come around mine before going to our local.
More beer, I dressed to the nines, and again rang E's house, but got flat G. G and I had a gossip about whether he had or had not gotten laid the night of our party. I invited them around for pre-smoking-ban-party drinks, but G said they were going to Bethnal Green - well that was news to me, but hey, plans change. We staggered to the pub and I was already three sheets to the wind. We smoked, drank, chatted, had a boogie, but by 1:30 I was too drunk and had to go home and go to bed. The pub was open until 4am, and I didn't even make it to the usual closing time of 2.
Sunday: wake up at midday, ring T to make breakfast plans, and feel very alone. KT has gone to America, new flatmate hadn't come home the night before, and well, E certainly wasn't there. T's plan involved a Sunday roast at a nearby pub. I arrived at 2pm, he arrived at 2:30 with a new flatmate in tow. We lounged around, ate, chatted, read newspapers, I watched some girls at a nearby table down a bottle of red wine in the middle of the afternoon. We smoked in the new outdoor smoking section, and eventually - say about 3:30 - I hit the booze, T followed not long after.
We didn't leave the pub until after 10pm, after a gut-wrenchingly hilarious afternoon after we started talking to above-mentioned girls in the smoking section. Two bolshy and crude Australians, who were both utterly charming and clever. The five of us laughed rancorously all afternoon, downing bottle after bottle of wine. Stories and stories: T's new flatmate had been with a guy for five years and he just then stopped taking her calls - she therefore dumped him by text message with the following, "You clearly don't want to communicate with me, so take care and best wishes for the future." We learned the virtues of writing a text message and sleeping on it - if it seems like a good idea the next day, then it is. T just laughed hysterically and pointed at me, as though I should take this on board. I replied, "My problem is that usually when I'm sleeping on something to decide if it is a good idea in the morning, there tends to be someone else in bed with me."
We spent the best part of the day lounging around in the wee outside smoking area, where whenever anyone came back, a cheer went up and welcomes were all around. Many new friends were made with the local smokers, one of which had his name tattooed on the inside of hit bottom lip.
By half nine we ordered our second meal of the day in that pub. By the end of it all, T and I both had tabs of fifty quid each, and our new friends' mobile numbers. Incidentally, the reason they were getting pissed on a Sunday afternoon was because one of them had her wallet stolen on the tube - what does one do in that situation? Hit the pub and allow your friend to get you wrecked because you have no cash or cards.
Now Monday has rolled around again, tired, hungover, etc. I was meant to have a date with a girl from an online dating site, but canceled because I was tired and couldn't be bothered. So, a sex-less weekend has left me trying to figure out what I should do about the "E situation".
It might have been the fact that I was working overtime on Saturday, which nearly did my head in and threw my conception of space and time for the rest of the weekend. After a long day on Saturday, a coworker and I went for a few glasses of wine, I nicked fags of some guys at a nearby table, and counted down until the smoking ban - 12 hours to go. I rang E and miraculously he answered and we made plans to meet up at our local sometime after 11pm. Around 7:30 I staggered out of the pub, did some drunken grocery shopping, and headed home. Some friends were going to come around mine before going to our local.
More beer, I dressed to the nines, and again rang E's house, but got flat G. G and I had a gossip about whether he had or had not gotten laid the night of our party. I invited them around for pre-smoking-ban-party drinks, but G said they were going to Bethnal Green - well that was news to me, but hey, plans change. We staggered to the pub and I was already three sheets to the wind. We smoked, drank, chatted, had a boogie, but by 1:30 I was too drunk and had to go home and go to bed. The pub was open until 4am, and I didn't even make it to the usual closing time of 2.
Sunday: wake up at midday, ring T to make breakfast plans, and feel very alone. KT has gone to America, new flatmate hadn't come home the night before, and well, E certainly wasn't there. T's plan involved a Sunday roast at a nearby pub. I arrived at 2pm, he arrived at 2:30 with a new flatmate in tow. We lounged around, ate, chatted, read newspapers, I watched some girls at a nearby table down a bottle of red wine in the middle of the afternoon. We smoked in the new outdoor smoking section, and eventually - say about 3:30 - I hit the booze, T followed not long after.
We didn't leave the pub until after 10pm, after a gut-wrenchingly hilarious afternoon after we started talking to above-mentioned girls in the smoking section. Two bolshy and crude Australians, who were both utterly charming and clever. The five of us laughed rancorously all afternoon, downing bottle after bottle of wine. Stories and stories: T's new flatmate had been with a guy for five years and he just then stopped taking her calls - she therefore dumped him by text message with the following, "You clearly don't want to communicate with me, so take care and best wishes for the future." We learned the virtues of writing a text message and sleeping on it - if it seems like a good idea the next day, then it is. T just laughed hysterically and pointed at me, as though I should take this on board. I replied, "My problem is that usually when I'm sleeping on something to decide if it is a good idea in the morning, there tends to be someone else in bed with me."
We spent the best part of the day lounging around in the wee outside smoking area, where whenever anyone came back, a cheer went up and welcomes were all around. Many new friends were made with the local smokers, one of which had his name tattooed on the inside of hit bottom lip.
By half nine we ordered our second meal of the day in that pub. By the end of it all, T and I both had tabs of fifty quid each, and our new friends' mobile numbers. Incidentally, the reason they were getting pissed on a Sunday afternoon was because one of them had her wallet stolen on the tube - what does one do in that situation? Hit the pub and allow your friend to get you wrecked because you have no cash or cards.
Now Monday has rolled around again, tired, hungover, etc. I was meant to have a date with a girl from an online dating site, but canceled because I was tired and couldn't be bothered. So, a sex-less weekend has left me trying to figure out what I should do about the "E situation".
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