The Weeg: Part 2

Am I too fussy? I never used to think so but maybe I am.

Last night with The Weeg went quite well I thought. I had a nice time but I really don't think anything is going to come of it. I'm determined not to let myself nitpick but there are loads of wee things that I'm just not liking.

First things first. He's nice, really nice, really nice to me. Nothing wrong with that at all. Except that he calls me princess. I've decided I don't really like that. I'm not a princess and I don't really like what it implies. I think it makes me sound spoilt and I'm not. He's very tactile, not suffocatingly so, but more than what I would have though normal for these kinds of situations. He's quite young, well 24. So not all that young really but still younger than what I usually go for and it shows. But I can't exactly hold his youth against him. It's not his fault he was born in 1984. He seems to be very confident about where 'this' is going to go. He hasn't referred to me as his girlfriend but he has said that I was 'his' now. I get the feeling he was just joking (I hope so anyway) but I didn't really like that either. Is this normal? I'm not sure. Am I being a prude? I don't know. I don't remember any other date I've ever had being like that.

He's such a weegie though, there is something very particular about the Glasgow people and he's got it. I can't quite put my finger on it and I can't really describe it any better than to say he's a total weeg....a lot of you probably won't understand what I'm talking about but trust me, it's there. It's not a bad thing, it's just not what I'm used to and to be honest it's kind of thrown me off balance a bit. He's very open about his liking of me. He thinks I'm pretty, he thinks I'm funny, he thinks that I'm intelligent. All of these are good things but I don't need him to tell me that he thinks I'm pretty, funny and intelligent all of the time. I don't want him to tell random taxi drivers that he thinks that either. I'm not used to it and I don't like it. He keeps saying that he's finding it very difficult to figure me out. I don't even know what he means by that particularly.

I don't see this going anywhere. But then I think I should go out with him again. Because he is nice and he does treat me like a princess and I have to stop rejecting men just because they're nice to me. Being nice isn't a bad thing. Being open about how your feeling is not a bad thing. And just because he's both of those things doesn't mean he's a total girl - though I do actually think he's a bit of a girl.

He's just not quite Drummer Boy. I actually found myself thinking about Drummer Boy during the film last night. Considering what our conversation is going to be like on Sunday. The topic will of course be Indy and I was conscious of myself noting little details to bring up and discuss with him.

I think these kind of situations you just have to go with your gut. And my gut is telling me that this is going no where.

The Weeg

I went out with The Harlot last night and I met a boy who I am going to christen 'The Weeg'. The Weeg is tall, blonde and from what I can gather, some kind of workie.

He's polite, respectful, quite funny and quite engaging. He has taken to calling me 'princess'. I'm not sure if I like that....I think I do. No one's ever called me princess before. Not even my dad. But then I'm not very princess like so that's not surprising. Anyway, the point is he was rather delightful all night and tonight I'm going out with him. I think we're going to the cinema...I hope we're going to the cinema because Indiana Jones is out.

I'm quite nervous about this. We got on really well last night but what if that's only because we had been drinking? What am I going to wear? What if we have nothing to talk about? That's actually why I suggested the cinema, less chat involved and when we do need to talk we have a whole lot of Harrison Ford to discuss. I don't think I've ever really gone on a 'date' with someone I only met the night before. Usually I stick to seeing guys I already know or know of. Tell you one thing though, this guy is not my usual type at all. Far from it in fact. Maybe that's a good thing.

Bang the Drum(mer)

For weeksyears, I have been secretly in love with Drummer Boy. I want him. Badly. I fancy him something rotten. This Sunday, is my last ever Sunday at work and very likely the last time I'll ever see him. This does not make me overly happy.

He's a total geek and I love it. Ask him anything - anything about Sylvester Stallone and he'll know the answer. It's his Mastermind subject.

Soon the days where I could look forward to a 4 hour conversation on the all of the particular intricacies of Harry Potter will be over. Never again will I have the opportunity to gaze upon his delightfully geeky glasses, his broad shoulders or that mole on his cheek....As it happens he also has a rather delightfully situated mole on his right thigh but the less said about that the better really.

Hot Lesbian commented tonight that I always end up getting involved with guys who I like but aren't all that in to yet, the ones I do like - who (in her opinion) like me too I let slip away. She might have a point there.

Jubilant

I have a new job.

Not just any job but a proper adult grown up kind of job. I am going to be.....an accountant! I am ridiculously excited. Beyond excited. I am quite literally grinning from ear to ear.

I still can't quite believe it to be honest. There's a whole wealth of possibilities about to open up for me and I can't wait. I can't wait. I can't wait!

In the spirit of setting and obtaining goals I've set myself a list of things I want to do. I have no set time limit to do these things but I am going to do them. I finally feel inspired in my life. I am finally excited about living.

I feel like things are just beginning and I suppose in a sense they really are. I am twenty three years of age and I'm finally moving on with my life. I'm finally doing something productive for myself.

Say goodbye to university, being skint 95% of the time, having no free time and working back shift.

Hello half decent wages, free time and opportunity.

Of course the sensible doubtful part of my brain is telling me not to get too excited. I might hate it, it might all fall through at the last minute, maybe it was never even mines in the first place and the letter should have gone to someone else.

But I refuse to entertain these thoughts. Utterly refuse. I'm not going to let anything - especially myself rain on my parade.

At least not today. Because today the hope is back and is very much alive.

Out, damn'd spot!

Various statistics tell us that when you kiss, the other person's saliva will still be in your mouth approximately three days after the event. That means that the likelihood of Concrete D's spit being inside my mouth is still quite high. His liquid guilt mixing with my own.

And I wonder if this is true of all bodily fluids. How long after a sexual encounter before the semen is totally gone? Does is rest there still almost two days later. Does it attach itself to your skin, or does it wash away with the shower?

I look down upon my breast and I wonder if there are still microscopic traces of him still upon me. Do his epithelials and saliva grip still my breast the way this guilt and regret have gripped my mind?

Will I only feel OK once all physical traces of him are washed away? Is that how long it's going to take?

I can't stop thinking about it. I don't want to think about it. I want to forget it ever happened at all but I can't. All day long it's looping in my head. I hate that it happened, I hate that I've hurt him and most of all I hate that I've hurt myself.

I made myself that girl again. I could have, should have stopped it. I should never have let things go on for as long as they did. I should have bundled him into a taxi the minute the words 'I love you' passed his lips.

But I didn't.

And I really wish I had.

When Free Alcohol Happens to Good People

There's a lot to be said about a free bar. A lot of good things to be said. But sometimes those good things turn a little bit sour and the blessing that is normally the free bar, turns into a nightmare.

Free alcohol encourages people to get hammered, this can sometimes lead to a crazy ugliness of events like you'd never thought possible.

Take last night for instance. Last night is a prime example of what happens when free alcohol happens to two unsuspecting people. There we were, Concrete D and myself happily hammered at an art show.Fast forward two hours, two pints and a couple of double vodkas later and the happily hammered duo have started to reminisce about when they first met each other. I've worked with Concrete D for years and in the time that I've known him I've become incredibly fond of him. His friendship is one I really value.

I fancied him something rotten when I first met him. And as it turned out he really liked me too. We've always had a bit of a spark but its never something that was ever acted upon. Cue girlfriend.

Another double vodka later and Concrete D has decided that now is the time to tell me that he is in love with me, always has been. And it worries him (as it happens it rather worried me too) but he also loves his girlfriend and he doesn't know what to do. What I'm supposed to do with this information I'm not entirely sure, how am I supposed to deal with that?

A chat a kiss and a grope later he's feeling guiltier than sin and I'm feeling the worst I've ever felt about myself in a long long time. Altogether a marvellous time for us both.

Wading through the crazy this morning, he's feeling absolutely rotten and begging my forgiveness whilst I'm trying to tell him that we were both to blame and he shouldn't be sorry when it strikes me that a bit of good old fashioned denial is the best way - only way, to deal with this. Lets pretend like it never happened. I'm actually hoping that's going to work because this is a friendship worth keeping and I couldn't bear another conversation like that.

'Her'

It's the same lesson never learned and it's the same bitter tears always cried.

And I feel like the worthless piece of shit that I am.

All that's left really is to ask why? Why do I keep doing this to myself? Why does this keep happening to me?

Why I am always that girl? Why can't I ever be the girl?

Because it doesn't matter how much they say they love me, how much they protest that they do it's never enough. I'm never enough.

Never.

All night I hear it, how much he's wanted to kiss me, how beautiful he thinks I am - how he's loved me from the minute he saw me. And I let myself believe it. Because I like him and I know given the chance I could love him and I trust him not to hurt me. Because I want to, need to believe he's different.

But he's not.

Just like everyone else, he takes what he wants and it's done with. And with his semen on my skirt and my tears upon my face he leaves me, he loves me. He doesn't want me to cry, he doesn't know what to do.

How should I know? I don't know.

I do know how it ends and I do know what he needs and I do know what I'm worth.

A quick hand job round the back of the hall but not the guilt that comes with it.

Because I am that girl.

And from the looks of things, I always will be.

Globe Trotting

Currently I'm reading 'America Unchained'. It's an account of Dave Gorman's latest adventure and I must say it's a bloody good read. Only criticism? The photo pages in the middle make a horribly uncomfortable noise when they rub together - apart from that, the book is marvelous and it's giving me marvelously itchy feet. Reading that book is making me feel like I want to get up and do things. It's looking like I have four full days off next week and I want to do something, even if it is only getting a train to Arbroath.

Sitting out in the back garden with a can of cider and bottle of factor 50 just isn't doing it for me anymore. The (not so) distant rumblings of trains and cacophony of garden birds isn't outside enough to sate the need to be outside. I want to be outside somewhere else. I want to go explore ruined castles, walk by cliffs, trek through hills, walk barefoot through long grass with the sun on my (factor 50 protected) back and the wind in my hair.

I want to do something. Anything. Never has sitting outside felt so oppressive, claustrophobic. I've got cabin fever in my garden

I want to go down the beach with my friends and walk till we've run out of people. I want to go up north and watch the dolphins or wait and watch the porpoises wheeling up the Tay or both.

I want to do all of these things and I suppose I can so long as I'm back for four thirty to make a five o'clock shift. Damn work, damn bills. Damn bloody Dave Gorman.

If...

Generally speaking, I'm not one for uploading videos or such the like to my blog, but I make an exception for the new Irn Bru advert.

For your viewing pleasure:




I am very glad that I was born this side of the border on this side of the world.