Saturday

I’ve missed you all terribly. I hope you understand that I had more pressing matters than updating dear Blogatha. I’ve been swamped with spending my rent in city centre branches of Eddie Rockets. Going home for my little brothers confirmation and spending the entire week lying drunk on his trampoline. Losing half my anal virginity with a stranger. Going to Babylon, buying a can of coke and sitting in a booth for two hours singing Van Morisson… The list goes on.

When we last conferred, I was still banging on about my broken heart. I could fill several more posts with the rambling tales of my ill fated lust but I will resist. The short version is -

I was understanding once more of his ever changing mind. Then I lost the plot and told him to stop FUCKING WITH MY HEAD! We then maintained a nice friendship for a week or so before we started kissing and hand-jobbing all over the gaf (mmmm… lovely image). Then we had sex. As in coitus. As in penetrative. If my memory serves me correctly, three blissful days of it. Then the proceedings were halted once more. On Christmas Eve. I know. My little face. All upset on Christmas. I was on the bus home with one of my very best friends who unfortunately has been hypnotized by the allure of the continent. Such insightful, profound words of advice he had to offer me on that exquisite voyage through the midlands;

“Ah no. Fuck him.”

I told him to give me some space over the holidays and not to text me everyday. He complied for one day. Disobedience I will not stand for. He spent the season in a drug and alcohol fueled melancholy. If I’m honest his behaviour disgusted me and I refused to see him for several weeks. Due in part to the black misery Christmas seemed to pour over me. I had spent a week at home with my parents and my two brothers. Manipulated into cooking every meal and sleeping on a sponge masquerading as a mattress. If that isn’t a recipe for depression, what dear friends is?!

We had one more romantic encounter. He said I was the most beautiful person he had ever met and that I was amazing and that I glowed beauty. I told him I liked him  more than anyone I’d ever been with. He freaked out.

He tried a few more times. I resisted. Yay for me! I slipped once. You have to understand that I was an insane amount of horny.

“She’d get up on a cracked plate.”

That’s how you might describe the condition…if you were an utter prick. Anyway, I had barely been given the chance to casually imply I might be up for it, when said he didn’t want to anymore and that it was likely he was still in love with his ex girlfriend.

So it’s over. I love him, cause he’s my homey but I’m not in love with him. Honestly. He’s staying with me now, due to the fact that he’s actually homeless (I’ll be joining him shortly I fear) and I feel nothing for him. Nada. Zilch. He’s so kind. He’s extremely witty. He’s amazingly talented. Wonderfully insightful. But I don’t want to fuck him until he bleeds, and that dear friends is the main thing. That said we do sleep in a tight embrace and have done the deed several times. But we won’t speak about that. <Hands over ears LALALALA>.

In other news…

I have gone over to the dark side. The dirty filthy dark side. The side that turns you into a boring sack of dull shit. Where your friends eyes’ start to glaze over when you speak of it. Where you get consumed with measuring and counting and comparing.

DIETING

Worse than dieting.

Lipotrim

For those of you not cool enough to be in the know, Lipotrim is a food replacement diet. Instead of eating food, you don’t. Nothing. At all. And then you drink three shakes a day, or  you can have some chicken soup, which conveniently doesn’t have any chicken in its recipe. Yay! And then you drink four litres of water and settle into a quiet life of loose fitting clothes, razor sharp cheek bones and chronic constipation.

I’ve been on it for two weeks.

On the second night, I dreamt that I was in the backseat of a moving car with my little brother. He’s only twelve. Aaawh! He was eating a bag of Charleville grated cheddar.

“Does this taste funny to you?”

He handed me a piece. Without thinking I put in my mouth. On realising the grave error I had made, I shoved my fingers down my throat trying to induce a good vomit. I then opened the door, hurled myself out of the moving vehicle on to the dusty motorway. The last image I saw before I woke in a state of panic was me on my hands and knees scraping at my tongue trying to coax the bastard back out.

It’ll all be worth it when I’m emaciated.

Man Friend said my face looked gaunt. Well he didn’t but it’s what he meant. He also asked if I have no gag reflex. Sometimes the romance gets too much.