Boys and the lies they bring!

What is it with boys, pfft.

They are bloody weird.

As you may know by now, I’m pretty much laid back in the old romantic department, a less polite term may be “emotionally retarded”.  When I was in NYC, I met a lovely man, a very goodlooking, sexy man.  He was enamoured with me, which was exceptionally flattering and also a lot of fun.  I met him at this event called “Irishfest”, that’s just asking for trouble, isn’t  it? He thought I was italian (hah!) and wasn’t even deterred by the fact I hadnt seen my hostel for two days as I had been randomly crashing at random american peoples houseparties.  I had a hole in my tights! (I didnt notice this at the time and when I noticed it in the morning, he said, “yeah I saw it the first time I saw you”.  Charming.

Anyway, this man is just like all the rest.   Bloody weird!  He likes to keep in touch via the old book of face, we message sporadically.  Initially frequently, as I headed on to NZ and he was still “plagued” with the thought of me perhaps.  Though for men, out of sight is definitely out of mind.  As months passed correspondance was a few times a month.

He has this arkward thing… where he will leave messages on my wall going HEY MILEY HOW YOU BEEN?? JUST CHECKING YOU ARE STILL ALIVE!  Not in capitals, I just put them in capitals cause… I just did, okay!  The weird thing is, before this message, he emailed me a week ago asking the same thing and I like to hear from him, as with all my friends I met on my travels, so I reply.  None of this weird crap of , oooh you didnt email me for a while, I will wait to reply.   I might be like that if I was totally hot for him.  Anyway, so I reply and I dont get a reply back, but then a week later, the random message asking if I am alive.

Either he has early onset dementia or that psycho woman he was seeing when I was out there, goes onto his facebook and deletes his mail.  I wouldnt put it passed her.   I didnt do anything, the time I stayed with him in his bed (I’m a good girl, remember!)  and he had told me he had come to Irishfest with this other woman, that he had just “seen a few times!.   Well, of course, he was lying, he’d been seeing her for ages, as I noticed on facebook, she had been on his wall messaging I MISS YOU, YOU ARE THE BEST for about 7 months…. Anyway, she was a complete weirdo.  That night she messaged and called him about 12 times after he had said he wanted to go home by himself, pretending she was being stalked and that she had to come to his.  Then she showed up and I hid in his roommate’s cupboard and he got rid of her.   Then apparently she came back at 4am and was banging on the door but no one let her in because she is a nutjob.

He didnt treat her very nicely at all, did he?  I thought in retrospect.  I didnt know he’d been “seeing” her for so long.  But if a man ignored my voicemails where I was crying that someone was stalking me to my house and that I had also locked myself out of my house… I would be unimpressed.  She is a doormat for him though.  I think that’s why he still sees her (as evidence of his facebook wall, many “I MISS YOU BOY, CALL ME!”…   ugh, dignity woman, dignity!  I think I made a lucky escape from that mess.   He was all “man I wish you were staying here longer bla bla bla”.   I was too excited as I was off on my next country adventure and there were kiwi boys to meet!

I cant be bothered replying to him, or I will, I will say, do you have alzheimers? I replied to your mail the other day…” .    That will get psycho woman’s pants in a right twist, teehee, evil!

Night dear abyss!

 

That kiss it lasted too long…

And we probably shouldnt have danced to that song!

 

Is it worth sacrificing your ideals for a shag?

Or a hand to hold?

Someone to text in the evening or take to the cinema on Orange Wednesday?

See, I don’t think it is, but my housemate and the guy she is “seeing”, I think they both do, for different reasons.

The problem is, she got out of a relationship with an army man, whom she was head over heels for, like seriously head OOOVEEER heels. He even admitted to her that he knew she liked him more than he liked her… and she was so smitten she just nodded, accepted such arrogance and smiled blissfully in his ginger hairy arms.

Well, he turned out to be a ne’r do well bastard.  She was sad for a while, she started to get over him. The old facebook reared it’s ugly informative head when she saw he was “in a relationship” again etc, etc.

She met this guy, I’ll call him Puppy. This does give off the impression that he is cute, but dear reader, he aint.  It’s more to do with the fact she kicks him and he yelps then comes back for more. He is trying to get her to make it official, that they are boyfriend and girlfriend, my housemate is denying this, saying she doesnt want a relationship. He takes her out all the time, pays for dinner (V day was a hefty 120 pound meal). He stays over frequently and she stays at his. It has all the markings of a relationship but she refuses to yield.

Last night they had an almighty row. A huge row that woke me up. Slamming doors,  tears, swearing. He was mad because they had gone out together to a place where she knew lots of people and he knew only her.  She had apparently ignored him  and flitted off, flirting with other men. She was mad because he had gone off the rails at her and said she was a user and treated him like shit.

All very bad business but I must confess, very fun to “eavesdrop” on… you’d have to be deaf or comatose (like one of my other drunken housemates at the time) to not hear it.

My question is, yes I am alone, yes I have always been “alone” (in the sense of no sexy boy to cuddle up to, a thought that until very recently made me want to vomit!).  Though, I’d rather be in my shoes, than in my housemate’s or her “non-boyfriends” situation.

For her, she is just filling a void… quite literally. Puppy is convenient.  She admits it’s nice to have someone to take you out and someone to fuck, lets face it.  But he’s nothing special and his clingyness is annoying, I know she cares for him but she doesnt see a serious future together.  I couldnt do this, fuck someone I didnt really, really like.  It may be because I have a clean slate and cant start off with something luke warm, but I’d  also like to think it’s because I have respect for myself and others.  I told my housemate, if she was truly altruistic (which it is very hard to be anyway) she would “finish” with him because it is only going to get worse.

I would definitely not trade places with the Puppy. Not only would this mean being a man, it would mean settling for scraps and less than ideal treatment from someone you really liked. She isnt overly nice to him, I mean she is, but she makes it quite clear he is not to bring up anything to do with “where they are relationship wise” and because he is so into her and she is luke-warm for him, she sometimes snaps at him or is careless of his feelings.

I never want to be like that. I hope that, if someone were to treat me badly, I would respect myself and step away. It’s worse because he’s a “man”, you expect them to be made of stronger, less wussy stuff .  When I was drunk, I told him over the phone that he ought to be “more of a bastard” to my housemate, because she likes bastard men that she thinks are too good for her, when really they are just jerks.

He didnt take the advice on board and now they are having a “crisis meeting” at his, as I type this, after the fireworks last night.

So in conclusion, it is not worth sacrificing my ideals just for a hand to hold or someone to take me out to dinner.  What’s the point if the hand isn’t special? Or if the person across the dinner table is as exciting to you as a… erm, tic tac?

No point!

Best things come to those who wait e.g. Guiness… and the Irish guy that drinks it.  Eek, what is it with me and the Irish boys?  Twill end badly,  you mark my words.

 

Peace? I hate the word, as I hate hell, all montagues and thee.

If I could talk to you now, I would tell you that you have been the only guy I ever knew that didnt make me ever feel sick inside. I could explain this further but I cant be bothered.

It is about 3am right now. If this was you writing this, you would be drunk and saying something ridiculously charming. I would try to be cool and take the piss. You wouldnt be able to see I was faking nonchalence. I’d love that. Getting one over on you, priceless

If you could know how you made me feel.

I dont know why this last day and today I have been unable to shake your memory. It has been years without a serious thought. I wonder if something has happened to you and this is my sixth sense. You make me believe in all those things I’ve read.

You make me feel like I’m walking down the corridors of my favourite places in my favourite books.

You give me that feeling of coming home  and going  to the garden with good old  Pedro and seeing the mountains and getting the  breath knocked out of me by their massiveness and snowyness and closeness even though they have been there since my birth.

You remind me of the time I won the part of Scrooge in the school play when I was 12. Even though I was a little brown girl! Excelsior!

I guess you make me miss you. How I miss those moments of my youth. You make me feel how I felt then. Never sick and strange. Never out of my skin.

A lot of guys didnt like you, they thought you were an arrogant, a true wanker. I know you weren’t. I never even gave it much thought, but the times you couldnt sleep and we would talk. Now I think about it, it was the best. When you would outright fall apart and disappear and shun everyone and be so funny about being so bored and depressed.  The way we both loved sleep. The way you needed the attention of everyone and would charm the world and his wife, especially the wife may I add. All the sides of you. Your love for Germany. Your hate for all things french even though your surname is french, hah. The fact you admitted it was french.

The way you cared for your little brother and your mum was the most important thing to you. The way you were cagey about your  estranged father who you disliked so much. The way you got mugged by those guys, the way you told me all about it and even laughed at the ms paint picture I drew of your messed up after-mugging face.

The way you thought I was funny. The way we were friends and I never felt homesick with you. This is a feeling I call homesick but it’s not a longing for home. It’s a longing for a feeling inside, a feeling I cant describe and am not sure what it is called. Maybe that same innocence from when I was little. From when I could love people and laugh with them and enjoy life and not feel sick when they got closer because it was all pure and magical. That’s you, that feeling.

The way we joked totally non-pc and you the way you loved that evilness in me.

The way we were never serious and never a big deal and nothing I ever missed before.

The way I miss it now.

The way you never gave a shit about the stars.

The way you were with your girlfriends and how open you were about your ups and downs.

The way I never wanted to be your girlfriend

The way I realise you were a safe place, unlike all my others, you were non-fictional and a man.

The way I would love to talk to you again

 

God be with you, Ireland.

Well there’s 7 minutes left of St. Patricks day although I heard that officially those wacky Catholics had moved it to the 15th. It’s no secret I heart Ireland. I don’t know why, I’ve always loved it and I’ve always been fascinated with everything about it, especially the history, the writers and the land (literally) oooh and the irish film board, man about dog and intermission, need I say more?!!

Anyway, I’m just midnight rambling here. This is all well and good that St. Patrick’s was allegedly on Saturday because I dont think you need reminding that Wales won the 6 Nations on Saturday so whenever Patricks Day was it was greatly overshadowed. In the words of Al Pacino in scent of a woman, hoo-ah! Or wait was “hoo-ah!” the soldiers chant in Black Hawk Down? I forget.

Saturday, I can barely remember either, so very drunk I was! The bar which is notorious for the sporting Welsh was absolutely packed with all the nations. When Shane Williams scored the significant try, I was besides myself and everyone was going mad. Someone shook my shoulder, I turned around screaming, “Wooooo-” damn near got cut off by the lips of a (very sure of himself) Irish guy. I was so elated with the Rugby and so veeery drunk that I snogged (there is no other word for it than this, I’m afraid) the Irish fool back without a second thought. And the rest of the night is history. History of which I don’t really remember because I was very, very drunk. But of course nothing beyond PG.13, you know me, I have my reputation.

I’ve got to do a country review of Ireland soon, of course by this I mean Dublin, I was last there for my birthday with my Mobile Ethnic Brothel (we’re like the power puff girls!) ridiculous amount of fun, I assure you! I’m going to bed now, I will tell you about the House Idol fiasco later. Night!