After a week of such romantic heartache - I must now rather morosely add that at this time last week I was avoiding the clutches of Himself - I should by rights be out on the town drinking large cocktails with girl friends, or at least the Gay Brigade. But noooo. It was the Boyf's birthday this week (I know!) and he turned 29. So, plan was I would take him out tonight for a slap up meal and a few drinks. Then it rained on my parade. (Well, actual rain, but not so much a parade as an oh-fuck-what-do-I-do-with-this-new-hairstyle? moment.) Whilst I was getting ready, the Boyf cancelled on me due to the admittedly abhorrent weather. So we stayed in, watched X factor and Parky, and he drank beer. Woohoo!
MJ begged me to go out, but I felt a little mean on the Boyf, since it was meant to be his birthday night. Even though it was him cancelling the night out, I felt like I should at least keep him company rather than running off with a tall handsome blonde and his sexy boyfriend for a night of fun, frolics and talking about men. Oh okay, one man.
Look I know I've crossed the line into psycho but I just cannot tear my mind off the idiot. I am attempting to cure my condition with the use of sad songs tempered by kick ass songs, searching for the perfect look-what-you're-missing-bucko outfit to wear for his leaving do, and I even attempted to pretend everything was okay and pay some attention to the boyfriend (which ended in absolute disaster by the way.) But until I'm over it I'm just going to have to indulge the hysterical harpie inside and then, when my judgement isn't clouded by the memory of his face so close to mine and the fact that I didn't kiss him, then I will decide what I want to do about Boyf.
Because really, even though I really fancy the arse off Himself, I could have had him last Saturday. And something stopped me. Some thin layer of the morals my mother instilled in me clung on perhaps, but there was also the strange feeling that I didn't want to go there. Now, after all my fantasising and stolen looks and especially all the banging on about him, what the bloody hell was that about? And I'm just talking about kissing here, because I'd never go there. I didn't even want to kiss the guy when it was offered to me on a plate! I turned him down! The guy I'm now fantasising about kissing! WTF?
You know when you're a teenager and you fancy a pop star, and you're really convinced that you're like in love with them, when really your hormones are just all over the place and you need a safe person to focus all that energy on, a person completely unattainable and remote, somebody you don't even know so that you can sort of dream up their personality to suit your taste? Well, is that what's happening here? Or, to put it another way, is Himself actually Mark Owen? Am I wanting a new life and dramatising it all into this 'affair' with a man very different from the Boyf - in good and bad ways - so that I can imagine an alternative lifestyle, but without the fear of being alone?
Or am I just plain batshit crazy?
Your guess is as good as mine.
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