The Saturday story

On the night out that the Artist and I were going to spend the night together (we haven’t actually slept together as of yet), I met a guy.

Across a bar I saw him, and not too long after Runner told me to stop staring and I turned around, he was there asking whether he could take the empty seat beside me. God, he’s attractive with his blonde hair and smooth features.

Not too long into the conversation, he asked for my name. After seeing that he was wincing a bit, I asked for his.

We were incredulous. Laughing, we groaned at each other.

“But you’re so … fit !”

“And you’re so attractive !”

It turns out that this incredibly handsome man is the son of my mum’s best friend, and the brother of a friend of mine.

He was too lovely to leave, so after some chatting and kissing he gave me his number, and sure enough later on in the night he surprised me by waiting outside a nightclub for me to come out.

We spent the next hour or so in each other’s company since my friends deserted me without a word. I grabbed some pizza, and as we waited, he held me in his arms where I snuggled, trying to warm him up as much as doing it for comfort. He walked with me as I ate (he refused a piece and tried to shove it in a bush) though he was shivering and would not leave me until he knew that I was getting a taxi back. He was the ultimate gentleman.

Throughout this, I was waiting for news from the Artist who said that he’d come down from an event up the hill at the opposite end of town around 3. It was 3.30 and an hour or so earlier he’d told me to “hang on” as his friend had gotten into a fight (at around 7 I received a text saying that the friend had been arrested). He never made it and I went home, alone, after ordering my new acquaintance to go back inside the club (where the stamp they’d given me wouldn’t work again as it hadn’t been done properly) to get warm.

Moreover, Saturday was laughable and yet weirdly lovely.

I just wish the Artist would have been able to come down, and I wish he’d set up another date. Soon.

18 and Crushing

I turned 18 last Saturday, which for you Americans is the British equivalent of 21.

The night itself was an eventful one with snogging a 40-year-old French guy who might or might not be actually from Swansea, throwing abuse at BlackLace who was at the same bar and a friend being taken to hospital for having trouble with his heart after 3/4 of a vodka bottle.

Yet out of this wreckage came a somewhat surprising find: a new romantic interest.

I don’t have a clue how he found me attractive that night, being a drunken mess, swearing non stop, violent and kissing a paeodophilic French guy, but somehow he did. He helped rescue me from the middle-aged man, and held my ground against BlackLace before walking and chatting with me around town, when we were taking a breath of fresh air and trying to find the rest of our group.

Once we’d found the rest, we decided we’d leave as it was now verging towards 2.30. 8 of our original group came back to mine, with him and his 2 mates in tow. We chatted in the kitchen, raided our fridge and the 3 eventually set off for the next village, which was where they were staying.

Sunday night, I received a Facebook message. We corresponded for a bit before falling asleep.

In school my friends told me that he was trying it on with me that night. I laughed, thinking that if I was less drunk and knew what was going on, I’d have probably gone with it.

Monday night, we chatted for a few hours. Tuesday followed suit. And Wednesday, and last night.

I like this guy. I really do. For once, I’ve found a nice guy, who is funny and weird but above all he’s lovely. He’s actually lovely. And he lives in the same country, bonus!

I’ve never had such luck. I can’t believe it. What have I done to deserve this?

The thing is, I’m quite scared; I don’t want to screw this one up. Not this time. I can’t.

He’s seen me at my worst yet it hasn’t repelled him.

I feel so vulnerable and yet so content.

 

Ugh, God, if only it was easy.

 

Teenage Cupid’s harsh.

I don’t know what it is with me, but the easy, kissing in the bowling alley, cycling over at 9 o’clock on Friday night teenage romance isn’t panning out as it should.

I have a new potential romantic interest and he’s perfect. He’s intelligent, he’s fascinating, he’s cute, funny and Irish.

Although the Irish bit means that his sexiness naturally quadruples, it also means that any sort of relationship, be it a friendship, a bit more or a romantic relationship is just impossible. A huge f***ing sea divides us. It’s not just a border, it’s a f***ing sea.

Oh, I’ve also forgotten to mention that I’ve never actually met the guy (don’t worry, I will, in 5 weeks, when we’ll be going on the same Oxford course – an episode of Catfish won’t be necessary). We’ve been talking every day for the last month, with the conversations this week being moved from the online course forum to Facebook, which has meant that we’ve been having in-depth 3 hour conversations without really realising it.

It scares me how comfortable I feel telling him things. It scares me how much we know about each other already. It scares me how much he makes me nearly piss myself laughing constantly. It scares me how much I already trust him. It scares me how much talking to him lightens up my evenings.

It scares me how much I want to meet him. It scares me how much I want to see if our connection is true, face to face.

It scares me that when I do meet him, maybe I’ll want to be with him.

It scares me that I’ll probably get hurt.

It’s scary.

I’m scared.

 

Fuck you, Cupid.

Forgiveness. Yes, that awful thing.

After snogging a random guy at a gig on Saturday, I thought I’d finally got rid of BlackLace from my mind (he’d invited then uninvited me to his party the day before, which sort of hurt!); okay, hardly rid, but at least I wasn’t completely involved with him. But oh no, he could not stop there. He had some more messing around to do.

“Hey :)”

“Hia. How was the party?”

Fuck him.

I have no idea what was on his mind, but it was like nothing had happened. It was like we time-travelled back to that Friday night at his, and just carried on the conversation. He was flirting. He was FLIRTING.

Actually he was doing more than flirting. It wasn’t extremely pleasurable as I was still angry at him for being a douche (ah, his first name), but I went with it. Built him up. Flirted. Reacted to him (not too much…) until I decided to make my move, after a rather disgusting message.

“I have no idea what game you’re playing… Shouldn’t you be saying all this to [other girl]? From what I gather, she’s had recent activity.”

(I’m too nice a person to scream “YOU’RE AN ARSEHOLE, YOU MOTHERFUCKING TWO-TIMING, REJECTING BITCH” like I wanted to do.) It was good enough.

I didn’t get a reply instantly; it was late on a school night so I wasn’t too bothered, and besides, it was out of my system. I carried on with my hectic life, talked to my friends about it, hugged a few people, blah blah. I started talking to Birdie, as I’ve started to refer to her (mine and the other girl’s mutual friend), about it and she started shouting and saying how dare he, blah blah.

Oh yeah, forgot to tell you, on the night of his party, he snogged the other girl.

I had a reply from him lunchtime that day. It actually surprised me. I’ll copy our conversation here.

BlackLace: “sorry if ive been a dick to you. i really dont have a game, i was just messing about” [sic]

Me: Yeah you have been. To her too.”

BlackLace: I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to be, I just didn’t think I’m really sorry I never meant to make you feel bad, I think you’re a really nice person and I never meant to be a dick”

It was then I started melting. I couldn’t stay angry at him. I physically couldn’t. I can’t pretend that I don’t like him, don’t find him hilarious, don’t think he’s pretty sexy for a 17-year-old. I couldn’t and can’t. I have no idea what the hell he does to me, but I can’t help but stop caring and actually believe his words. I forgave him on the spot.

Me: “It’s ok hun, I’m sorry I snapped. It just hurt a bit to be messed around like that.”

BlackLace: i can not say how sorry i am, i would never want to do anything to hurt you” [sic]

Me: It’s fine, you’re lucky I’m a forgiving person… 🙂 thanks for apologising x”

I am such an idiot. What did I think would come from forgiving him? That he would leap into my arms and say how much he missed me, how he just wants me, how I’m everything he needs at the moment? That he meant everything he said to me? Of course he hasn’t replied! Of course he hasn’t! Why would he?

Writing this post has actually made me a bit teary. I can’t believe that I let him do this to me time after time. Why do I find him so irresistible?!

I deserve better.

I deserve better, right?

I Swear …

I knew it was too good to last.

Teenage love just isn’t in my destiny, is it?

He ignored me. He would perhaps give a reply to a text the next day, if I was lucky, and then wouldn’t talk to me until the day after that. It was so incredibly strange. It was like the last fortnight hadn’t happened; like we were back to where we were just before Christmas, but even more fragmented, if that makes sense.

Who am I kidding, it doesn’t make sense.

He fucked me over.

I guess I was right with my last post; I was just a casual liaison.

But, what the hell? Why invite me over if you didn’t want anything?

I asked him what was going on with us, and he replied,

“haha um don’t know really, I don’t want like a girlfriend or anything but um yeah just see what happens is what I usually do haha”.

Ugh.

Well, to be honest, I can’t be arsed with that. I’m not going to waste my fucking time.

No more BlackLace.

I have to admit, I’ll miss him. He was good fun.

But, in CurlyGirl’s words: Fuck boys and their dicks.

And you know what? True dat, girlfriend.

 

(I apologise for my crude language – I thought I’d keep it all in. You know, for effect.)

 

 

Lust-Sickness …

Is this what being love-sick feels like?

Concentration is impossible, Friday evening keeps cropping up everywhere I go, and I can’t stop thinking about him.

BlackLace.

I’m scared he doesn’t want me, I worry that he didn’t enjoy Friday evening as much as I did, I’m afraid that he doesn’t accept my warts and all. I mean, there are plenty of them to be accepted after all.

What did we do? I won’t go into too much detail, but we snuggled watching a film for a little while, before things started to escalate, and by the time he needed to get ready to go out with his family for dinner, we were lying face to face, semi-naked, with crap all over my front. Sounds gorgeous doesn’t it?

There was a lot of laughing, mocking each other, flirtation and nose-rubbing, which I found absolutely lovely, but I find myself wondering and worrying whether he felt the same way. I barred off my downstairs, and I’m glad I did (it was only our first ‘meeting’ after all) but I hope that he doesn’t think that I’m against sex, or ‘frigid’, which is a horrible word, but apt.

I haven’t talked in-depth about Friday evening to anyone yet, so it’s bubbling inside of me, with all these questions swimming to the surface.

  • Does he find me, personality and looks combined, attractive?
  • Am I just a casual liaison?
  • Does he find the things I do sexy?
  • Do I repulse him?
  • Does he want what I want?
  • Does he like me?
  • Like, really like me?
  • And, the stirring question: Where has the other girl gone?

Maybe it’s lust-sickness.

I’m confused, scared and worried, yet I’m happy.

I’m rather quite happy.

Huh.

F**k You.

Merry Christmas from windy Wales! Hope you’ve had some festive fun (and continuing to do so) with some lovely presents thrown in. I certainly have! I have lovely jumpers now, thanks to my family! Oh, and a lamp shaped like a cage. Plus, my first designer handbag; a vintage Gucci. Très bon, merci!

Then why call your post, “F**k You” if you’ve had a nice Xmas? I have a valid reason: the crush (let’s name him Douche) turned out to be talking to me and this other girl, apparently in two minds which one he should go for. I found this out via birdies. Fine, I wasn’t expecting much anyway; we’d only been talking for about 3 weeks when I found this out. He was texting me normally for a while, until this week. He stopped abruptly, sending maybe one every two days, with these tiny ones unlike the usual conversations we’d been having; there was something missing in them.

All the while, I’d been chatting with the mutual friend this other girl and I share. She told me the back story of Douche and her friend’s relationship (apparently it went back to the Summer) and we were comparing Douche’s relationship with me with that… I was put out, but he hadn’t told me any of this, and at the time he was texting me every day, so I felt strong and perhaps fearless.

Yep, so then he stopped. I heard he and this girl got together in a party they went to over the weekend and asked her to go to his house and crap like that. This is when he stopped. No sorry, no apology for leading me on, no good-bye, no explanation, just a full stop.

It was then that my walls came down.

“Urm, what?”

It seems that 103 texts in a month deserves no acknowledgement at all.

It’s not the knowing that there won’t be a relationship between us (that’s fine), it’s the way he’s treated it that annoys me! There’s a person at the other end of the line, Douche, you can’t just leave like that. You can’t just ignore someone after constantly talking for weeks. One deserves some sort of explanation, for fuck sakes.

Even a “Merry Christmas” text would have been nice. Thanks.

You and your fucking kisses at the end of texts. Nice going, Douche. Thanks.

Fuck you, Douche.

Fuck you.

A Death of a Relationship…

So I told WelshNash that I love him. Worth the pain of letting him go and knowing our friendship is over? I honestly don’t know.

It was Tinted that text him for me, when we were tipsy at her house. He phoned me the day after, and we talked for 50 minutes, with me quite teary on one end and him a bit scared on the other, I think. He went out for a fag during our conversation, which says something. That phonecall was lovely, I have to admit, even though it told me everything that I didn’t want to hear. He had no idea about my feelings.

t’s been about a month or so since when it happened, and I met up with him once after to see what we had become. No hugs, no laughs, no ‘spice’, no WelshNash and Hapusrwydd.

I saw him for the first time since we met up in school on Tuesday. That fucking hurt. He looked right into my eyes and ignored me. He just pretended I wasn’t there. I saw him again later that day and he did exactly the same thing.

I feel so much hatred towards him for being such a hole towards me; I made a list before meeting him after telling him, what I like about him and what I don’t, and I realised how many things about him annoyed me and made me feel really small. For example, he was sooo flipping patronising, he made me feel guilty for having problems that “don’t matter” and kept telling me what I should do. Excuse me? I run my own life, thankyou. He’s now judging me for being a part of an organisation that “isn’t radical enough and doesn’t make a difference in the World”. Well fuck me then.

I burst out crying Tuesday evening, in a rehearsal for the show that is now on (2nd night was tonight) in CurlyGirl’s arms. She’d been flirting, and it hit me how WelshNash and I will never be. Of course, I also had this anger bestowed upon me, so it was a very emotional, quick cry. It’s hard though, seeing people developing romantic relationships, knowing that my mind isn’t fully free of him and that I can’t move on just yet.

The death of my feelings has begun.

Maybe, in a few months, I’ll be me again.

 

Apologies, but this is a WelshNash filled post…

So, last night we met up.

It was 7 o’clock, getting dark, and he was waiting for another friend. I found out, it was to get some weed.

Therefore, I had my first taste of a spliff last night with him. I rather enjoyed it, (it tasted pretty nice) yet I barely felt any different. Probably because it was my first time.

After this, it was about half past 7, and we went for a walk to the beach, having some banter, some arguments and some laughs together before reaching it. The view was lovely: it was a mild night, so we weren’t cold, but it was black. The metallic black of the sea was beautiful, with its swishing the soundtrack of the town.

We sat, talked and it was asked by WelshNash:

“You wanted to talk about something, right?”

Was I going to tell him everything I wanted to say?

What’s up with your attitude in school? Do you and that girl from up North have something going on? I love you like crazy?

I just started ticking off my list of chat requirements, starting with the attitude (he doesn’t mean to be different while there are people around – he hasn’t thought about it, and is just a co-incidence), then on to the girl (he doesn’t know – he just likes ‘to have a girl to talk to from time to time, you know?’ Urm, ok…) but the next? I couldn’t tick it off.

I had plenty an opportunity to do so, “Do you have anything else you wanted to talk to me about?” (in a nice voice!! Doesn’t sound a very nice sentence, but it was!) and even a bit of conversation involving the “spice” between us when I ticked off my first topic…

“I mean, people do snigger sometimes, like those guys behind us when we were planning meeting last week; I think they see a spice between us.” (W.N)

“Do you see a spice between us?” (Me)

“I haven’t actually given it much thought, to be honest.” (W.N)

I should have said then, “I see a spice. Maybe not a returned one, but I fucking feel it.”

Plus, what the hell does that reply mean? It’s so vague! He doesn’t help matters when he does this to me all the time. I wish he’d just give me a straight, honest answer. I think I’m at fault a bit though; I need to be more certain and tell my mind too. I started to do it, but I finished too soon.

He also (after I asked, and to his “Why?” I replied, “Because I haven’t had one for ages! Since the summer, man!”) gave me the most gorgeous hug I have ever had. I’m not even joking. I want another one! It was a sitting down hug, where I had my head against his shoulder and he held me tight and did that rubbing thing with his hand over my back. It was awfully lovely, which also doesn’t help matters. (Sorry, a bit random there…)

It was 8.45 on me leaving.

I still don’t quite know if I regret not telling him that I love him, as I had the chance to do so.

What I do think by now though, is that I’ve done right by myself through doing last night. I can’t say I feel closure, but I feel more at ease than I did before about my feelings for him, and more at ease with the idea of trying to get over him.

That’s the next step, I think, if of course he doesn’t ask to meet up soon.

That I doubt, therefore, getting over it is.

A Few Things to Start my Summer…

So today was the last day of school, and I have to say that this last month has been the best of my life so far!

Many a thing has happened, but the most crazy things have been:

  1. I’ve started smoking a bit more seriously. Not too much, just one once in a while, but I have my own stuff now.
  2. I’ve had my nose pierced, against the advice of my Mum, Dad and family, but I love it!
  3. I went to a gig and snogged a guy; this made me pretty confused about my feelings for WelshNash.

The last point? Yeah, I’m not sure. Bless the poor guy, I was nearly crying because WelshNash was at the same gig, and I felt I was betraying him. That seems quite silly as WelshNash doesn’t feel the way I do, but I couldn’t help myself. His friends coming up to me and shouting his name in my face about ten times, showing his name on his phone to me and pointing and shouting at me from across the floor in the gig didn’t help things either. But, bloody hell that gig was good!

WelshNash? I’ve met up with him twice since the gig and I think my feelings are slowly going away. Don’t get me wrong, I still like him a lot, but I think I find him a more ‘big brother’ figure by now. He gives me advice, talks about things with me that I can’t talk about with other people, he’s interesting and interested in what I say, but most of all he makes me laugh. I love his company, and I think he likes mine, as he asks me to text him when I’m available.

I’ve been talking to BalaBoy again and we’re planning to meet up over the summer, hopefully accompanied with SongWriter and MissPretty. I’ve missed him, I have to admit, and he’s apologised incredibly nicely for being a complete arse-hole last year! I respect him for that! We’ve been texting a lot over this last fortnight and I don’t feel anything, thank god! 😛

Hoorah, no school for six weeks!! Pretty relieved to be honest, I’m so tired! I’m going to do so much artwork it’s crazy! So excited to doing so! Music, art and friends = one fabulous summer! Bring it on!

It’s my cousin’s wedding tomorrow! Congratulations Samantha (and Ian)! I’m wearing a vintage 60s red and cream patterned shift dress with a black hat, black + fake plastic straw heels (nicer than they seem!!), black scarf + a green and black bird bag that I made for my mock GCSE. I should look alright :L I really want to see what she’s wearing! Oh, and good luck to my Art teacher as she gets married in August! Haha!

Ooh, just found out about Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings and have been listening for the last hour. So, so good! Soul-y tunes with plenty of subtle trumpets = why the hell haven’t I heard about them before?!

Three of us went to the tattoo parlour yesterday to get our noses pierced; well, two of us had them done while the other wanted to see. It really hurts!! For those who haven’t experienced a needle piercing, they clamp your nose with a kind of scissors that have circular ends, stick a needle with a tube stuck on its bottom through the circle of the scissors and then take the needle out, leaving a tube in your nose! The stud goes in the hole made by the tube, but I have no idea how!! It still hurts a bit, quite like a bruise, but I don’t mind because I love it! I know my traditional family won’t like it when they see it, but I couldn’t care less to be frankly honest, as I’m starting to discover who I am and showing it.

Right, I need to get started on a painting I’m going to make for my Step-Mum of the pretty town that was our home a few years ago (it still is really, but we live ten minutes outside by now). Speak to you soon!