how to make a gal blush.

"i don't know, but there is just something about you that makes my bowls relax."

-christopher, the englishman.

things i have learned since i last updated.

being called miss outside of the bedroom is a weird and strange thing.

becoming a teacher constantly reminds me of what a horrible student i was, what horrible teachers i had (in terms of proper teaching techniques), and how horrible we both were in our separate and distant classroom roles. the things i got away with, but more specifically, the way my teachers would deal with me afterward, would make my professors weep in disgust if they witnessed such things.

in grade twelve i was a source of disruption at times.. a constant source of disruption in my philosophy class, admittedly. eventually, it was mentioned after one class that if i could not respect my peers or my teacher enough to remain quiet for the duration of the period, i should not bother to attend.

so i happily blew off class for a week or so. an extra period to chain smoke outside and contemplate all the stresses weighing down my seventeen year-old mind, was necessary and a longtime coming.

come friday, however, i was spotted in the hallway by the irked teacher of the philosophical variety. instead of receiving a good ol’ fashioned tongue-lashing, and a guilt trip that you’d have to fly to because driving would take weeks, i received an apology. i also received an invitation back to class (golly gee!) and was assured no penalty for skipping class all week. i arrived to class on monday, maybe on time, probably smelling of cigarettes and knock-off perfume, to see a pleasant surprise!

candy.

the teacher bought me candy.

if any of my students acted like i did in that class, and then skipped because they were trying to be some sort of a rebellious, stubborn bitch, candy would not be in my arsenal of techniques to deal with them. i may be new to this whole teaching thing, but i am quite certain cunty students do not deserve candy when they lack remorse, or show any signs of taking class seriously.

the teacher was warm and apologetic when welcoming me back at the beginning of class. and i sat, with a mouth full of guilt-candy and every intention to cut class later that week.

it is memories like these that make me wonder what i ever did to have my teachers eating out of my hand.

or, i eating out of their candy dishes, perhaps is better phrasing.

inhale.

sometimes

i like the fact that smoking has fucked with my sense of smell.

the air here often smells like the milk remaining after eating a bowl of alphabets cereal

and just as cold.

sugar and spice.

-text from david, 3:34 pm: i need to ask you something and i want you to be totally honest with me. it may be awkward between us after this but i need to know how you feel. i have kept it in for awhile now but i think it is finally time i be straight up and just confront you.. i hope this doesn't ruin the friendship we already have. i just need to know and i don't see any other way i could get over this. just doesn't seem fair on me if i don't get an answer. i just want your honest opinion.. would you say a jaffa cake is a cake or a biscuit?

clearly it is a biscuit, dave. thank god you're pretty and have an accent...

tell me i am pretty.

i have successfully made it to scotland.

i have successfully tongue-kissed a couple scottish boys.

i have successfully been questioning the self confidence, estrogen levels, and general thought processes of these boys ever since.

exhibit A:

leigh.

fabulously hilarious man with a love for the word cunt and mad respect for me showing him how to properly fist someone while we stood in a packed pub.

[showing does not mean i am into it, i just know things.]

conversation flows smoothly and he thinks my accent is adorable.

he can tongue kiss like a champ and allowed me to act like a respectable lady the first few nights we went out and i told him i would be having no heavy petting in or around my lady bits.

sounds fabulous, non?

well, kids, i pray to sweet baby jesus not all scottish men turn into fourteen year old girls when they are smitten, because this one sure did.

i cannot possibly list all the needy texts i have received.

i forgot to bring a tape recorder when he let the term 'girlfriend' slip, then ask if i would go to his uncle's birthday party on the weekend.

i wish i had a witness to the questioning about if i have spoken to my mother, father, brother, friends, flatmates, cat, dog, doctor, palm reader, the irish guy in my class, second grade teacher, the british guy in my class or the virgin mary about my feelings toward him.

i am kicking myself for not counting the number of times he has stated he misses me, and i cleverly respond by commenting about the cheap cost of cheese in this country.

[seriously, for a huge portion of brie, i paid one pound forty.]

but the real kick to the baby maker, the one text that made it oh-so-clear my non-existent testicles were much larger than his, was as follows;

[insert twenty minute phone conversation lasting until 11:21 pm]

-text from leigh, 11:25 pm: it was nice talking to you x

thought in my head: you said that before we hung up, no text for you.

-text from leigh, 11:37 pm: tell me something nice x

thought in my head: what the fuck?

-text i sent: the fact that we can giggle about fisting and then spoon is cool. now stop acting like a girl.

i feel like i am the stereotypical male trying to still get laid whilst balancing delicately between leading someone on, and lying to myself about the fact that he does not have ovaries hidden somewhere; pumping out more estrogen and vitamin-clingy than a bus filled with catholic schoolgirls who give their boyfriends rim jobs then doodle their names onto binder covers.

"tell me something nice"

is this the male version of " tell me i am pretty"?

first post.

sometimes it takes an old friend and hilariously poor (but amazing) judgement calls in life to really get the message that starting a blog is totally called for.

the term 'necessary' comes to mind.

the phrase 'i can never do anything in the public eye once this gets rolling' also comes to mind.

i am hours away from hopping on a plane to scotland, leaving behind my friends and family, my cat steve, and all the boys i have loved before. bad break-ups with cheating old men are good things to leave behind, so this, my first entry, is dedicated to the lying douchebag that recently reported his less-than-saintly behaviour.

[i am all for less-than-saintly behaviour, but save it for single life, boys and girls.]

i am including the last contact i have made with the ex.

it was the greatest, kinda-sorta drunk, accomplishment i have ever been a part of.

drunk me is vicious and the kind of bitch i always looked up to.

so enjoy, judge, and, scotland, watch out because i am invading your country in a matter of hours.

xox.

so.

well, this will be the last contact we have, i will make sure of it.

i loved you. and in the time we have not spoken and the time we have not proclaimed any sort of love for each other, i realized i did not care as much as i thought i would.

you lied to me so many times. aside from the age thing, the kid thing, the fact that i knew your ex still loved you and you said she did not, but then told me she told you often she loved you, aside from all the bullshit you told me, i still loved you. you lied once about "finishing work for the day" then like twenty minutes later said you had the day off... it is bullshit.

YOU ARE FULL OF BULLSHIT.

you lied to me so many times and i just thought i could pass it off and pretend it did not matter because they were "little" lies, and trust me, i knew the lies you told me and do not be an asshole and think i am that stupid.. you lied to me way too much and you really thought that blaming me about cheating and being an unfaithful douchebag would make you feel better, i meant everything i said, every letter i sent, every tear i shed, every time i told you i was not cheating, i would no do that to you. ever. so, really, get a fucking reality check. you are the cheating bastard. you are the liar. you are the one with NO BALLS that avoids me for over a week to tell me you fucked someone else. you are less than a man. you deserve no respect from anyone. i do not care how talented you are and how talented you think you are, you are a fucking shitty human being. and really, being a decent person means more than being a good tattoo artist. you may have talent, but you are full of yourself, and you are a fucking cocky, lying prick that should not deserve the praise you have gotten. you are a paranoid asshole and for all the wrong reasons. i would have stayed by your side for decades and you got bored and fucked it up.

you really are my biggest mistake, regret, and fucking shittiest boyfriend i have ever had. by far. you are truly at the lowest of the low of men in my life. and as i said before, i will get over you, which has been quite easy, but you will always be a cheating, lying, asshole. you disgust me, you make me glad i am single right now. on more than one occasion i have had someone say "oh that fat old guy? you can do so much better anyway". and it is true.

you are shit.

total shit.

so i really hope it was worth it.

you are fucking worthless and at some point, i hope you realize that because all of THIS makes it so fucking clear why you are and have been single for so long.. you ARE a deadbeat dad. you ARE a liar. and you ARE cheater. none of those things can you object to. i am just an idiot for ever thinking any different.

so fuck you. i really do hate you.

you have been a terrible and awful point in my life.