Sooo…..the rules of Valentine’s day. A day loaded with ritual, expectation, disappointment, and over priced floral arrangements. I suppose sometimes rules need to be broken. But first here are some of my Valentine’s observations….
If in a
happy/pretending to be happy relationship;
- Enjoy a joyous, mid week, tres expensive, 3 course set dinner, dans le romantic restaurant.
- Try to look as wonderfully in love as the couple to the left of you. And to the right of you. And in front of you. Although the couple behind you are making you giggle, because you think they’ve had a row.
- Notice the food is below par but refuse to complain in case you spoil the mood.
- Drink pink fizzy wine. (Ok so most ladies I know love this stuff. But some guys would be happier with a beer, or a nice glass of full bodied red. Here’s a tip fellas. If your lady likes the pink fizz. Let her have the whole bottle to herself. Get yourself a beer and get lucky.)
- Swap dubious cards. Either too cute, or too gushy, or just too pink. I’m not being sour about the sentiment. (Well maybe a little!) But some of those cards should come with a government health warning for high sugar content. (*Disclaimer* I would like to point out that I reserve all rights to completely cherish any ridiculously sentimental cards I ever receive from someone I actually like.)
If not in a relationship;
Check to see what your Ex is doing on Facebook for ValentinesAargh. Nope. I’m over that one. Honest.
- Rent a film guaranteed to make you cry. Why? It’s a form of masochism. What part of your brain goes “Ok, today I might be slightly emotionally needy I’ll watch The Notebook.” Awesome work brain, awesome.
- Eat so much chocolate that you decide you need Overeaters Anonymous.
- Drink so much wine that you decide you need Alcoholics Anonymous.
- In a booze and sugar intoxicated state decide that a self help group might be a great place to meet a nice guy.
- Realise that you don’t have a nice guy. And will probably never ever meet one. Even a drunk obese nice guy, who requires extensive therapy.
- And watch the Notebook again.
Ok, so I can see a storm is brewing. So rather than weather the single cry fest alone I’ve organised a dinner party for friends. There’s strength in numbers, self pity seems to thrive on solitude. I think it eats it.
It’s my first dinner party since my break up so I’ve just got two friends coming over. Didn’t want to over challenge myself. Besides my other friends appear to be busy on the 14th.
(Ok so I’m ordering in Dominos pizza but the sentiment is the same. Besides I’ll hand out plates and napkins so it’s partially civilised.)
PS Any suggestions for films to watch would be greatly appreciated. Although am on a weepy free film diet on Thurs. Action, Sci Fi, or Horror only. (Am avoiding comedy as well as romance. Comedies always seem to have a love story in there somewhere!)
Did you know there are dedicated websites where you can actually sell your Ex’s stuff?!? Now I am assuming these sites are for people who have been left with something more valuable than a toothbrush and a Stone Roses CD, but I’m wary of delving too deeply into such things in case I get Ex envy. It’s bad enough having a significant Ex, without thinking that some other bastard could have bought you much nicer presents. For my last birthday Richard bought me a bra that was one size too small (I could never work out if that was a compliment or an insult) and a pair of knickers that were one size too large (which yes, I took as an insult). So I don’t really have anything of huge sentimental or monetary value to dispose of.
But seeing as I have almost/nearly/just about ish….got my head round the fact that we are potentially/ possibly/probably…. never ever getting back together (damn you Taylor Swift). I kinda need to work out what to do with/how to dispose of his stuff. My friend Gemma helpfully advised me that burning his things is probably out of the question, as I live in a smoke free zone, and I’ve missed bonfire night. And I’m not mental. But it’s been a few months now, and I think it’d make me feel better to shed his clutter.
I have enquired many times if he would like to collect these items, or have them delivered back to him by Fed Ex, but he does not seem inclined to coordinate schedules. Which is rather strange as I still had his favourite hat. And he loved that hat.
Anyhoo, I’ve separated his stuff into three piles, bin, keep, and charity shop.
BIN PILE: Toothbrush, Deodorant, Comb, Razor, 7 socks, 4 pair underpants, small bra & large pants gift set, football sticker books (yes that’s supposed to be plural), 2 t-shirts with suspicious looking holes in them.
CHARITY SHOP PILE: 2 t-shirts without holes in them. Stone Roses CD. Call Of Duty game. Large toy dinosaur. Lego. (in case you are wondering he was 29)
KEEP PILE: Scrabble, Valentines day cards, and Birthday cards. (Not quite ready for that purge just yet.)
Big Love EvieXXX
PS I was wearing Richard’s favourite hat last week. It is a rather nice stripy wool bobble hat. And it was cold. Our nice local Big Issue seller guy looked chilly. He now owns Richard’s hat. This makes me happy.
Much like diamonds, fast cars, and hot men, dignified indifference is something I admire. And like most things I admire, I do not possess any.
And so, I fear I may have thrown myself head first off the New Year’s resolution wagon, and into a giant muddy puddle of angst. Not only did I have a drink. (Only one drink, but it’s amazing how much wine you can fit into one large glass. Try it!) But I also checked my Ex’s Facebook page. Drunk Facebook curiosity was expressly forbidden. And now I know why…….
Because my Ex now has a “Facebook official” girlfriend. Proudly announced to the world with the flick of a status update. Technologically rubber stamped with the introduction of a recently cropped profile photo, showing their conjoined twin, smiley happy faces. My Ex and his new lady.
The girl I saw him with on New Years Eve has been promoted, from random festive grope, to timeline approved partner.
Epic. Just when I think I’m about to turn a corner, I do a bloody U turn instead.
So now the merry little head dance commences……If I looked more like her (devastatingly pretty) would we still be together? Why her not me? (Ok so I’m slightly in denial about the devastatingly pretty thing.) If I bleached my hair, got extensions, manicured, pedicured, didn’t eat for six months, and had extensive plastic surgery to look more like her, would he take me back? Would the bank give me a loan for the surgery? Would plastic surgery hurt? Would I end up with identity issues after surgery? Will he ever want me back? Will I ever not want him back? How do bees fly?
Way too many pointless, futile questions. I would quite like to switch my head off, quieten it down from its pointless rambling. Frankly I probably need a slap, but I have a low pain threshold and I bruise easily. Like a peach.
Hope your New Year’s resolutions are panning out a tad more successfully.
Big Love Evie
Current January Resolutions points tally 195 points ish.
There are many things I’ve never been particularly good at. Not necessarily in this order but…. Swingball, ice skating, catching anything spherical, hitting anything spherical (see reference to Swingball), swimming without inflatable assistance, and practising any form of self discipline….pretty much top the list. At this time of year I particularly hanker after the ability to exercise self discipline (I will work on the swimming, once again, in summer).
Soo….instead of banning myself from stuff, which never seems to work, I have decided upon a New Year’s resolution points system. I have chosen 5 things I really should give up in the New Year and have awarded points to each item. The points for each resolution vary depending on how detrimental/mental they are. (My best friend Gemma has acted as chief adjudicator on this one.)
Here is the list of the 2013 baddies;
- I MUST STOP
BORING MY FRIENDSTALKING TO MY FRIENDS ABOUT MY EX – 25 point penalty per comment.
- I MUST STOP LOOKING AT MY EX’S FACEBOOK PAGE – 10 point penalty per hit.
- I MUST NOT TEXT/CALL/WRITE LETTERS/OR SEND CARDS TO MY EX – 100 point penalty per time.
- I MUST NOT MAKE ANY ENQUIRIES INTO MY EX’S NEW LOVE LIFE – 50 point penalty per question.
- TO FACILITATE POINTS 1 TO 4, I MUST NOT GET DRUNK – 20 point penalty per alcoholic drink.
I will have a daily points tally and monthly one. At the end of Jan if I am below 200 points I can obviously trust myself to give up the points system. And Gemma can stop monitoring me. 200 – 300 points then the system rolls into Feb. However if I am over 300 points, I have to delete my Facebook account. Completely. As monitored by Gemma (my former best friend).
I can’t delete my Facebook account, it’s my
stalking lifeline social lifeline. So I am going to have to be good. I’ll let you know how it progresses. I know this is supposed to be good for me. But so is celery. And I don’t like that either.
Let me know how your New Year resolutions are panning out.
Big Love Evie XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxx
Current January Resolution Points Tally 10th Jan 95 points. Pah. Stupid points system.
- Ask the Experts: Why Do We Make New Year’s Resolutions (And How Can You Keep Yours This Year)? (cardhub.com)
- Resolutions (janegoodallcanadablog.org)
Ahhh. New Year’s Eve. The night when disappointments are crystallised. Hopes are crushed. Dreams shattered, and livers scarred. Or is that just me? And yet it all started out so well…….
Me and a small group of good friends, went to a local drinking establishment stuffed to the rafters with merrymakers. I had initiated damage control early. My mobile phone had been given to a sensible friend, so that I could not “accidentally” drink dial or text the Ex. A Christmas jumper was donned to keep me cheerful. And I kept off the wine, sensibly sticking to copious amounts of gin.
Then, just to make things unreasonably exciting, I spotted my Ex, Richard, on the other side of the room! Heart rate accelerated. Eyes shone. (Mine not his. But hey, it’s a start.) I was determined to sparkle my way through the evening, convinced that if he should look my way, on such a fateful night, he would realise we had to be back together.
Yep. Ok. I know better than this. I mean as soon as my brain goes into fairytale territory I should know to dive into the bunkers and take cover. Because romance like this only exists outside of my relationships. And normally only in rom-coms starring Drew Barrymore. He left me, I should hate him, I’m worth more than that…. Whatever…. But part of my brain is stubbornly optimistic, possibly something a lobotomy could resolve, but I digress.
Back to New Year…. so Richard and his friends had unfortunately moved out of my line of sight. I tried to coerce my friends to go stand nearer to his group. But I was met with a stone wall of common sense. They had my best interests at heart, they didn’t want me to look like a mental stalker, but I really didn’t care. My self esteem ran off with my self respect some time ago.
Five minutes to midnight, and I still hadn’t made any contact with my Ex. Which, I thought, was frankly ridiculous, I didn’t see why I couldn’t wish him Happy New Year in person. After all my phone had been unnecessarily confiscated.
I decided upon direct action. A walk by. Combined with a smile. I figured if I caught his eye and he smiled back then I could legitimately go say hi. And possibly spend midnight with my Ex. Perfect.
OK. So right now I didn’t need an emotional bunker. I needed someone to lock me in a bomb shelter. In a padded room. With a straight jacket. Unfortunately instead….
Using the time honoured excuse of heading to the ladies, I pushed my way through the buzzing crowded pub. As he came into view, my heart pounded and I felt dizzily warm. Probably the by-product of one too many dutch courage gin and tonics.
And then he kissed her. I don’t know who she was…… But she wasn’t me. And it was like taking a sucker punch to the Christmas jumper.
It may be fair to say, I then panicked somewhat. If he’d seen me, gawping at him, I would’ve looked like a right dick. I felt suddenly faint. The fire exit to my right was just in reach and I pushed against the door, escaping from Richard’s presence……and the warmth of the pub.
I needed to cry, drink excessive amounts of wine, and speak to a friend. Preferably simultaneously. But most of all….. I really, really, needed to get back in the pub. But the fire door was a one way kinda thing. I knocked pathetically on it for a couple of moments, until my remaining brain cells woke up my common sense and advised I’d be best off walking round to main entrance.
My watch said – midnight.
The bouncers said – no entry without a valid ticket.
I said – but my ticket is in my handbag inside the pub, along with my coat and confiscated phone.
It’s possible I may then have cried. A lot.
So I spent the arrival of 2013 trying to negotiate with a pair of humourless men, who had biceps the size of my head. Apparently the damsel in distress thing doesn’t work too effectively when you’re wearing runny mascara as blusher.
A very nice smoker person eventually went into the pub, and got one of my friends to come out and find me. My friends then sensibly barred me from going anywhere near Richard for the rest of the night. But I got so very very drunk that I ended up with a two day hangover. And I still have a grumpy knot in my stomach wondering how he could replace me so fast.
So…………..my new years resolution…….…..
I must find out who this new girl is. I must get over my Ex. And drink less.
On the plus side, I have been returned custody of my phone.
I hate January.
Hope you had a better New Year Eve. Here’s to a better 2013.
It is widely acknowledged that we do not drive when drunk, or operate heavy machinery. Or get married. Unless you’re famous, bored, in Vegas, and can afford a good divorce lawyer.
Mobile phone use on the other hand? No restrictions. Knock yourself out! Text, Call, Tweet away with drunken glee. If you are lucky, you may lose the faculties with which to operate your phone. Unfortunately this rarely happens. In personal experience you have a higher probability of dropping your mobile down a toilet, or leaving it in a taxi, than actually being unable to use it.
But the worst thing is, technology has a memory. So when you’re lying in bed the morning after the night before, pillow over delicate head, stomach gnawing with the fear, your friendly phone will remind you just what a prat you were.
I need the rules to be changed. I need to be barred from being drunk in charge of my personal life.
Sooo… before I delete the evidence. Here are the texts I sent my Ex whilst drunk at my Christmas party. Peel hands away from eyes and commence typing. ARGHHH.
- ‘HAPPY CHRISTMAS. JUST WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW THAT MIKE SAYS HI!’ – (A random pointless text, blatantly designed to elicit attention. FYI Mike is my boss. Mike has met my Ex once in his lifetime. And no, Mike had not said ‘hi.’)
- ‘OOPS! YOU KNOW WHICH MIKE. MY BOSS MIKE. AM AT XMAS PARTY. TIPSY. X’– (Over clarification a tad unnecessary. Kiss, very unnecessary.)
This is the point I should have just left it. But no, sometimes rampant lack of self control is like an itch you just have to irritate.
- ‘WHAT YOU UP TO TONIGHT? ARE YOU IN TOWN?’ (Desperate.)
- ‘NOT THAT I WANT TO MEET UP WITH YOU.’ (Trying to claw it back.)
- ‘UNLESS YOU WANT TO MEET UP?’ (And we’re straight back to desperate.)
A half hour pause in textual activity. During which time I pointlessly/pathetically/hopefully waited for a response. And, usefully, drank more wine.
- ‘I NEED TO SEE YOU TO GIVE YOU YOUR STUFF BACK. NOT THAT I HAVE YOUR STUFF WITH ME TONIGHT. THAT WOULD BE WEIRD.’ (No. I keep texting someone who does not reply to me. That is weird.)
- ‘WHY ARE YOU NOT TALKING TO ME?’ (When sober I’d assume this is a natural symptom of him dumping me. Or… that he was in the cinema…. I really hope he wasn’t in the cinema.)
- ‘DO YOU EVEN WANT YOUR STUFF BACK? OR SHOULD I BIN IT?’ (Ooooh getting angry drunk now. This is where my phone should forcibly shut down and only resuscitate if needed to call the emergency services. Or my Mum.)
This was followed by a ten minute Black Sambucca session. Like that was going to help me retrieve my dwindling rationality.
- ‘DON’T NEED YOUR SHIT IN MY HOUSE ANY MORE.’ – (Well if I keep being this charming, of course he’ll get back in touch!)
If memory serves me right it was then onto tequila shots with the idiot guy from Marketing.
- ‘FUCK YOU ASSHOLE.’ – (Classy Evie. Classy.)
There was then a brief interlude, where I gave up on the texts and fruitlessly tried phoning my Ex instead. My final bedtime text when I got home was lovely, simple, and humiliating.
- ‘I’M REALLY RELLY SORRY RELLY SORRY I JUST MISS YOU I LOVE YOU I LOST A SHOE TONIGHT I LOVE YOU MISS YOU XXXXXXXXXXX’
Awesome. What really distresses me is that I even lost the ability to punctuate.
Needless to say he hasn’t been in touch. I don’t particularly blame him.
Bring on 2013, the year where I don’t make a complete and total divvy out of myself. Although I may be being a little optimistic there.
So it’s that time of year again. No I don’t mean Christmas. I mean the office Christmas party. The one where you invariably embarrass yourself to the point of redundancy.
I promised myself I wouldn’t get drunk. I even wore shoes that I cannot walk in sober, as a reminder to keep the booze to a minimum. Needless to say this did not help (and one of the said shoes is now missing in action). I miss that shoe. But I digress.
Picture the scene. Sophisticated city centre restaurant, sparkling lights, party dresses and smart suits. And 47 employees intent on getting utterly wasted on free alcohol. What can I say? I’m easily led.
It was one of those evenings when I actually left the house feeling half human. By some miracle of Christmas, my hair was tolerable, my frock fitted (just), and my make up was reasonably applied. Then I looked in the mirror at 10pm and my face looked like it had been badly constructed out of melting Play dough. I actually found a false eyelash on my cheek at one point. And I wasn’t wearing any.
So what did I do wrong? Would you like a list? I’m rather fond of lists, they remind me of food shopping.
- I sat next to my boss. And I talked to my boss. I talked to my boss WAY too much.
- I told my boss (in utter confidence of course) that I wasn’t keen on the new Marketing guy. The new Marketing guy was sat next to us. I assume he has ears. I think it is safe to say that the new Marketing guy now does not like me. Fair play.
- While I was on a roll, I told my boss that most of the staff don’t seem to like him, and that he should be “friendlier” at work. Argh! They should abolish the lie detector and just get people massively tipsy. Much cheaper.
- As if to compensate, I told my boss that of course I liked him. In fact I loved him. I was going for sycophantic employee. The look on his face screamed “restraining order”.
- I stroked my boss’s arm (I am cringing as I’m typing now). Did I mention that I’m the type of drunk that hugs people a lot and tells everyone they love them? No? Maybe someone needs to tell that to my boss.
- When my clearly uncomfortable boss moved his chair away from me, and enquired about Richard, I told him that Richard was without question the love of my life. Whilst crying.
- I then ignored everyone around my table for the rest of the evening and texted Richard. Many, many, many, times.
- I then called Richard. He didn’t pick up, although according to my call log, I was persistent.
- Then I called Richard’s best friend. Who now presumably thinks I’m mental.
- Eventually I got poured into a taxi home, by the new Marketing guy. Minus my shoe.
Simply bloody marvellous.
I have just been re reading the texts I sent to Richard. With one eye closed. If I can get up the courage, I will blog the texts at some point. Needless to say it is very clear to Richard, and his best friend, that I am not over my Ex. And now my boss thinks I am in love with him. The HR department will be having kittens.
I cannot go into work on Monday. I need to get flu. Fast.
Big Love Evie XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxx