Thursday, 24 July 2014

Of Course Another Issue Arises

After my last post, of course something else pops up to give it all a good fucking up.

So I said that it was indeed possible that I actually quite liked Boyfriend Troy. He's in Edinburgh for the holidays whilst I've stayed in Aberdeen but we've seen each other a couple of times since uni broke up for the holibobs.

However, I was having a nice little Facebook stalking session with my mother and having stalked her previous friends and my Dad's new girlfriend, I decided to stalk TGI to see if he'd gotten fat.

That was a bad idea.

No, he's not the best looking but he is a RUGBY PLAYER. A chunky rugby player. And when you, like myself, are 6 foot tall, a chunky, tall rugby player is an excellent match. Because he makes you feel protected. And that feeling of safety is - to me - an exceedingly important element in any relationship.

Now after seeing some photos, I got reminiscing real bad. And don't get me wrong, it wasn't like, oh my dear Mr TGI Darcy, how I do miss your scintillating and sparkling presence in my life. It was more like, damn son you were exactly my preferred body type. I mean, more muscle wouldn't have gone amiss but y'know. Close enough. 

Ooooh look at me, Little Miss Shallowpants. Come on, don't lie, everybody's shallow. You can't help but be shallow. Everyone prefers the shallow end of the swimming pool anyway because you can do handstands.

So here's the thing. Every time that I was with Troy and things were getting down and dirty (I kid, I am so fucking innocent and angelic...), I would get flashbacks of TGI. Which would make me push Troy away and scoot as far from him as possible.

Now that ain't good.

It could be something as little as kissing and something in my idiotic brain would trigger a connection to TGI and I would freak.

Ho hum, I really do not know what to do about this.

Troy, bless his face, knows about TGI to an extent. An extent. To an extent. Extent. Again, extent. To one of those. Extents. 

Basically he knows that I had a bad experience with someone before him and it is therefore stopping me sleeping with him.

Seriously. We've slept together once. And I do mean the sex. Not just sleeping. Actual proper How I Met Your Mother banging. Ahem:

I'm worried, man. Because recently, I've been having thoughts that I'm going to break his little heart by being the first class bitch that I am deep down inside. Also, I've been having rather longing thoughts for The Time Before Troy, or, The Pre-Troy Era as I like to call it. 

Can I be Frank with you? ('Sure, if you prefer it to Nancy'. Heh.) Not that I am anything other than frank with you in my posts. Except when I sum things up very quickly because I have a very short attention span and get bored extremely easily and quickly.

I miss being single. I miss being a huge slut and making out (or more) with horrid boys at clubs and then discussing my night's adventures the next morning whilst hungover with my equally promiscuous friend. I miss being the girl with stories. I miss getting dolled up with the ashamedly predatory expectations for the night. I miss how casual my 'relationship' was with TGI. 

I know I'm seeing my 'thing' with TGI through rose coloured glasses at the moment because I'm verging on unhappy right now. I know that it had shit times COUGH THE END OF IT COUGH SEE MY POST ON IT COUGH WHAT AN ARSEHOLE COUGH but I was honestly the happiest I could ever remember being during the TGI Era.

Fo realz, I literally skipped and danced about with a huge grin on my face when I went for a solitary beach walk during the TGI Era. There was about 2 other people on the beach but other than that it was just an empty expanse of sand. It was chilly and windy but I danced about like a mad fucker and spun round and jumped the waves and it was bloody fantastic. 

Right, tell you what, I shall make this into two posts to save you the boredom of reading this nonsense for a prolonged period of time. I suggest you have a nice cup of tea and a biscuit while you wait for me to write the next post. Or why not just do what I like to call, A Nancy, and get on the tequila. I can assure you that is what I intend to do. Fuck being at home for the holidays, I can get silently drunk by myself. 

WARNING: The next post will no doubt contain some daddy issues. I apologise in advance and please let it be known that, when not using them to my advantage to lure men to my bed, I detest being a girl with daddy issues.

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