LB (And To A Lesser Extent: Troy)

I've realised that every time it has properly ended with a man, I write something about it.

And (obvs) I haven't written anything about the train wreck that was LB yet because, up until about a week ago, I still wasn't sure I was 100% over him. There was about 0.01 of a percent of me that still thought about him in the way that I definitely shouldn't have.

But anyhoo, I messaged him last week. Not with any malicious intent of course, I just wanted to have some closure. I wanted to find out what he had thought of me when we were together (in the loosest sense of the word).

Long story short: he is the most boring man on the planet and apparently just found me 'interesting'.

And seriously, like the wave of a magic fucking fairy godmother wand, I'm over him. Completely. He doesn't pop into my head any more and even if he does, I have a record of the conversation that proves he is a boring fuck and probably couldn't deal with a conversation about poo.

Tiny Friend Holly says that we should now just ask people the moment we meet them if they would be comfortable talking about poo a lot as it makes up the majority of our conversations. Because we are adults.

So goodbye Sean. And fuck you for generally ripping my heart apart over the course of one very very long year. But also thank you. Thank you for making me realise what I really want. Which is not you. So again, fuck you. Also you're balding. You're very tall so you can't see it but I can assure you that it's starting.

Also lol totes forgot to do this about Troy about a billion years ago. So goodbye Gregor. Sorry I was a total bumhole to you. I hope you find someone that will have all the sex with you.

Frustrating Arsehole

Isn't that a charming title? Especially coming from such an elegant human bean such as myself. The frustrating arsehole in question today, children, is Tall Australian. Indeed, Tall Australian of the epic adventures 'Beach Walk For First Date' and 'Unfeeling, Non-committal Sex For Second 'Date'' fame.

As I mentioned in my last post, I had a potential sex date with him last night. However, even as I was writing it, I knew that I didn't want to see him. I was just feeling really disconnected. I was drawing back into my Lonely State. Now the Lonely State is not a good state to be in. Because, for me, it describes general loneliness. I can never pinpoint just why I feel like that. I could be in need of a hug from a friend, my mother, a furry four-legged animal (I mean a cat, not TGI... Excuse me while I laugh forever at how unfunny that was) or from a man thing. And it turns out that my Lonely State the other night was for wine, food and an impromptu cinema date with my flatmate. And it was rather lovely. We continued it this morning by getting a taxi to the doctors at 9am because she has tonsillitis:

God, I love Miranda. Did anyone watch it? Tiny Friend and I are often described as Miranda and Stevie. I'd say that was fairly accurate:

The height difference is the same. I know, I know. I am utterly huge.

Anyway anyway anyway. Tall Australian is an arse. And he is an arse because... Well I don't quite know. But whether it is a clash in personalities or what, he just rubs me up the wrong way (oo-er) and frustrates me to fuck.

He texted me today and as per usual, by the second text, we were getting on each other's nerves. I wish I could say this was some sexual tension and we'd have crazy hot sex after fighting but... Nope. Just anger. No sex. Just anger. Via text. Our text conversation deteriorated into this (sorry, much screenshots):

Here we can see he's obviously an arsehole because he cannot spell 'enlighten'.

And here, ladies and gentlemen, we can see the rare case of me actually beginning to tell him what I thought.

In this particular case here, we can see that I finally told him what I thought and he just dismissed it. Dismissed it like I was an utter idiot. Arsehole.

And finally, my well known sarcasm rearing its textual head (oo-er?). Again: arsehole.

I am aware that I'm not really shown in my best light in those texts. But he just makes me so frustrated. And I am drawn to replying. I can't help it. I feel he's getting away with it if I don't reply when really, he's winning whenever I do text him back. I hate it when men win. I am too competitive for that. I recently met Tiny Friend's boyfriend (I imagine it was scarier than when he met her actual parents and not... Just me. But he bought me drinks so I like him) and we got to talking about how many people we'd slept with. He was 2 more than me. So I immediately started trying to think of 3 guys I knew might sleep with me so I could beat him.. My competitiveness is dangerous.

Anyway, I just needed to vent my frustrations at Tall Australian. I'm properly annoyed and slightly upset now so he's most definitely in the doghouse. And hopefully will be staying there forever more. Arsehole.

I'm going to now retrieve my phone from where I threw it (quick temper, sorrynotsorry), wait until wine time (5pm) to get a drink and then eat an entire mound of cheesy bacon potatoes that I, the culinary goddess of this flat right now (flatmate is asleep, she doesn't count), made all. by. my. self.

I got skillz.