Yep, he's dumped.

I've got rid of my boyfriend. Is he a boyfriend, if I've only been with him for six weeks? Anyway, we've broken up.

You know when you meet someone and you don't feel the "click", but the two of you end up getting together anyway and even though you know it's not right, you just go with it because you've been single for ages and it's nice to be with someone? Yeah, that's how we were. He had an amazing body and a massive cock, but he was also four years younger than me, for one (20 to 24), and for another, he just wasn't right. He doesn't read (I can't even get into the shower without a book in my hand), he's a smoker (it makes me gag just to smell smoke on someone), and he's INCREDIBLY possesive (he was jealous of all my ex-boyfriends, the most recent of which I'd broken up with two years before.). Plus he never complimented me, and more often than not made me feel like a loser. Every previous boyfriend I've had has made me feel like a princess, and I don't think that's an unreasonable request; this one made fun of my bad skin, my little poochy belly and my dress sense. I've already got enough of a downer on myself, dude, I don't need someone else dragging me down too.

So now I'm looking forward to New Year's Eve - new year, new start. I'm going to get myself together mentally and physically, and start treating myself like I should - with respect and dignity. Happy 2008 everyone!

Not again.

I'm having major problems with this new boyfriend. How do you detach from someone who has surgically attached himself to your hip?

More tomorrow. Right now I'm going to bed with Heat magazine.

Walking home from my night out...

Random guy waiting for taxi, quite quietly to his friend: Ooh redheads, my favourite.
Me: [overhearing, looks over shoulder and smiles - he was under 30 and cute, you've got to give them some encouragement.]
Him: Tell me you're Irish.
Me: [over shoulder, still walking] I am.
Him: Take me home.

It's amazing how such a small thing can give you such a massive ego boost. I'm going to bed with a smile on my face.

Is there such a thing

as too big a penis?

Because I met a guy on Tuesday, and we've spent the last 4 days together, and I really like him, and his cock is MASSIVE. But he takes ages to come, so it starts off as "ooh yeah" and ends up as "oh...yeah."

He's adorable though. And he's not going to disappear into the great beyond (ok, I've said that before but this time I can guarentee it because he's pretty enthusiastic about me).

But yeah, the huge dick thing. On the plus side, he knows what to do with it. On the minus side, I'm on this stupid pill which makes my period unpredicable, so he's only ever known me while I'm bleeding. On the plus side again, he doesn't seem to mind that. Anyone have any tips for what to do with a giant penis?

I'm not meeting father of my aborted foetus tonight. He texted me a couple of days ago saying "sorry, really busy on Sat. Think we should forget the whole thing." Ok dude, you've just made my dilemma a whole lot easier. Never thought I'd be thanking you, but thanks a million!

Help me!

I need some impartial advice.

The guy who got me pregnant texted me this weekend, asking to meet up. Haven't heard from him since June, but apparently I met him during "a very fucked up period" in his life and he's been thinking about me and wants another chance to see me. Okay, great, I'll probably meet up with him if only to find out where he disappeared to and show my disapproval, but here's the thing - what if, when I see him, I can't stop myself from blurting out "you got me pregnant!"?

Or is that a good thing? Should I tell him? Does he deserve to know? I haven't told a single person, but surely if I'm going to tell anyone, it should be him? It's not like we're going to have a long term relationship - he's nice and everything, but it's not a love match - so is that a reason to spill or a reason to keep it zipped? (my mouth, not his zipper. That's definitely staying closed this time.)

I've been holding on to this information for months, and I sort of feel like if I tell anyone it'll weaken me. Like if anyone knows, it's a chink in my armour and they'll think I'm weak. That's why I don't really talk about my lovelife with people I know, because if I'm all excited about someone and it doesn't work out then I'll look stupid. Which is stupid in itself - you're supposed to be able to talk to your friends about pretty much anything without being judged. But I don't like to make myself vulnerable.

Anyway, I'm getting off the subject. The big question: should I tell him? Actually, should I even see him? Opinions please.

When did I decide

that other people's inability to make me orgasm was my fault?

It just occurred to me as I was sitting here. Why do I blame myself? It's not like I actively try not to come every time I have sex. And I've managed it a couple of times now with someone else in the room (plus I'm very good at doing it myself) so I'm not one of those women who is completely unable to orgasm.

I'm so sick of faking it. I used to think it was just easier, took the pressure off, plus they never noticed it wasn't real so where was the harm? Turns out the harm was in me cheating myself out of many many orgasms over the years - if they think they're doing it right because I'm faking it every time, they're not going to change their methods are they? Lying to boyfriends over the years, putting the effort into performing without ever getting the real thing back.

And if I'd said something, I know every boyfriend I've had would've made it his mission to get me there. Maybe that's what I was afraid of, that they'd try and try and it still wouldn't work so they'd end up feeling like a failure. Which, again, wouldn't have been my problem. Unless they put it on me, decided I was weird for not being able to get over the final hurdle. Ultimately it all comes down to fear of rejection, of being out of the ordinary. Story of my life.

I feel like shit today.

Last night was fantastic. I went to my drunken hook up boy's house (we've slept together about five times over the past few months but always at my place so this was all new) and it is AMAZING. It's in the middle of nowhere, by a river, the house is huge, they've got a freakin HOT TUB in the garden...I got really drunk so it's all a bit of a blur but there was definitely naked hot tub action at some point. Then we slept all curled up together, and he kept kissing my back and my neck and it was so lovely...

...and now I feel like shit. He dropped me off at home about two hours ago and I've been on the verge of tears ever since. I feel like I just want to be back there rather than sitting here with nothing to do. It's not that I'm in love with him or anything, I just like the closeness and I want more of it. He's completely unreadable - there was the snuggling and affection last night, but I don't feel like I can ring him or text him for a couple of days now in case he thinks I'm getting clingy and all that crap.

Oh god, I don't know. I just don't want to be on my own right now, but unfortunately I have no choice.

Took the words right out of my mouth.

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Sometimes I wonder

if I'm going to be single forever.

I know I'm only 24, so it's not like I'm over the hill or anything, but I haven't had a boyfriend for 2 and a half years. That's a loooooong time for someone who truly loves being in a relationship. I feel so much more secure and my outlook's always generally sunnier when I'm with someone. And yes, blah blah, don't need a man to be complete, love yourself before someone else can love you, all that bullshit. I KNOW, I've HEARD it. It's just not true.

And I'm starting to get horribly jealous. Not just of people I know in real life (all of whom, by the way, are in relationships. Seriously, I know one girl who's single in my entire social circle, and she only spilt up with her boyfriend three weeks ago so she hardly counts) but of random couples walking down the street, characters in TV shows, women in magazine articles...even when the article's about something else entirely, if it mentions the subject's boyfriend or husband, I get pissed off. The other day I read this piece about a woman who lost both her legs and got through it to become a champion waterskier and met the man of her dreams, and all I could think when I finished it was "she's three years younger than me and she's in a relationship. Life's not fair." How fucking sick is that? Christ I'm a horrible person. Maybe that's why no-one wants me.

Oh yeah, things with him from the last post didn't work out. Obviously. Not sure why I thought it would, since it never ever does ever EVER and never will again.

I met a man!

Again.

He's cute and kind of odd looking (exactly my type) and he's got a great accent and he smells sexy - pheromones rather than Lynx Africa, which I actually love shut up. You know when a guy puts his hands above his head and you get a whiff of him and go "ooooh!" Yeah, that.

And this one is NOT going to go to Morocco and come home with a girlfriend. Still not over that, in case you can't tell.

The only thing is, he's got the same name as my cousin, which is a bit weird. And once again I used sex as an icebreaker, despite my plan to keep my legs shut. Still, I'm seeing him again so it's not quite as whorish. And it was sooooooo good. One more point on the Non-Self-Induced-Orgasm board. I rode that boy so hard I'm walking bow-legged today. I, erm, called in sick for work (on my second day, nice one) but all in all, not a bad day [/Jim Halpert].

The return.

I go back to my course on Monday. Can't wait, if only because I'll be out of my parents' house and back into my own space. No more hiding the condoms and the vibrators and the pills. It'll be paraphernalia agogo, illicit substances strewn on every surface.

But there are going to be big changes. I've decided I'm not going to sleep with just anyone who bothers to look at me. My new bed is going to be pristine until I meet someone I really really like (the click will be necessary). And, of course, I'll be exhausted from spending eight hours a day at the hospital, trying not to spew at the sight of peoples' eyes being popped out of their sockets [I originally typed "sickets" there, which says a lot about my state of mind].

Eyes, eeeeuuuuuwwwwww!!!!!!!

Right, hopefully that's it out of my system.

Timmy/Shimmy

Apparently Shimmy is Alice Brady and Timmy is Arthur Blake.

I call bullshit.

Brady was 22 years older than Blake, but that's only a minor point - if you look at pictures of Arthur Blake, he was most definitely a MAN, in drag or not. There's no way he and Brady could've passed for each other. It's my personal believe that the originator of this myth (http://crazydaysandnights.blogspot.com ) studied the hundreds/thousands of comments he got in response to this supposed blind item and used them to formulate an answer.

As an Old Hollywood obsessive I wanted it to be real, but deep down I knew it was too good to be true.

Oh, and I got laid the other night. But it's not really worth blogging about. Why would you bother to have sex with someone you don't fancy? Because you get too drunk to say no and feel so unattractive that anyone who makes a move is worthy, that's why. I think it's time to buy an AA book.

He used the cryo.

The bastard arsehole doctor used liquid nitrogen to freeze my moles off, rather than being nice and civilised with a needle and some lignocaine.

Actually "freeze them off" isn't accurate - it takes about a week for them to blister and then drop off. So now I look like I'm singlehandedly reintroducing the Black Death to Britain.

When I did my placement in dermatology, I helped out with the freezing process. I used to hear people moaning about how it hurt, and each time I thought "get over it you big baby, it's just a bit cold."

No, it's not just a bit cold. It hurts! At the time it was just a bit uncomfortable - like, you know when the dentist's drilling your tooth and you're thinking "he's going to stop any minute now. Any minute. Yep, whenever you're ready Mr. Dentist. Okay, stop stop stop it's doing my head in!!" You know? Well, that's how it feels when the -200 degree liquid nitrogen is being sprayed directly onto your skin. Afterwards is when the real pain starts. I was stinging for about an hour ( not five to ten minutes, as the good old doctor told me.)

And the best part? It might not even work on some of them. All in all, I might as well have hacked at them myself with a potato peeler.

Still not gettin' any

The Daily Mail would have us believe that the average British woman aged 18-25 cannot go on holiday without men lining up to give them a good dicking. I am statistical proof that this is not true. I was on holiday this past week and came home with no tan and no mans. Not even a whiff of an STD.

I'm getting all my moles removed on Thursday (well, all except the one next to my ladybits. I'm not revealing that to my friendly neighbourhood doctor for him to go home and wank over later). Five of them are being lopped off, and I can't wait - it'll avoid awkward situations like the time a group of us went to Alton Towers and a friend's friend swiped at my collarbone, saying "you've got an insect on you!" Nope, that's a mole. There's no way of saying that without embarrassing the other person. I wasn't blushing in the slightest, but she couldn't look me in the eye for the rest of the day.

So, come Thursday, they're gone. I've worked in dermatology, I know the drill - the anaesthetic is going to sting like hell, and then it'll be painless. Then they'll move on to the next one. Five ouchies, all worth it.

I'm celibate.

Well, it sounds a whole lot better than "nobody's been sniffing around lately".

I haven't been near a man since my birthday, so that'll be 2 months next week. That's nowhere near the longest dry spell I've ever had (18 months, after I broke up with The Ex Who I'm Still Not Over) but I'd been getting it relatively regularly since I went to uni in September, so I'm feeling the loss.

On one hand, I can't wait to get back in the saddle. Save a horse, ride a cowboy and all that business. On the other, I think maybe now would be the perfect time to stop shagging around and start looking for something more serious. I've been a right old slapper, and what did I get for my trouble? Knocked up.

But then, it's very rare that I meet someone whom I actually want to see more of - mostly I'm just in it for the sex. Or perhaps that's what I tell myself as a way of not getting hurt and convincing myself that I'm just using these guys, rather than them using me. Nah, don't think that's true - there's only been one man since September who I really really wanted to see again, and we didn't even properly sleep together (oral doesn't count, right?). If only he hadn't met that girl while he was travelling...gah. Move on, don't dwell.

For the foreseeable future, I think I'll try not opening my legs within five minutes of meeting someone. We'll see how long that lasts.

Just found out

that I got 87% in the exam I sat before I took a break from university. I'd assumed I wouldn't pass it at all, since I'd missed a lot of the placement in that module - I thought the two went together. But no, I only have to retake the practical element in October. Thank christ! And also, check me out! I revised the night before but that was about it - and yet I got such a good mark.

When I told my mother, she said "oh, that's great. But you still have to redo the practical part don't you?"

Yeah, let's not celebrate the one thing I've done well at. Let's focus on the bad part. Well fuck it, I'm proud of myself, and I'm ready to gloat for at least the next 3 days. Go me!!!!!!

I don't remember a lot

I don't remember a lot about my night out. I remember meeting my best friend from primary school and telling her I was nervous because it felt like a date. I remember going to the first pub and having a couple of drinks (doubles, obviously). I remember leaving that pub...and then it all goes blank. I wake up in the next pub we went to (apparently), which was a gay bar, and I remember dancing the night away in there. It was a fantastic night. I've got blisters all over my feet from walking miles from bar to bar, which again I don't remember. I've also got tons of photos on my phone of us covered in blue face paint, which I also don't remember.

These blackouts are troublesome. The worst one was when I was about 18, when one of my friends had a new year's eve party which we all went to, and I do remember certain parts of it. Then the next morning I came downstairs and their porch window was all smashed. I asked what the hell had happened, and everyone looked at me like I was mental. Apparently I had been there when the window was smashed (some bloke had fallen through it, so I'm told), and had become mother hen and vacuumed it up. I still, 6 years later, have no memory of this. It's frightening to think you can have conversations with people and interact perfectly normally, and yet have no memory of it whatsoever. My brain is probably completely mashed, and by the time I'm 60 it won't be functioning whatsoever. Oh well.

Bridesmaid revisited.

My cousin L and her live-in boyfriend have finally gotten engaged, after three years together. Woo! She's the first one out of my immediate family (I don't have brothers or sisters, so cousins count as immediate) to get hitched, so I'm ridiculously excited - we haven't had a big (read: drunken) family wedding since my cousins-once-removed got married in the nineties. The way I've phrased that makes it sound like my cousins-once-removed married each other; actually I have three c-o-r's, and none of them intermarried, thank you very much.

Anyway, I assumed L would ask her two sisters to be bridesmaids, which she did. But she also asked me! I'm going to be a bridesmaid!

I've been a bridesmaid twice before, for two of my cousins on my dad's side of the family - the first time I was 5 and the second time I was 9. So this is my first time as a grown-up, and as far as I understand, being an adult bridesmaid means you're almost obliged to get off with the best man, or at least one of the groomsmen. That's one of the reasons I agreed to do it, but now I've thought about it, I'm not so sure.

If the groom asks his brother to be best man, he's definitely not my type, not that that matters since he's also married. If he asks his best friend to be best man, he's definitely my type but lives with his long term girlfriend. Arse. Still, I might get to dance with him - right now that'd do for me, I haven't been within groping distance of a man since my birthday. It's been an appropriate amount of time since the abortion, I'm ready to get under someone again. Foetus's Father has disappeared for good it seems, not that I'd want to go out with him again - it'd just give me bad feelings, I think. Like guilt, I hate that. The guy I was seeing at the same time as FF is keeping me dangling: "when my exams are over, I'll make it up to you". Yeah, we'll see. Ex Who I'm Still Not Over has a new girlfriend - she's his flatmate, they met when he moved in. By rights it shouldn't last, but knowing my luck they'll end up getting married. I feel like I prime men for a long term relationship. Women should hire me to date the man they want to marry, once he breaks up with me he'll be actively looking for someone to commit to.

Oh well, I'm meeting up with my best friend from primary school in town this Saturday night. I haven't seen her in years, so that'll be fun, and as an added bonus maybe I'll get to do some flirting. Everyone cross your fingers.

We're going to the zoo...how about you?

I spent today at the zoo with a 4 year old, a 3 year old and a 2 year old.

Here's something I didn't know about kids before now: they like to run away from you. And if you chase them, they just run faster.

These kids were absolutely adorable though (they're my mum's best friend's step-grandchildren, I was roped in to lend an extra pair of hands on the trip) and despite the fact that none of them had ever laid eyes on me before, they were all perfectly willing to hold my hand and tell me about their favourite animals and listen to me when I shrieked "stop!!!!!" from five miles behind them as they were about to vault over the fence into the penguin enclosure. Not that penguins would do a lot of damage, but it's the principle of the thing.

It's a weird feeling when a kid launches themselves into your arms for a hug. At least it is for me, since I don't know any children and the last time I spent the day with a 4 year old was when I was 4 myself. These tiny little people are so trusting and so vulnerable and just make you feel so protective. I realised that to them, I'm an adult. I spend most of my time wondering when the grown-up gene is going to kick in and I'm going to stop feeling like an irresponsible 18 year old, and today gave me a lot to think about.

I read somewhere that alcoholics emotionally halt at the age at which they started really drinking. For me, that age was 18. Now, I'm not ready to link a to b just yet (that would mean actually confronting the issue, shock horror) but bells are ringing, know what I mean?

I'm fucking knackered though. Further proof that I couldn't have had that baby.

I was just

watching an episode from the first season of ANTM where the girls go to Paris, and it reminded me of a morning my ex and I spent in bed, communicating solely in French. I had got my GCSE French about four years earlier and had forgotten most of it about 6 months after that, and I'm not sure he'd even got to GCSE stage, so the conversation wasn't exactly coherent. But it was one of those stupid giggly things you do when you're in love. I want to cry thinking about it.

I'm having a supremely bad day.

First of all, I woke up hungover. Unsurprising since I was supping vodka like a Russian last night, but that's never the best way to kick things off.

The main cause of my pissed-off-ness is a letter from my uni department saying that due to the layout of the course, I can't resume my training until January. I was expecting to go back in September - my personal tutor TOLD me I could go back in September - and now they decide to put me back until next year. I am HACKED OFF. What the fuck am I going to do until January? I've got rent to pay starting in September!

I'm going to have to get a job.

I don't like having a job. I am possibly the laziest person you could ever meet - I don't like to get up before 10:30 at the earliest, and there aren't many jobs that let you come in at noon and leave at 3. I really can't understand people who always have to be working and who can't just relax and do nothing - doing nothing is what I do best. My mother is always bugging me to get a job in the university holidays, and can't seem to understand that I have no desire to work - I'll be working until I'm at least 65 (by that stage it'll probably be 70 or even older) so for the time being, if I don't have to work, I won't. Being in a work environment, trying to meet standards and get on with other people, stresses me out like nothing else.

I realise that if you don't work, you don't have money, and that's fine - I don't expect to be handed things on a plate. I'm fine with living on the breadline; a wage doesn't balance out the stress of work, for me (and yes, I am aware that I'm a bit socially retarded). In summary, I am a lazy bitch.

But this time I don't have much of a choice. Bugger.

I've just remembered

I went to see a clairvoyant about a year ago, and he said he could see a baby in my life in the next twelve months. Now, I'm the first to call bullshit when it comes to the supernatural, but that's kind of spooky. Of course, it's possible that his words were in the back of my mind when I came off the Pill and I was subconsciously daring the universe to prove him right.

He also said I'd get involved with a man from Yorkshire. I thought that was the guy I met a few months ago, who I was head over heels about, but then he swanned off to Morocco and met some other girl, so I guess it's not him. I'm inclined to take that as proof that psychics are pulling it all out of their arses, but rationally I know that's only because I liked him so much and he found someone better. That's not evidence against the psychic community, that's just a bitter women pining over what could've been.

Every so often

I get a mad urge to text the ex-father of my aborted foetus and tell him everything. But what good would it do? None whatsoever...I think I just want to see what his reaction would be. It's probably because I've carried this knowledge by myself for the past 9 weeks or so - the need to tell someone, anyone, is growing, and he's the obvious candidate. But deep down I know I never will. It's between me and my uterus.

As of today

the post below is no longer accurate. Keeping it was never an option, and luckily I didn't get any maternal feelings at all in my 8 weeks of being up the duff. It never once felt like a baby in there - still doesn't, it was a cluster of cells and now it's nothing. I have no regrets whatsoever.

I've kept it all secret though. Couldn't tell my ultra-Catholic mother obviously, and I found I just didn't want to tell anyone else. I much prefer to deal with things myself, with minimum fuss, and while that isn't always the right decision, it definitely was in this case. I just drove myself to the clinic, had it done, and drove home.

I want to have kids someday, but now is not the right time. I have no money, no job, not in a relationship with the father, and I live between my parents' and student accommodation. Once I've finished my course, graduated and got a job, then it'll be time to start breeding. It wouldn't be fair to bring a child into the world in these circumstances.

That last paragraph sounds like I'm trying to justify my decision. In fact, I feel no need to justify it whatsoever, because I know 100% it was the right thing for me.

I will say this - thank Christ for the NHS. I don't know how people in the US cope; there's no way I could've found £250 to get this done. Not to mention countries where abortion isn't legal - there were 5 women in the recovery room with me, and 4 of them were Irish. It was bad enough having to drive 30 miles home afterwards, imagine having to get on a plane or (heaven forbid) a ferry. I've always supported abortion rights in an abstract kind of way, but now it's top of my list. I have a lot to be thankful for.

According to the lovely people at Clearblue...

...I'm pregnant.

Oh yeah...

The non-self-induced (thank you jamesnslater) orgasm count is up to 3! Drinks all round!

Act 1 - in which our heroine begins to reveal her sluttiness.

Me: I'm meeting [Potential New Boyfriend] tomorrow night, so could you drop me off at the station?
Mother: Of course. Will you need to be picked up again later?
Me: Nope.
Mother: Oh.
Long pause.
Mother: Don't you think it's a bit soon to be staying at his house? It's only been two weeks.
Me: Nope.
And scene.

If only she knew I'd fucked him within an hour of meeting him. In fact, if she had any idea what my "number" actually is, I really think a valve in her brain would pop. Ignorance is bliss.

Still no period. 9 days late, that's not a big deal is it?

Well...

...how much of an idiot am I?

I was pottering about at my parents' house this evening, making a vegetable stock for the soup I'm planning to cook up later in the week when I realised it was 10 o' clock and I was about to miss Law & Order (shut up, it's my favourite show). So I dash from the kitchen into the living room to set the video, and bam! I run right into the armchair. Two toes go right, three toes go left, I go down. And not in the fun way.

I've lived in this house for 23 years. The chair has pretty much always been in the same position. I have never once bumped into it before. But anyway...

I'm on the floor, clutching my foot and saying every swear word that comes into my head. "Motherfucker" featured heavily. When I got up and limped back into the kitchen, I realised there was something touching my fourth toe that wasn't there before - I immediately assumed a flap of skin was hanging loose and there would be blood everywhere. Not so. When my sock came off, I was faced with my 3rd toe pointing in a whole different direction to the way it had previously pointed. I swear, the visual was worse than the pain.

So I tried to stick it out for a while, downed a bit of vodka like any normal person would. My initial reaction, being an all-knowing first year nursing student, was to strap the sore toe to the one next of it with a bit of elastoplast and hope for the best. But then I started having visions of the damn thing turning black and dropping off, so I decided to drive to the hospital. Tipsy. No, I'm not even slightly proud.

Once there I was looked over by the triage nurse (who obviously had better things to do with her Saturday night, judging by her expression), sent back to the waiting room, examined by a doctor, sent back to the waiting room, sent to a different waiting room to wait for an x ray, x rayed, sent back to the original waiting room...then the doctor showed me my x ray on the screen thing - broken toe. What do they do with broken toes?

Yep, strap them to the adjoining toe with elastoplast. I could've saved myself two and a half hours and an awful lot of hobbling, not to mention wincing every time I used the clutch pedal in the car. But that's me, ever cautious.

So now I can barely get myself up the stairs - imagine a gorilla using a staircase, relying mostly on its knuckles. That's me. I've got a dentist appointment Monday morning that I'm not going to be able to drive to without further injuring myself, my parents get home from their holiday on Monday afternoon and the house is a tip, with no possibility that I'm going to be able to clean it to the required standard, I haven't pooped in at least a week, and my period is late. Merry fucking Christmas.

Finally!

Well slap me round the chops with a halibut. Last night, for the very first time ever, I had an orgasm at the hands of another person. We were just messing around, he was behind me playing with my clit, and suddenly I realised there was a distinct possibility I was going to come. So instead of tensing up, worrying I was taking too long and just faking it, I got determined and concentrated and the next thing you know - boom! I was so proud of myself.

He definitely noticed the difference between that one and all the times before when I'd been faking - he said "I can feel you throbbing" - so now I guess my faking days are over because he's totally going to know. But maybe that's a good thing. If it's happened once, it can happen again, right?

Date!

I'm going out with the second of my two men (the one I met in my kitchen, not the one who disappears for weeks at a time) tonight, and I'm wearing the most awesome top ever. It's also the most revealing top I've worn in a long long time.

I mean, I used to wear stuff like this constantly when I was 18/19/20, but then I went on the Pill and filled out all over, and since then I've been convering up like a mofo. But I was shopping the other day, tried this top on and just thought fuck it. If I don't wear stuff like this now, before I know it my tits will be in my shoes and I'll be cursing myself for not making the most of my youth. Plus the girls are looking super good right now because I'm about 12 hours away from my period. Let's hope it has the decency to wait until morning and not do its usual "surprise! It's 3a.m. and you've just woken up to find your sheets covered in blood!" act, because I'm not sure how this guy will feel about dealing with menstroooation. And he'll be spending the night, obviously. That goes without saying.

So yeah, I feel pretty good. I'm also wearing heels for the first time in a long time, and last time I wore these shoes I misjudged some stairs and fell on my arse in front of a very amused bouncer. So if I don't post in a few days you'll know I slipped on some cobbles and ended up in hospital with a broken leg. Wish me luck!

Mother Issues

I have issues with my mother for many reasons, which hasn't escaped the notice of my therapist - every session gets reverted back to her sooner or later. One slightly trivial grumble I had with her until recently was the fact that she wouldn't let boyfriends sleep in the same room as me when they came to visit. This isn't such a big deal since I went back to uni, because obviously I'm not under her thumb there, but I'm having to move back home for the summer and it got me thinking.

The rule is simple and rigid: no sharing a room until you're engaged, and even then it's not guaranteed. Patently unfair, especially since pretty much everyone I know has been allowed to shag their boyfriend in the comfort of their own bedroom since the dawn of time. But my mother's devoutely Catholic and she will not allow me to fornicate while she's under the same roof.

However...

When I was going out with my last boyfriend, about two years ago, he lived a fair way away and we both had jobs so we could only see each other at weekends. And more often than not, on the weekends he came to stay, my mum would arrange for her and my dad to spend at least one night at their friends' house. It was never explicitly stated: "While I'm not here, feel free to fuck him six ways from Sunday in any room you choose". But clearly she knew that was what was going to happen, and I guess that was her stamp of approval, in an abstract way.

She was a touch wild as a teenager, from what I can gather, and I'd like to think she hasn't forgotten how you feel when you're in your late teens and early twenties - all you want is to spend 23 hours of the day naked with a man on top of you.

Like mother, like daughter. Although hopefully she wasn't quite as slutty as me - no-one likes to think of their mother like that do they.

He's ba-aack!

I know I should've been way more indignant. I should've made him work his way back into my good books. You can't just go missing for two weeks then reappear and expect everything to be normal.

And yet.

Yes, the first of the two men I'm dating (well, sleeping with - let's not overstate things) popped back up to say hello last night. I'd had a really crap night - a group of about 10 of us has gone to this big outdoor party thing, and I'd lost everyone within about two minutes of getting there so I had to come home ridiculously early. Normally I might've wandered for a while, befriended some girl while queueing for the loo, and eventually stumbled across my friends randomly after a couple of hours or so, but I just wasn't feeling it last night despite having a face full of UV paint and looking super hot in my new top. So, home I trundled, stopping off on the way for a few bags of crisps which I consumed in my pyjamas while reading crappy womens' magazines.

Then, 2a.m., my phone beeps:

"Sorry haven't been in touch, been ill and had lots of stuff going on. Didn't mean to mess you around, just been selfish recently." Well at least he's honest. I texted back explaining my crappy night. He replies:

"Not in the mood? Doesn't sound like you! [clearly he knows me well] On way home now, hammered. Getting pizza."

What can I say? I was hungry. I demanded he come over immediately. He didn't need to be invited twice, probably couldn't believe his luck. Didn't even have to grovel. I'm so weak.

It was a great night in the end though. When I'm on top of him everything flies out of my head and all I can think about is how amazing he feels inside me. We fell asleep at about 6, wrapped up in each other. He got up to go to work at 11, and now I probably won't see him for another two weeks or so. Or until the next time he's drunk and horny, whichever comes first.

Where's my willpower? If found, please return to walkallovermeidon'tmind@selfrespect.com

Like flies to a sugar bowl.

This is getting ridiculous. Last night, for the third time in as many months, I didn't even have to leave the comfort of my own kitchen to find someone to fuck.

We were supposed to go to the pub, but then my friends got stoned and I was too involved in Big Brother to move, so we just had drinks in the flat instead. When we were all good and hammered, two of my flatmates came home with a couple of guys they knew - turns out one of them comes from the next town over to my hometown, so we got talking. Somehow that graduated to "can I have your number?", then the dancing started (that tells you how mashed we all were - in 8 months of living here, we have never once had an impromptu dance party in the kitchen). It was just a short step from that to being dragged into my room and stripped of my clothes.

I didn't even have to try. Honestly, it's getting far too easy.

Good sex, not the most well-endowed of men, but made up for it in enthusiasm. Plus something he said really pushed my buttons without him even knowing it: "You're so sexy, I just want to bite you." Rrrrooowwrr!

There was an awkward moment when we did it the second time - once we'd finished, the condom was nowhere to be found. I immediately started planning how soon I could get to the doctors, but a quick trip to the loo and a bit of digging around solved the problem. It was an incredibly weird feeling, rooting around in my own ladygarden; I don't go in there very often, preferring to concentrate on the exterior, plus I'm quite small so it was a struggle to get enough fingers in there to retrieve the poor lost rubber. But retrieve it I did. Hopefully an experience that will never be repeated.

Anyway, I think we'll be going out for drinks on Friday, so that's nice.

As for the man I've been sleeping with on and off for the past month (the one mentioned below, whom I quite like but who chose exam revision over sex - I forgave him for that, incidentally), well, I sent him a message two days ago and he still hasn't got back to me. Therefore all privileges are suspended until further notice, leaving me free to "see" other people. You snooze, you lose.

Last night was horrendous.

We'd been looking forward to this drum&bass night for weeks, but unfortunately the pills we took were...just not good. My flatmate and I were both really nauseous, then we went really incredibly cold, and even though we took them 24 hours ago, we're both still up now (in an edgy, paranoid, I've ground my teeth down to stumps, why are my pupils still the size of dinner plates way). I haven't slept for 36 hours, it's just not happening. Now, I've only done pills four times in my life, but I've never had an experience like this one before and hopefully I never will again. I feel absolutely wretched.

Plus I was supposed to meet my potential new man there, but I felt so ill that I just had to go home. Good job really, because it turns out he and his mates had a dodgy batch as well and were in the same boat as my flatmate and me.

Christ. I wonder what was in them?

So tonight I did it backwards.

My shag du jour came over at six, we got it on for an hour or three, then I went out with my friends. I've never done it that way round before - normally my sexin' hours are from 1am til 4 (approx). But I quite like this, it means I've had my fill beforehand so I don't spend the whole night speculating on whom I'm going to be taking home. The pressure's off. Yeah, I could get used to this.

Blood cells crystallizing...

...is that a good thing?

A quick tip:

If I invite you over and you say no, you've got to revise for exams, that's fine. I'm not unreasonable, I know how tough exams can be.

If I text you to invite you over after said exams and you don't respond, ok then. Maybe the message didn't go through, or you're out with your friends celebrating said exam cessation.

If I send you a message flat-out asking you to do something this weekend (Friday or Saturday, I'm easy (in more ways than one)) and you don't have the courtesy to reply...well, bearing in mind I'm a bloody good fuck and you're not even my usual type, I have one question:

Who's the bigger fool? You or me?

It's definitely true

that the more sex you have, the more you want. Last week I slept with two guys, after a dry spell of about six weeks or more, and now I am bouncing off the fucking walls. It's not even about orgasms, since I'm the only one who's able to do that for myself. It's about having a body on top of me, pressing down, sweat mingling. It's about listening to someone else moan and groan and gasp and tell me how good it feels.

Ultimately, it's about power isn't it.

Restless sleep.

The other night I had a dream about the hospital I used to work in. I was delivering something to the secure unit (in reality there is no secure unit, but you know, subconscious) and they accidentally locked me in. When I finally got out one of the patients followed me and I was trying to run away but my feet wouldn't move fast enough. I hate that dream-running thing - I either bounce along above the ground, occasionally putting a foot down to keep me going, or I'm desperate to go faster but all I can do is keep plodding along at walking pace. It's so frustrating and it always leaves me with a feeling of dread when I wake up.

Anyone know anything about dreams? And while you're at it, what about dreaming your teeth are falling out? That's another one I have quite regularly. The only other thing that recurrs is orgasming in my sleep, but I think I can explain that one prety well for myself.

I am covered

in hickeys. Why do men think it's a good thing to leave me branded, so the whole world can see what a whore I am?

Seriously, I've got so many on my neck right now that I look like I've got some horrible disease. Un. Im. Pressed.

I got laid!

Hurrah!

Sunday night started out as a night in - Friday had been a big one and Saturday was spent coming down, so Sunday was supposed to be relaxing and early night-ish. However, my flatmate O came home from her weekend away, still drunk from 4 days of solid drinking, and before I knew it the two of us were knocking back vodka like there was no tomorrow. Some people she knows were going to this drum&bass night, which was practically right next door to our place, so we decided to tag along.

I swear to god, it was so hot I thought I was going to pass out (this was the place, not the sex. I'll get to that in a minute.) I had a couple of shots of tequila and danced for about 3 hours straight, then when I was sweaty as all hell, started looking around for a potential victim. Voila - there was one, not two feet away from me, giving me the eye. I danced over and stole a sip of his beer (that always seems to be a winner, somehow) and he offered to buy me a drink of my own, so we wandered to the bar...to find it closed! It was only 2 o'clock, the place was hotter than Hades, and I was dying for a sip of water, but it was not to be. So I invited him back to my room for "a drink".

Once there, he looked at the photos on my wall and said "Oh, that's [insert my best friend's name here]." We'll call her B - she and I were at university together the first time, in the Midlands, and she has absolutely no connection to where I am now. Turns out he went to that uni too, a year or so below us, and lived with her in third year, when she and I were on non-speakers. So he knows her and all the other people I once lived with (before they shunned me, but that's another story).

How random is that? Out of the however many hundred people were in the building that night, I pick him. The world is ridiculously small, I'm telling you.

Anyway, we proceeded to get it on for the next 8 hours - I think we slept for about 20 minutes the whole time. He'd taken something that meant he found it really hard to shoot his load, so it was like having my own Real Doll, except not creepy. I just went to town. Normally I don't spend much time on top because I don't really know what I'm doing up there and I get a bit self-conscious after about 2 minutes, but he sort of coached me through it and the upshot was, I reeeeealllly enjoyed myself. Still no orgasm, but it was so much fun regardless.*

And now...I think I quite like him, against my better judgement. We've been texting, but he's got exams to revise for and I'm back at my parents' this weekend so I probably won't see him until next week. But I will see him, because I haven't been sorted out like that for a long long time, and I want more.

*Just realised I haven't mentioned my inability to come with someone else in the room. Will produce a post about that soon.

Go and vote

in the One D At A Time cock contest (link over to your right). I've got my favourite; who's yours?

Questions:

What's beer pong? And why do you Americans called it a "grilled cheese sandwich" when you make it in a frying pan?

I saw the Yankee tonight. My oblivious flatmate invited him to our kitchen for a couple of drinks, and he actually came. Does that mean he wanted to see me, or does what happened between us mean absolutely nothing to him? (that sounds a little more Mills and Boon-y than I intended. I'm not pining over him or anything.) Anyway, we all went off to another party, and we sat next to each other on the bus and had a little chat. But then I got all awkward and couldn't speak to him, so he probably thinks a) I hate him and/or b) I'm weird and socially inept. a) is false, b) is true.

I so would've fucked him tonight. I'm ridiculously horny. But no, I couldn't get my act together enough to flirt with him, so here I am at 1 in the morning, drunk and blogging alone. Bah.

Oh no

No no no no no.

This morning I woke up and was almost immediately consumed by a sense of dread. You know that feeling, where you can't quite remember what you've done but you're sure it's something awful? Usually I just have to roll over and it's there next to me, snoring away. Ah ha ha.

But no, it wasn't one of those mornings - I was definitely alone. Something else...and then it came back to me. Last night, while pissed on Strongbow (it was 50p a can, don't judge me) I sent the New Boy a message. Quite an incoherent message, along the lines of "why haven't you rung me I quite like you just tell me to get lost if you want". The kind of message I'm usually on the receiving end of, which makes me think the person who has sent it is desperate and incapable of taking a hint.

And now I am that desperado.

Bear in mind I've met this man once, weeks ago, and ok we spent the night together but still, he owes me nothing. It's not like we'd been out a few times and then he dropped off the face of the earth. ONE encounter. He's going to think I'm such a stalker.

Hnnngh! Idiot.

Drug conundrum.

You know what I don't understand? When I went to university the first time, the legitimate time, when I was 18, I never encountered drugs. I don't know if the circle I was moving in was incredibly pure or what, but I swear to god, no-one offered me so much as a joint.

Flash forward 3 years. I'm back, at a different university admittedly, and everyone's into it. The kids I live with are 19 and 20, and they're much more well-versed in the art of getting wasted than I am. E, MDMA, coke.

I can't help but think it's a generational thing. And I can't help but feel glad that I get to experience both generations.

Confuzzled.

Text from The Ex this evening:

"There's a bit of me that thinks we should have one big night and then call it a day and delete each others numbers from our phones."

Oh, right. So all this time we've been having pleasant conversations about our lives, you've been wishing I'd shut up and/or initiate a bout of text sex? Well isn't that just lovely. You know what, maybe we should do that. Or maybe we should skip the sex and I'll just delete you anyway.

Kidulthood.

I went to the cinema tonight, and the ticket guy attempted to sell me a child ticket. "Are you under 14?" No, I am not. I am TEN YEARS OVER 14. And this isn't even the first time it's happened. Do I laugh or cry?

Actually, if I had any sense I'd do neither - I'd just nod, pay child price and save myself some money. Missed a trick there.

Yawn.

I'm aware that the last couple of posts have been rather downbeat - even, dare I say, dull? That's because I'm getting no action right now, not even a sniff of action. I'm at my parents' house for Easter, hence no boozing, no nights out, no men. Trust me, once I get back to Manchester things will perk up.

Having said that, I had text sex with my ex the other night (yes, the one I'm still not over). It was fun - I don't know what came over me, but I took on this dominatrix persona that I've never encountered in myself before. Not sure if I'll ever explore it in real life, since I don't think I could pull it off without dying of embarrassment. I'd have to be pretty hammered, and when I'm in that state I like to lie back and have my hands pinned over my head, that sort of thing. Perhaps if I could find a state between "sober" and "the room is spinning"...

Watched the Boat Race yesterday. What is it about posh boys? Whenever Boat Race day rolls around (and whenever I watch the rugby, truth be told) I start thinking I'd like nothing better than to marry an Oxbridge graduate and live in his family's country pile with a brood of Labradors and maybe a horse or two. Or maybe it's the sight of sixteen 6 foot 6 men in lycra that gets the blood rushing straight to my expensive place. Yeah.

Sorted.

Yep, it's all done - I'm taking four months off to get myself fixed (or work through my issues, as my personal tutor phrased it.) She was the nicest person in the world about the situation, advised me on counselling services and the like, and I came away feeling happy about how things had been resolved.

And then I got home and had to break it to my parents. The horror.

Dear Mother: it is NOT my fault that I can't get a handle on my moods, so please don't try to make me feel guilty. Please stop asking "why" I'm depressed. If I knew that then I wouldn't have a fucking problem would I? I am no longer 8 years old - I know what's best for me. I have to do what I feel is right. I can't live under your wing all my life. I know you love me and you're concerned for me. But I can't be worrying about you as well as taking care of myself. I need support, not a guilt trip.

Also, dear New Boy: fucking well ring me you twat.

Relief.

Relief in more than one sense of the word. My exam is over, and I feel like a weight's been lifted. My outlook is much sunnier as of now, even though the weather's taken a turn for the worse (it was beautifully sunny yesterday, so much so that I got into my summer mood, but today it's drizzling miserably). I've got a meeting with my personal tutor on Wednesday to get this whole truanting-from-work thing sorted out. I feel like I'm taking my life back into my own hands.

Relief in another sense - I fiddled myself stupid yesterday. I didn't even get the vibrator out - just went for it with my fingers, time after time after time, until I was technically orgasming, feeling the release, but not feeling the rush of pleasure. That's never happened to me before, but then again I've never had such a long session in one go before either.

The New Boy gets back next week (as far as I know). Still adoring him. Can't wait.

Haha

I'm fucked on MDMA right now! I had about half an hour's sleep last night, it's now 4am the next night, and I'm not even tired! My pupils are huge! I'm on drugs!

Woo!

I met a man last night. For the first time in a long long time I met a man who gives me the stomach flip. He's so damn cute, it's not even funny. And really sweet too. And he has interesting hair.

We met at a party, then he turned up in the pub my friends and I had moved on to, then it turned out he lives in the same building as my friend's friend, who we went to visit after the pub shut. I was pretty hammered by this stage, but I remember sitting next to him on the sofa and talking away about...something, I forget what. Then I'm pretty sure I asked him if he was planning to kiss me, and he must've said yes because we launched into a snogathon that lasted for the best part of an hour, I think - put it this way, when we came up for air the room was empty; twenty-odd people had disappeared without me noticing.

It was about 5a.m. at this stage, so we went to bed. Not to sleep, obviously. He went down on me without me having to hint - extra points for that. And he didn't seem to mind me telling him to bite my nipples harder; I think it kind of turned him on, actually. We didn't do everything, but we did plenty.

I woke up at 10 to find my period had started. Nice timing, Flo! I just put my pants on and didn't say anything, he doesn't need to be faced with that after one night together. We kissed goodbye on the street and some girl walking past went "woo!" Damn right, woo!

So now I'm at home feeling sick with nerves - that's a sign that I really like someone. The last time I felt like this was with The Ex Who I'm Still Not Over.

He'd better bloody ring me.

Men To Do Today

Recent conquests:

• The Yankee - has grappled with me twice, and both times has made an exit far too soon (that's not code for premature ejaculation, I mean he always ups and leaves before the job is complete.)
• The Brazilian - as mentioned in last night's post. I bumped into him randomly in my building, with a friend who knows his friend, and the four of us ended up drinking in my kitchen for a few hours. When they got up to leave I grabbed him in the corridor and pulled him into my room. Blow job only, due to the girlfriend factor; I shouldn't even have done that but I was feeling very antsy that night.
• Cueball - short, bald and rubbish at taking a hint. This one was a mistake - we were having an interesting conversation, during which I got so drunk that I ended up taking him home despite not fancying him in the least. The next morning I faked period pains to get him to leave - fat chance, he just lay there like an oblivious lump of granite. I pretended to be asleep, hoping he'd get bored; I pushed his hands off me, hoping he'd get offended. He just kept grabbing my hand and trying to make me touch his (tiny) penis. Eventually I wasn't so much dropping hints as hitting him over the head with them, and he left. For the next couple of weeks he bombarded me with messages, none of which I replied to, and every time I thought he was exasperated enough to give up (sample: "If you don't want to see me again, just say so.") he'd send another message the next day. Eventually I pulled the not-over-my-ex trick but even now, a couple of months on, he still tries every so often. There's nothing more unattractive in a man than desperation. I should really put him out of his misery by being brutally honest, but I haven't the heart (translation: am a huge coward and can't handle confrontation.)
• Anonymous Nice Guy - this one was a sweetheart. We met in a really loud club when I was trashed (again) and he actually chased me outside when I was dragged off home by my friend. I think he was looking to get my number, but I just brought him on home with me. We had excellent drunken sex, he came, then after a short rest I started to go down on him. Here's where it goes horribly wrong. I was so drunk that I overestimated my deep throating capacity, and the next thing you know, I've puked on his cock. To be fair, it was only a tiny bit, and I hadn't eaten all day so it was only clear liquid, not chunks or anything. But that was it, he was out of there, and who can blame him? Shame, we could've had something there. I'm sure he told me his name at some point, but I'll be damned if I can remember it.
• Mocha Madness - the most beautiful man I have ever slept with. Black, tall, amazing body, plenty of stamina. We met in my local when my friend and I sat down with him and his friends because there were no other seats anywhere (incidentally, the friend I was with, R, is excellent for that - she'll talk to anyone, which is good for me because I'm pretty shy and would never meet anybody new if left to my own devices.) Then we met there again a few nights later and got talking. The third time we bumped into each other, he "walked me home" and that was the start of it. He wanted it to become a relationship, but because I'm such a coward once I sober up, I couldn't go anywhere with him outside my bedroom. I felt like he was way too good for me, and if we saw each other in daylight and sober he'd come to his senses and never go near me again. So, we just fucked every weekend for about a month. He's got a girlfriend now, one who I'm sure is willing to venture into daylight with him. She's a lucky woman. Self sabotage is a terrible thing, and something that's been happening my entire life. Therapy beckons.

Next post I'll give you the details on my more long term relationships. I think I can just about remember what one of those is.

Blushing...

Bumped into the Brazilian tonight, on the way back from a late night group venture to purchase wine. We hugged and kissed on the cheek, and exchanged how-are-you's. I didn't realise he was going one way and I was going another, so I marched off assuming he was following and I'd get a chance to hang back and say...I don't know, something. But no, he was gone. I'm now kicking myself.

Okay, he has a girlfriend. But that didn't stop him from lying back and enjoying the view of my bedroom ceiling the other night.

A Little Deeper.

I feel I should give more background on who I am, so people reading this can get a better feel for me. Erm, so to speak. So let me tell you something central to my life:

I like men. I like sex. I'm what might be termed "a bit slaggy".

Last night I made a list of the men I've slept with - the total was 17. I know the names of 13 of them; 4 are anonymous. 4 were serious boyfriends, 1 was a friend with benefits, 6 were friends of friends, 6 were complete strangers (and remain so, as it happens.) 4 were alcohol-fueled mistakes and I woke up the next morning willing to gnaw my arm off to get away.

1 took my virginity. 1 introduced me to the joys of dirty sex. 1 said he loved me after a week. 1 never said he loved me over the course of eight months. 1 had the most amazing body I've ever had the good luck to get my hands on. 1 thought he was my third, when actually he was my sixth. 1 taught me how to give the ultimate blow job. 1 made me feel like a slut, and not in a good way.

But I'm not ashamed. Why should I be?

Mothers' Day

I'm feeling refreshed after a weekend at home - just me and my mum, and plenty of fresh air and...well, food that's not exactly good for you, but tasty nonetheless. It felt wonderful to be away from my tiny little room, which has become like a sort of prison these past few weeks.

And now I'm back, armed with St John's Wort and tons of fresh vegetables in an attempt to bring my mood up this week. I'm trying out everything before I have to traipse to the doctors for something more heavy duty.

I don't know why this all started. I lost a close relative recently, so it could be a hangover from that. I came off the Pill a couple of weeks ago, so that might be playing havoc with my hormones. I hate my job, that's definitely got something to do with it. And, although I'm getting on with the people I live with far better than ever before, I'm still lonely. It's pathetic, but I need a boyfriend to make me feel complete. That whole "you don't need a man to make you happy" and "learn to love yourself, then others will love you" song and dance? Bullshit. I've had plenty of time to love myself - two years and counting - and believe me, it's about time someone else came along to do it for me. I can't keep spending so much on batteries for one thing, I'll go bankrupt.

Plus, text sex with an ex is probably not the healthiest thing, but I have no choice. Until someone real comes along, that's all I've got to keep me going. The day he gets a new girlfriend is the day I begin my descent into repetitive strain injury.

Trouble Sleeping.

Wow, insomnia's a bitch, don't you think?

I don't know if it's depression or just a really messed up sleeping pattern, but I just cannot sleep lately. Well I say lately, but it's been with me off and on for years. And getting up in the morning when the alarm goes off is just so hard - much better to just close my eyes again for a few minutes...then suddenly it's four o' clock in the afternoon and I'm just about ready to start my day.

I haven't been going to work recently, thanks to this blessed situation. In fact, it's been about four weeks since I actually did a full day's work. It's got to the stage where I'm scared to go back because of the shit I'll be in. At least I assume I'll be in shit, although you'd think they'd have tried to phone or sent me a pissy letter or something. When I had two weeks off for legitimate purposes a couple of months ago, I got back and almost no-one had noticed I'd been off. The joy of being the new girl doing shift work, eh?

It's not just that though - the old trouble is back. Leaving the house has become an ordeal. I can just about manage it if I'm with someone, but I've been promising myself I'll nip into town by myself for the past...ooh, six days now, and I haven't actually managed to leave my room. What do you call that? Agrophobia? I don't think so, since I can do it if there are people with me, and they have no idea anything's wrong. It's just my nerves. I'd go to the doctor, but I'm too edgy. Oh the irony!

Right, Monday. On Monday I'm going back. Probably.

So...

...I took ecstasy for the first time on Saturday night. Do people still call it ecstasy? Should I be saying MDMA or pills or something? I'm so old (23, that's old these days.) Anyway, I took it.

Some background: I have always been vehemently anti drugs. I came of age as the whole Leah-Betts-take-drugs-and-you-will-die campaign happened, and so I was always very wary. Plus my friends at school and uni never dabbled in anything, not even weed. The only drugs experience I've ever had was when I was about 20 and my boyfriend at the time made hash cakes (again, are they still called that?) I liked the feeling, it made me pretty giddy, but soon enough I just got sleepy and hungry, devoured 6 KitKats and went to bed. Which made me wonder: what was the point? There was no way I could do it before a night out, and on a night in I had alcohol to relax me. So that was my first and last dabble.

Until last Saturday. The girls I live with are complete druggies, but have never pressured me to do anything, not that I'd give in to pressure anyway. But this night, I just thought fuck it. If I don't do it now, while I'm young and with no responsibilities, I might never do it. Or I might end up doing it when I've got kids, trying to escape from my horribly suburban life, and that's not good for anyone. I'm sure social services would agree. So someone offered me a pill, and I took it.

And god almighty, was it good. I felt euphoria for the first time in my life. My limbs were light as air. I was smiling at everything and everyone, especially when we got to the club - I was grinning like a loon, but so was everyone else, so it didn't matter so much. The best thing about that atmosphere is that everyone's looking out for everyone else, so people were making sure I drank enough water, but not too much. I remember going around hugging the people I knew, and they were all kind of "aaww, first timer." I also became the best dancer in the world, or at least I didn't care who was watching. And I sweated a lot. Now may be the time to get rid of the mid-back-length hair I'm rocking.

So that was Saturday night. I spent the whole of Sunday in bed, trying to stop my jaw clenching. Monday was weird. It's now the early hours of Tuesday morning, and I still feel like I'm on something. I'm assuming this is normal. If it's not - fuck it, I feel good, who the hell cares?