So! Its a saturday night and I've just got home (sober) and I feel like writing tons of stuff. The thing is, my mum and dad read this blog so I can't talk about rudey feelings - which is what I fancy talking about. Not like my pal Caroline who says it like it is (dawg). (http://www.dayinpictures.co.uk/) Like she openly announced she "got some" the other day and I was so in awe of her. My blog's so tame in comparison. Shall I? Shan't I? Shall I be honest for once readers? Answers on a comment below.
In other news - I am slightly annoyed. Here's how it is. You know when you feel like you're being mugged off? Like when you know something - but others don't realise you know so are all secret squirrel around you but the thing is you DO know but you don't give a FUCKING SHIT and you really think GOOD LUCK TO YOU. You know when you feel like that? Well that's how I feel today. And now I seem secret squirrel. But I cannot divulge. Its just... I. DO. KNOW. So kiss my fat arse.
And it is fat. But I kinda like it. Specially at present cause my friend did air brush tanning on it t'other day and it was ace. We erected a large tent in my kitchen and it took up the whole room and I was naked! And it was COLD. But then I was a berry made of brown. I always find a tan makes one look less fat. We couldn't get the tent back down after sprayage and we ended up using string. I crunched it down in me' mate's car boot and then shouted "GO GO GO!" indicating for her to shut it fast or it'd ping back up. This took three tries. I became aware that it may have looked to innocent passers by as though we were disposing of a dead body. Oh well.
Life eh? I feel so reflective today but strangely content. So strange infact that I think (think) that I might be better from the anxiety you know. I have joined a chat forum for this and there's a "success stories" section and I'm tempted to put something in it. But for some reason I'm too scared. I don't want to write I feel ok in case I go back down again. Plus the people I talk to are so so lovely I don't want to leave them. Does that sound stoopid? Probably. But the main thing is - I'm almost scared to say this, but life has changed and I feel so much more myself again. infact, I quite like myself if I'm honest. Me and my fat arse.
So I got a friend request today on Facebook from this guy I went on a date with about four years ago. I'd met him the sunday before in "Walkabout" in Bromley and me and my mate were mashed. I remember there were lads and there was one there alot inches from my face. Then it appeared we were snogging. Then it was the next day and my phone had a new number in it. Now dear reader I cannot remember what he looked like but we had arranged a date and I was going.
When I got to the pub for the date, he texted to say he would be ten minutes late. I sat down with a glass of red wine waiting with anticipation hoping that he wasn't going to be rough. A man entered the pub and looked around in a quixotic fashion. He had a carrier bag (I thought this weird but quirky). I raised my eyebrows as if to convey "is it you?" He raised his eyebrows back which to me confirmed this. He ambled over and we shook hands, I noticed his finger nails were dirty. I gestured for him to sit down and would he like a drink (?) to which he obliged. At this point a member of bar staff came over and went "Nigel, now you know you're not supposed to be in here... off you go." And then looked at me and went "Tch! Sorry about that, he's the local tramp and often comes in here. "
I felt great, as you can imagine.
Hmmmm... So I'm looking out over the Londinium skyline and wondering what to do. I had a good pal come over today My mate sam. S'funny, cause we fell out for a year or so but we had such a lovely friendship that we've just found our way back again. Back in November I was meant to see her, but I was busy thinking that I was going to get dumped by my boyfriend, so cancelled. But today, seeing her daughter again was lovely. I used to babysit her when she was three, and she's eight now and really cool. She also has a little babba and he is soooo lovely. I picked him up and felt so comfortable. (Not that comfortable) but there was a time when I wouldn't touch a child ever for fear of breaking them.
It all stems back to the time when I dropped my cousin Ryan when he was a baby. I was ten and he was sick on my sock. The warmth from the puke freaked me out so I threw him on the floor. I remember covering my face and chanting over and over "I dropped him, I dropped him" In my head though, I was on the soap opera "Neighbours" and my being dramatic was endearing, I didn't really care. Often as a child I had an invisible audience. Ever since then I've had issues with holding babbas. Also their heads are so squishy. Too squishy in fact.
Anyway - a rambly blog which I've enjoyed writing.