Female Intuition Wins The Day...

To quote from the title of my last post things were certainly not right, and the events of last night proved it.

Last night happened to be our summer ball, an all niter from 8 till 6, the hours which I was determined to party within. I had the dress, the nails, the hair, the look, the accessories, the attitude, but due to now ex-boyf it went from being a fairly decent party to probably one of the worst nights I've had here.

To be honest my intuition pointed out that something was up from about 12.30 when he suddenly turned rather cold and unresponsive. We were queueing to go on the obligatory fairground rides and in the queue I was trying to be "girlfriend" and getting nowhere, but put it down to my usual paranoia, and got caught up in the neon-induced excitment of the fair. After that we returned inside for a drink and to have a look what else was going on, but ex suggested us two leave for a little while and come back at about three when they were due to serve a breakfast. I thought I was in for a bit of lovin', this being something he'd planned to do, so we made our way out, very couple-y and had a lovely walk back to halls through the moonlit campus grounds. It was so lovely, hand-in-hand, a few kisses in the moonlight, etc, until we got back to halls and I fell, bashing my knee on the kerb outside the entrance to the block. The evening did admittedly turn sour from then on, I had a bit of a rant at two jackasses giggling at my fall from the window, and stormed up the stairs to my room. On returning from the bathroom where I'd been seeing to my knee, I found him sitting with his head in his hands on the bed, muttering that we really needed to talk.

It started off with the usual ripping me to shreads about my whole personality, which brought me to tears. This has happened before and I asked my usual rhetorical question about whether he was now going to leave me to which he replied no. However this continued and when I asked him again he said maybe. It seemed to just really decline from there, the room was dark as a result of my hopeful mood lighting, and it seemed to put a really eerie spin on things. There I was, in my dream prom clothes, looking a million dollars, perched on my perfectly made bed in my romantically ambient room. Being dumped. And in the background I could hear the pounding
Apparently he'd felt weird about it for some time, when I'm not there he never missed me, this becoming apparent when I went home for a while. When he visited me when I was ill recently he sighed with relief on leaving. But things seemed to become clear to him when I went off with a friend and on return he didn't fancy me anymore.

So it's over. Whilst I'm glad he told me, I just wish it could have been at a better time. Some of my floormates stayed till 6 and had the best time ever, whilst I was sobbing in bed.

Things ain't looking good...

How is ***? They all ask. Good question, I haven't heard or seen him since the obligatory appearance to half-heartedly tuck me into bed and then call me narrow minded about my opinions on Hiroshima on Thursday (the entry "awfully sweet" merely me trying to view it in teh best way I can). Which would be three days ago now. Gosh, there's a better sense of communication in Anna Karenina and that was in bloody 19th century Russia (not exactly the most efficient nation), and in an age when most blokes were patriarchal bastards who'd think nothing of leaving a severely depressed lover to eye up the Society totty at the latest ball, while "her indoors" nods off with the help of a few lullabies from Mr Morphia.

You know when you feel you've made all the effort and with little effort coming back? The only example of any effort on his part is one Cola and one dinner date. The other ladies' lovers seem to be like little nurses when they are ill, popping here and there making sure all is well. If it hadn't been for the sweetness of my floormates I would have been here alone. All I ask is for a little text or a visit. Like I have paid on countless occassions.

When I go down to his room I am guaranteed one of the following responses:
1) "Hey" uttered through a stretch and a yawn as response to my cheery "Hi there baby, how are you today.". Tired, I guess.
2) I will then hover about while he does something useless on his PC. Looking at shitty pen drawings from cyber-geeks is why you got no revision done mate, not "entering into a relationship". During aforementioned "hovering" no communication will pass. Sometimes I will try to say something to lighten the atmosphere but it's usually ignored.
3) I will then go and sit on his lap, just to be a little flirty, as is chracteristic of a girlfriend. That usually elicits a brief feel-up and a kiss, then back to the cyber-geeks. Oh and if we converse, I'm usually put down in some way or the other, due to my inferior intelligence as a result of my "culture".
4) Pals come in, and out of about five, one will say hello and genuiniely mean it. In fact, one will say hello, enough said.
5) I get the hint, make a biting remark and leave, to a yawn, stretch, and "See you later".

Am I being paranoid or does this severely stink?

Phone calls.
I've only recieved one "proper" phone call, made under the influence of marajuana, and involving a few one-word replies to my frantic babble in order to make conversation.
Other phone calls have literally told me something and hung up.
The excuse "I am not a phone person" doesn't make up for this in any way, shape or form. Neither is my dad, but at least he talks to you.
Replies to the text conversations I have initiated are usually non-existent, patronising (Sometimes I seriously wish he'd just come out and say "No you silly little girl" a la some of the elderly academics here), or one word.

My efforts, and I mean efforts, to always look delectable on dates or public appearances never seem to have the desired response. On overhearing the other lads when they meet up with their girlfriends to go out the phrases "Wow", "You look amazing", "You look seriously good", etc, are used to the point of over-use. Not with my boy, uh uh. I get no reaction at all, or I have to ask for it, imagine, actually having to ask your boyfriend whether he thinks you look nice, I mean, that ain't right is it? And then I get a "Yeh". I seriously get the impression the bloke doesn't fancy me, the time I wore the basque and he actually responded I was so surprised I nearly fainted. And that was probably only cos he hadn't wanked in a week.

I dunno I was always under the impression boyfriends did amazing things for your confidence. My mum thought it was weird I was still crying about the way I looked to her in the first week of being with him. She said I should feel amazing. My attatched floormates glow with confidence as a result of their men. I should feel that to someone out there I am "a babe", whereas I feel the same, ugly self I've always felt in my teenage years. I don't feel it because I don't get that impression from him, in fact I get the impression he thinks I need to do some serious work in order for my looks to get his dick up. There's the comments about my Kat Slater make-up and taste in accessories, in fact the comments on my make-up are relentless, and it is not as if I really do trowel it on. I just like dramatic colours and lipgloss, but I know I don't look like a Russian doll.

It seems when I look at the evidence, and I mean, really look at it, as I have here, rather than just thinking I am being negative or paranoid, that I am not having a relationship as such. Just one-way fucking traffic.
If anyone is reading this, I request help with trying to answer the following question: To Dump Or Not To Dump?
xxx

The Illness Continues...

So I remain holed up in my tiny dorm with my throat still feeling like it's got shards of glass stuck in it despite the endless asprin gargles, hot drinks and Halls Soothers. My mouth now permanently tastes bitter and everytime I breathe I reek of fucking menthol. Oh holy cow the world is so stupid.

The timing of this bout of sickness has me wondering about what is for me one of life's mysteries. Timing. As in, why, in my last two weeks of fresherdom I am not dashing about healthily to various nightspots and such, but yet again holed up feeling like shit. Why, when I haven't seen the boyf for a week and after this week won't for three months, and want to experience as much coitus as possible, and give the poor lad a few stiffening memories of moi? Why, when I have the marathon ten-hour Summer Ball, a beautiful dress and a boyfriend who will look unbelievably fuckable in a tux?

I could cry I really could. The only good things that have happened to me today are the guarantee I shall get a double bed in the house next year (mmm, endless kinky moments with the boyf spring to mind, as well as entering the Sunday-morning sex club), and getting my hands on a bargain copy of The Book Of Proper Names by Amelie Nothomb.

During my bed-bound moments, when I have had time to fully consider how impressed boyf was with sexy lingerie surprise, I am now lusting after the following pair of shoes to further make his eyes (and other parts) pop!

Boyfriend resumes normal service. Came to see me at 11 after I'd slagged him off to various people via various routes of communication and was so amazingly sweet I felt terrible.


So it's all still going ahead, I won't be spending my summer on the prowl for the best men the East of England has to offer. Nor will my summer ball dress end up on eBay.
Ah the world is good, bar my current sore throat from hell, and the ongoing bullying from mum to seek medical attention. Does she not understand the surgery is up a hill and staffed by the most unsympathetic medical staff known to man?!

The Other Side of Euro 2004

On musing the aesthetic side of the tournament with friends, the following conclusion has been reached:

We have hardly any cute England players, bar Beckham.
As for the adversary, well, Christiano Ronaldo, despite his cockiness, is gorgeous. He has those boyish good looks that I tend to fall for, legs like a racehorse, and wayhey, the boy is my age! He's like the ideal holiday romance, he'd either be one of those cheeky local lads or a gorgeous waiter. Who cares if the language was a barrier, you'd just snog his face off instead, lol. Well, I would. Hmm, when's the next plane to Lisbon?

For the want of a better picture, I share the delights of Christiano Ronaldo, my new poster boy for Euro 2004, regardless of what team he plays for:

Seems like the "decision" made by the c**t of a referee in the currently ongoing England versus Portugal match resembles the situation between me and my supposed boyfriend at the moment.

I too made a perfectly reasonable move that was very unreasonably rejected.

Oh my, on musing through past posts I discovered it was a month ago today I lost my virginity. How sad/apt it should be commemorated with the other extreme features of a relationship. From happiness, or the truest expression of attraction and affection between lovers to sadness and anger.

The First Row

CAUTION >>> INCOHERENT RANT AHEAD FOR 200 YDS >>>

Ok, so we sorted it and I was the "big man" and apologised, but I still feel so furious about it, because I can't see what I did that was so amazingly wrong, and also because the view beloved took was so easily biased.

Fair enough I was bitchy but I had reason to be, this was someone who had fucked me about and was acting as though he had done nothing wrong and also trying to buy me off with a few drinks. What I really resent is the guilty party appearing to be the injured one. Yes you did treat me like shit, yes you were a c**t, and NO you did not tell me outright, I actually had to PHONE YOU and then you told me. You weren't even man enough to stinge someone's phone (as is your style) to ring ME and tell ME. So FUCK OFF, please, just FUCK OFF.
My boyfriend maybe easily bought by the display of a fragile ego, and hints of insecurity, as well as a few knock-off DVDs you got from a bargain bucket, but I take a lot more convincing, a lot more.

To the Beloved:
All I needed was somebody to fight my corner, because when you are close to someone regardless of what they do you stick by them. The only people who could truly see where I was coming from were the c**t's best pals. What pisses me off is everyone hates him behind his back but are best pals with the fucker when he's getting round in. I have done it for friends and I also did it for you that time we all went ot the pub and your intolerable, abysmal "friends" not only bullied you, and me, but also ruined the evenings of a few innocent female strangers thanks to their "sense of humour". Next time I have to endure another evening with that lot there is no way I will sit and giggle demurely 'cause they are "the boyfriend's pals, therefore...", I will tell them they are being arrogant pricks. And also that I paid £6.50 for that curry for myself that they are all helping themselves to without even asking, and at the same time insulting me about where I come from. "Yes I am from Essex....Yes I know....Yes I know. I do have impeccable table manners for someone from "round there"...Yeh, alright, ok, joke's over.".


Fuckers. Pricks. Assholes. Or to put it into one word, men.