Minted.

I just checked my bank account and there was a recent transfer of around 270 quid from my old work. I phoned them up on the walk home.

“Um, hi. I used to work here until last month – I’ve just had 270quid transfered into my account for this month, and considering I haven’t worked for you at all in that time, I’m assuming it’s not mine.”

“Are you sure? Let me see… oh! You had a lot of overtime and unpaid holidays, I think that’s what it is.”

“What, so… the money’s mine?”

“Yes.”

…

“YES!!!”

So now I am 270 pounds better off. For lack of a better word, I am minted. I think a celebratory cup of tea is in order.

In other news, I spent the weekend at my dad’s (having not been there in about a year and a half) and I met his new kitten, who set her tail on fire. Last night I got in, rounded up my various bottles of birthday-alcohol and went over to Mark’s, and we (read: he) proceeded to get outrageously drunk. I started sobering up around the same time he started being sick. Three times. I had to put him to bed before I left – I was home by half past midnight. Despite the fact that all he did was moan about how much he missed his girlfriend (it’s a long-distance thing, and it’s not going well for them), derided my own relationship as meaningless and divulged some fairly personal things about his life, I actually found him to be quite fun. He’s a lot more easy-going and relaxed when he’s been plied with alcohol. He even kissed me on the forehead to symbolise our ‘bonding experience’ – alovely sentiment, even if he did reek of vomit. We decided it would be funny if I wore one of his t-shirts (one I had previously derided as being hideous to all of our other friends when he wore it himself) to our lecture this afternoon, to see if anyone noticed. Nobody did, but when he came in to the lecture theatre and realised I had actually done it, he was mortified. I much prefer him drunk.

Z is now well and truly away – his ship left port on Saturday morning, and is now making it’s way through some choppy seas to Cape Town, South Africa. He won’t be back for another three months or so, which is a bit shit. He seems to be having a good time so far, though. The last time I saw him was the morning after my birthday, which I’m glad he managed to stay long enough for. He got me some lovely silk pyjamas and dressing gown as birthday presents, and he also gave me his teddy from when he was a baby so we would both have something to cuddle while he was away (I had previously divulged that I’d left all my teddies at my mum’s house, and his own teddy has spent the last 15 years or so in the back of a wardrobe), which was really very sweet.

I am going to miss him terribly though – I’m not going to totally forget about him, but at the same time (without wanting to sound insensitive) I don’t want to miss him too much – so much that I’m upset all the time. I hope we can last on e-mails and IM’s until he gets back and, even more importantly, that it’s still the same after he does get back. There’s nothing worse than being away from someone you like and eagerly anticipating seeing them again, only to realise that the feelings of one or both parties has changed somewhat. Fingers crossed.

The Relationship Cycle

I got into a discussion with my friend D over dinner regarding how optimistic you can realistically be about your relationship lasting ‘forever,’ after making a facetious remark about the lack of parking near my new accomodation in September being the reason that Z and I will break up. (Either that, or the fact that I’ll be in a new peer-pool, thus increasing the chances of me meeting someone I like better exponentially).

D believes that if you really love someone (and that love is reciprocated, presumably), there is always a way to make a relationship with them work – you’ll never really get bored of them. I, being someone who has, in my short years, gotten bored of a LOT of people whom I would have previously sworn my undying devotion to, have to disagree. I think it is possible to make a relationship last, but I don’t think, at the end of the day, good intentions and sheer determination are enough.

Relationships, like everything else, act under the law of diminishing returns. If you eat too much of your favourite food, you get sick of it. If you listen to your favourite song too often, it fails to give you the same amount of pleasure. Likewise, if you see your favourite person too much, you get bored of them.

I think there’s an inevitable cycle to all relationships, no matter how well the couple get along, or ‘click,’ or ‘connect.’ It goes:

Euphoria —> Contentment —> Boredom

The stages aren’t measured so much in time as they are in time spent together, or exposure. The last stage ultimately results in a break-up, unless an outside event (one party being unfaithful, or one or both parties dying), intervenes before the cycle can complete itself. A successful relationship therefore, by my definition, is one that is able to prolong the contentment stage for so long that one party dies before the cycle can complete itself. Or, at least, before the boredom stage can last too long.

I’m not trying to be cynical – I think a successful relationship by my definition is just as meaningful and wonderful as D’s more idealistic definition. So, hopefully, Z and I can prolong the contentment stage for as long as possible. The best anyone can really do is hope they don’t get bored of someone, or vice versa – I don’t think there’s any way to put it off completely.

I think the key to a successful relationship (or so I gather from Z’s parents) is a mixture of separation and caravan-ing. By separation, I mean that perhaps one party works far away i.e. the oil-rigs or the army, and has to be away from home for prolonged or frequent, but regular periods of time. Not the kind of separation that my parents had, pre-divorce (“Oh I’m sorry honey, I won’t be home tonight, I have to ‘work’). And I’ve never met a couple who caravan who aren’t really happy with one another.

Parody.

JASON, ALFIE, ANDREW, LUKA – LIMO MONEY. KNEECAPS. says (16:40):
It’s more than three days til I see Z
JASON, ALFIE, ANDREW, LUKA – LIMO MONEY. KNEECAPS. says (16:40):
I normally wouldn’t be clingy but…
JASON, ALFIE, ANDREW, LUKA – LIMO MONEY. KNEECAPS. says (16:40):
Oh hey, if Pete doesn’t call you will you have sex with me?
[Kitten.RaWr] – Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate says (16:40):
Lmao. :P
[Kitten.RaWr] – Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate says (16:40):
You slag :P
JASON, ALFIE, ANDREW, LUKA – LIMO MONEY. KNEECAPS. says (16:41):
I’m not a slag
JASON, ALFIE, ANDREW, LUKA – LIMO MONEY. KNEECAPS. says (16:41):
I just have *needs*
JASON, ALFIE, ANDREW, LUKA – LIMO MONEY. KNEECAPS. says (16:41):
I tried to explain this to Z but that just made it worse
JASON, ALFIE, ANDREW, LUKA – LIMO MONEY. KNEECAPS. says (16:41):
He was like, ‘I’ll make it up to you on Friday’
JASON, ALFIE, ANDREW, LUKA – LIMO MONEY. KNEECAPS. says (16:41):
FRIDAY’S AGES AWAY!
[Kitten.RaWr] – Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate says (16:41):
[My boyfriend] does stuff like that, do they not understand the urgency of these matters?! :P
JASON, ALFIE, ANDREW, LUKA – LIMO MONEY. KNEECAPS. says (16:41):
I know
JASON, ALFIE, ANDREW, LUKA – LIMO MONEY. KNEECAPS. says (16:42):
He should just fake sick for the week and drive up to see me like, now
[Kitten.RaWr] – Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate says (16:42):
Lol. Did you inform him of this as well? :P
JASON, ALFIE, ANDREW, LUKA – LIMO MONEY. KNEECAPS. says (16:44):
No, I did not
JASON, ALFIE, ANDREW, LUKA – LIMO MONEY. KNEECAPS. says (16:44):
He should just KNOW
[Kitten.RaWr] – Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate says (16:44):
God, he’s quite useless.

Update

After an absence of any relevant writing due to a bout of general laziness, it’s time to give my imaginary readers (and, more importantly, myself) an update.

• I spent New Year at my Dad’s house, in The Land Where Time Stands Still. I did actually get an invite to the Hogmanay Street Party – Jason had a spare ticket – but I’m not at Dad’s very often now that I work at weekends, and I think he prefers me to spend time there when I’m there, rather than go out. The conversation went something like this:

Jason (on phone): Hey, want to go to the street party with me?!

Me: Hell yeah I do!!! Dad, can I go to the street party?!

Dad: No.

By the time I got back to my house, Z had finished up with his job at the nightclub near where I live and was about to head off to the Merchant Navy in Newcastle. It was at this point we decided to keep seeing each other despite him living so far away. He drives up almost every weekend. In fact, I see him more often now with him living a 2-and-a-half-hour drive away than I did when he was working a 5-minute walk from my house.

• I also did some work experience before the new year in a general practice in a nearby town. It was three days, spread out over Christmas, and it was actually very interesting. I got to cut stitches, and inject local anaesthetic, and visit a lot of suicidal old people. The latter was the only one that really affected me. For a lot of the time, I was in with this awesome doctor observing his consultations, and every time I asked a question about a condition he’d draw me a little picture about it on a post-it. He was quite good-looking. He also let me touch people’s cysts and listen through the stehoscope etc. I’m quite surprised the patients were okay with it – they were all really good sports. Even the guy who was pissing blood.
• On the topic of medicine, I’ve had a couple of offers from university. Dundee knocked me back, and I withdrew my application from Aberdeen after I received an offer from Edinburgh, the latter of which made me very happy indeed. When, a couple of weeks later, I got an offer from Glasgow (my first choice, at the time), I was even more ecstatic, not least because it relieved my concern that, out of the two universities, the only one to have got back to me with an offer was the one who hadn’t met me yet. Glasgow are asking for BBC, and the Edinburgh offer is only conditional on a clean criminal record. I’m slightly less enthused now that I have to pick which one to go to.
• Recently finished my prelims after a month or so of basically not going out at all. I got 72% in Biology, 78% in Maths and 79% in Chemistry. All in all, not bad – not as good as last year, but then again, they don’t have to be! They’re still A’s, not that I need them after the above bullet-point.
• Actually, now that I think about it, I haven’t had much spare time lately despite the prelims being over with. I’m either at school, work (up to 17 hours/week, now), other work, or I’m writing up these daft science investigations. At the weekends, Adam and Z normally take me to Alana’s or on some other strange adventure.
• I have my motorbike theory test next week. Not prepared. At all.
• I’ve made my holiday plans. Roughly. On the 24th June, I will be flying out to Berlin. I’ll spend a couple of days there, then Interail-it to Paris, and then again to Venice. This will all be unaccompanied, but I’m meeting up with Adam at Metalcamp on the 3rd of July – I’m going to get the train from Venice to Ljubljiana, the Slovenian capital. I haven’t quite worked out how I’m going to get from there to Tolmin, but that can be done later. While I’m in Europe, I’ll probably be staying in hostels, and I’ll buy a tent for Metalcamp in Venice.
• Z and I are still going, much to my surprise. You’d think I’d get tired of someone being so loving and nice all the time, but I don’t. =D We’re actually going away to St. Andrews tomorrow, as it’s the start of my Easter holiday from school and he has the long weekend off college. I booked the weekend off work ages ago. We’ll be staying in a caravan that his parents have. I’ve never actually been on one of these coupley, weekend-away sex holidays before… but I’m going to assume that, aside from the obligatory walk around town and visit to the seaside (which I’ve been asking for forEVER), we’ll be in bed for most of the time. Ka-ching.
• My ‘other work’ has come under new management – it is no longer managed by Dad, but by the man who owns all the rest of the Scottish franchises, and who has been after the Edinburgh franchise for, well, ever. He is basically my Dad’s Andrew. Anyway, he and the woman who nobody really quite knows if he’s shagging manage the dancing full-time, so it’s a big weight off Dad and Angela’s shoulders, as they both have their own full-time jobs as well. I thought I’d be getting the old heave-ho, but they’ve actually been very nice. The Boss has been especially so – in fact, a little on the sleazy side, although I’ve noticed that his dancing with me is a lot less flamboyant and creepy ever since my Dad stopped being there to see. I cover the desk at the parties now – the last Saturday of every month. February’s was the last night *ever* in our old venue and was, coincidentally, exactly ten years after the first ever party there. The Boss made a point of saying this to everyone. I made a point of saying to him that, ten years ago, I was seven. He replied, ‘Eww.’ I, confused, ‘What?’ He said, ‘Oh, no, I don’t mean it like that – you were cute then too.’ I, creeped out.

But anyway, I can’t blame him – he’s got us a stunning new venue, and all the customers are very pleased with the new management for saving them from the ugly hole of a temporary venue that we were in after the old one closed. Of course, the other big new-management initiative – updating to a laptop and swipecard membership system – has not been so well-received. Luckily for the management, it’s me, the door-person, who gets all the criticism for it. As if it’s MY fault. Honestly, these people have absolutely no grasp of the concept, ‘Don’t shoot the messenger.’ I feel very betrayed, to be quite honest. Here I am, having devoted every Tuesday night for the past two years of my life to them, getting to know them, pretending to care about the weather or lack of parking or whatever it is they have to complain about, and generally providing kick-ass quality customer service, and all it takes is having to wait in a queue or fill out a form and they turn their backs on me. They stand in their queue and mutter, and glare, and hiss. ‘Oh for goodness’ sake!’ and ‘This is ridiculous!’

People annoy me.

The Balance.

You always hear the self-proclaimed ‘nice guys’ – the bottom of the dating food chain – complaining (the bitter, blame-projecting complaint particular to the under-sexed) that girls will always go for assholes rather than themselves – that they are too often delegated to the position of ‘just a friend.’

I have had a revelation. And I want to use it to quiet the moaning of the nice guys once and for all – guys, it’s not because you’re ‘too nice.’ It’s because you’re pathetic.

I’m honestly not trying to be mean. Any woman who has ever been in a relationship with a man who has felt more strongly than she has will know what I mean when I say that most men, when they like a woman too strongly than is appropriate (whether the feeling is unrequited or just unequal), undergo a kind of mental sex-change.

They become simpering, contrite, easily-upset, flimsy beings whose entire verbal expression of affection is one big, unbearable cliche. And they cry.

And there is nothing in the world more unattractive than a man crying.

So, to all those 30-something-year-old virgins harbouring a misplaced, celibacy-induced mysoginy, I feel it is my duty to inform you that women do not choose to date that asshole – you know, that guy who has never once shown any kind of appreciation for her and generally just doesn’t deserve her. We are forced to date him. Because, for many of us, the alternative is so much worse.

So much so, that most woman would rather be unappreciated, under-valued and unhappy, than they would be doted-upon and smothered by their ‘good boyfriend.’

Because that kind of over-sensitivity and lack of any kind of dignity is just as inconsiderate, really. We don’t want to have your constant touchy-feelyness in public, or saying embarassing things in front of our friends. We don’t want you to fly into a jealous rage any time we mention a male friend in conversation. Sure, a little jealousy is nice – it lets us know we’re appreciated – but when we start worrying if what we’re wearing on a night out with our girlfriends is too revealing for other guys to see, then you’ve taken it too far. We don’t want to have to worry about tip-toeing around you in case we upset you, and we don’t want to listen to your sobbing when we do and you blow it out of proportion.

I went out with a guy once who was, I will give him his due, perfectly well-balanced while we were going out, but when we split, he just became a monster. He’d call me every night sobbing for months on end (we only went out for ten), and eventually developed this hatred for women in general because he blamed them for not appreciating him. He just couldn’t understand why I would go out with a guy who he considered an asshole when he was a perfectly nice guy; these assholes don’t ‘deserve’ me – at which point I was beginning to feel rather objectified. Like I was something to be covetted. Anyway, never did this guy at any point stop to consider that the problem was internal – that there was something wrong with his personality that stopped women being attracted to him, rather than it being a defect of the XX-chromosomes in general.

Obviously, nobody likes an asshole. No woman likes it when a guy is inattentive, when he ditches plans with her to go smoke a joint with some guys he’s just met, when he never says a nice thing, etc.

There’s obviously a balance to be achieved, and few men – and women – can achieve it. I certainly haven’t, although in my attempts I tend to veer wildly from one extreme to another.

I don’t want to dwell on it for much longer, in case it seems like I’m complimenting him, but I think Z’s got the balance. He’s perfect, in that respect. He’s typically unattractive, tells tasteless jokes, has a foul temper and is quite possibly racist, but at least he’s got that going for him. He manages to make me feel loved and say things which are generally considered to be romantic without making me want to boke. And he manages to be ridiculously pseudo-masculine (to the point where I think his entire set of mannerisms must just be one big satire) without being a dickhead. He can harbour an intense attraction for someone while still being able to banter with them – he didn’t completely lose any defining aspect of character as soon as he realised he was ‘in love,’ so to speak.

So, it is possible, clearly.

Sexy Jams – an MSN conversation.

[Kitten.RaWr] – Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate says (21:25):
Opinion needed vis a vis valentines gift

Piss Kitten says (21:32):
Aye?

[Kitten.RaWr] – Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate says (21:36):
Le idea is know how you can make yer own calendars? Make a sexy one :P D’ya think he’d like it or do we think I should go for something eeelse?

Piss Kitten says (21:36):
Hmm I’m not sure

Piss Kitten says (21:36):
Lol, so long as you don’t let anyone else see it I guess :P

Piss Kitten says (21:36):
It’s an awesome idea though

Piss Kitten says (21:36):
I wish I was your boyfriend

[Kitten.RaWr] – Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate says (21:37):
See that’s the thing someone else has to take the photos. Lol. Unless I make the timer work on le camera. I know I’m just awesome :P

Piss Kitten says (21:37):
Timer’s a good idea

Piss Kitten says (21:37):
Although it doesn’t leave much variety for backgrounds

Piss Kitten says (21:38):
If you run out of sexy outfits the rest of the months will just have to be naked ones

[Kitten.RaWr] – Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate says (21:39):
Lmao. Well I have two underwear sets, then I just have to for outfits and then yeah naked ones, but classy :P Like wrapped in a sheet on the bed type photos :P Lol

Piss Kitten says (21:39):
Rawr

Piss Kitten says (21:39):
But put a random picture of a jam jar in one of the months

Piss Kitten says (21:39):
For kicks

[Kitten.RaWr] – Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate says (21:39):
Lmao. Sexay likes

Piss Kitten says (21:39):
Then you only have to think of 11 sexy ones

Piss Kitten says (21:40):
I would give you one of my sexy jams but I gave them all to Matthew

Piss Kitten says (21:40):
All two of them

Piss Kitten says (21:40):
I really can’t remember how that came about…

[Kitten.RaWr] – Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate says (21:40):
Lmao. You had sexy jams

Piss Kitten says (21:40):
Yeah I drew them

Piss Kitten says (21:40):
Oh yeah!

Piss Kitten says (21:41):
I was saying that while he’s away at the Navy I will just have to occupy myself with cute domestic things like jam-making

Piss Kitten says (21:41):
And when he comes back I will have no time to give him attention because I will be too busy making jams

Piss Kitten says (21:41):
And he was like, ‘I’ll just fuck your jams, then.’

Piss Kitten says (21:41):
And I had this mental image of all these broken jam jars lying all over the kitchen floor, molested

Piss Kitten says (21:42):
And I found it funny at the time..

[Kitten.RaWr] – Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate says (21:43):
Omg, I can totally see Z having sex with jam in a jar. Lmao.

Piss Kitten says (21:46):
He’s funny

Piss Kitten says (21:46):
In a weird, homicidal way

[Kitten.RaWr] – Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate says (21:46):
Lol

Piss Kitten says (21:46):
Have you ever seen Sleeping with the Enemy?

[Kitten.RaWr] – Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate says (21:47):
Nope, whyy?

Piss Kitten says (21:47):
Aw

Piss Kitten says (21:47):
Well, it’s got Julia Roberts and she fakes her own death to run away from her psycho husband who beats her and is a total nazi OCD neat freak and always arranges the towels in the bathroom and the cans in the kitchen cupboard perfectly

Piss Kitten says (21:48):
And he tracks her down and she knows he’s in her house because she comes out the shower and the towels and cans have all been arranged neatly

Piss Kitten says (21:48):
That’s how I’m going to know Z has tracked me down in a homicidal psychotic rage

Piss Kitten says (21:48):
Because there will be jam all over the kitchen floor

[Kitten.RaWr] – Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate says (21:48):
LM AO

My first time.

I realised, in touching (or rather, fumbling blindly) on the topic of hilarious adolescent sexual encounters, that I’ve never really said much about my first time, which is bizarre, since I started writing this blog before it happened.

Well, distinguishing point numero uno: It was with a 47 y/o man. I wish I could say it was with a 47 y/o woman, who was a married mother-of-two, just to make it even more original, but alas. It’s a story to tell the grandkids, nonetheless. The 47 bit still stands.

Which, I would have thought, kind of gives the guarantee that, aside from the whole painful ‘breaking in’ aspect, it would be pretty damn fantastic. You know, with all those years of experience.

And it was. Well, he was.

Distinguishing point numero dos: I got my head stuck between the metal railings of the headboard. There’s really not much else to be said about my performance.

Teenage sex is hilarious.

I did the ‘horizontal higgedy-jiggedy’ (as Rachael calls it) with Z before he left. And in the complete lack of afterglow I realised just how ridiculous these adolescent, clumsy excuses for intercourse are.

His alarm went off mid-fuck, which wouldn’t have been such a mood-killer if only his alarm didn’t play Iced Earth’s ‘Something Wicked’ album at maximum volume. Nothing like cheesy power-metal to put you off in the middle of the afternoon. I was not at all pleased.

I actually like Iced Earth, but listening to them on the bus and fucking to them are two entirely different matters, and I draw the line at the latter.

Oh well.
At least I got a nice shower afterwards.

Vertical higgedy-jiggedy, here I come.

Bad-ass.

Matthew just left for the Navy.

And I didn’t cry. Because I’m bad-ass.

I didn’t say, ‘I love you too,’ either. Which I’m not sure if I should regret – maybe I should throw the guy a bone, but I’ve already explained that I find the sentence way too contrite. He knows I’m very, very fond of him, though, and to me, the two are synonymous. En plus, if I’d said it after all the rants I’ve just spewed forth here, I couldn’t live with myself. Not that I am terribly bothered about being a hypocrite – I love being a hypocrite. It means when you eventually give in and do whatever it is you’ve been so vehement about avoiding, it always feels so much better.

I suppose that’s why I like Z so much – he’s so inconsistent. When he’s alone or in a small group he’s sweet and easy-going, but in other social situations he’s angry and bad-tempered. Funny and intelligent in both, though. But he’s always saying one thing, then saying something else a few weeks later that will directly contradict it. I love it – it’s refreshing. So many people place emphasis and importance on being consistent – hypocrisy is held in contempt by the British public. It’s one of our few unquestionable social principles.

But anyway, I digress. I’ve come to a less-cynical-than-usual half-conclusion to my recent dilemma(s) regarding the whole love issue. Everyone thinks they know what love means – I’m sure, if asked, the definition would vary slightly from person to person, but regardless of what it actually means (or if it even exists in the conventional sense), everyone will agree that it is Something Significant. And so, if Matthew tells me he loves me, then I should accept that as something true, and reassuring, as if it were something I understand. Because he clearly does – he knows how he feels about me, and that love is something very significant, and he loves me.

So, awesome.

SMS.

Text message received from ‘Pip,’ 25/12/07 00:48:07

‘Merry christmas etc lol how’re you? Hope you have a nice day =] can i just ask, are you officially with any one? Because, i was wondering if you would want to maybe consider going out with me again, and this time, i wouldn’t be childish and run away because i was afraid of a semi serious relationship lol sorrty if this comes across as weird lol’

Text message sent to ‘Pip’ 25/12/07 05:19:2007

‘Hey, sorry, I only just got yr txt. I am seeing Z atm. He’s going away 2 the Navy for 4yrs in 2wks, so I don’t think it’d be very fair on him if I started seeing some1 else right now.’

Here’s some background information:

Pip and I were seeing each other in the summer of ‘06. It was one of those very brief affairs where you become totally besotted with someone.

He asked me out again this summer, but phrased it as ‘nothing serious, just a bit of fun.’ A few weeks previously I had been complaining to him about how I was sick of guys who ‘didn’t want to be in a relationship.’ I declined on the grounds of his inattentiveness.

There’s something seriously ironic about a guy telling you he wants to commit via SMS. It seems that he doesn’t so much like me as like the idea of being in a proper relationship in general. He seems lonely. and I was just, y’know, there. Whatever, I’d probably do the same.