A long week

This last week hasn't been that good. I had to spend most of my free time meeting up with complete morons to work on group presentations. Group presentations, the way it seems to be going, that will end up being all of yours truly's work. Gotta love your hard-working peers, really.

Fortunately, I managed to keep my mind off morony things by going out a bit. A lot, actually.

On Monday night, I accompanied Gay Mike to an auction preview, which basically combines everything I love. Free art, champagne and social chit-chat.
Unfortunately, this sort of event only attracts old wealthy businessmen. As much as I'd love having some of the sculptures gracing my bedside table, I don't have the multiple zeros sort of cash in my wallet. £14,67 would be more like it.

I did miss out on the opportunity to refill that wallet of mine though. The kind of thing that only happens to me. See for yourself.
I was walking around, champagne in hand, admiring statues, and NOT provocatively dressed, when I noticed that (old and creepy, it goes without saying) man, who seemed much more interested in my bum than the art work on display. I turned around. He repositioned himself in a way that left no doubt that he was indeed staring at my ass.
I moved to the next room. He followed, without taking his eyes off it. When he not so casually brushed his hand against my bottom, I began to see red.

Look mate, there's a very nice naked lady just here, you can get it for £16000 and look at her arse for the three remaining years of your life. It's a bargain really. Now please, leave mine alone!

And you know what the son of a bitch said?
Maybe I'd be more interested in spending £16000 for the pleasure of your company tonight, what do you say?

-What do I say? FUCK OFF!!!

Now my credit-crunched self is staring at the £14,67 in my wallet and thinking I should start rolling my cigarettes. Great.
But I do hope he too gets credit-crunched to death and shrivels up in a concil house.


On Tuesday night, Italian Neighbour dragged me to That Bar, where I spent half the night praying for G-the-M not to turn up. Thankfully, he didn't, and a Jason Bourne look alike kept making sure that my glass of wine was full at any given time, so I guess it was a good night...

Most of Wednesday was spent in lectures, cursing both the hangover and some of my moronic fellow students who certainly did not make things easier with their constant stupid chatter.


Friday was a good one though. Tarzan and I finally met up for our first date.
My... this guy is my future husband. Seriously, he's perfect. Intelligent, well-spoken, well-traveled, funny, arty, with a great job, and fit-fit-fit!
We laughed our heads off for the five hours we stayed in that Notting Hill pub, until the moment we parted with an awkward kiss on the cheek. I really hope I'm going to get more. Soon.
I headed to Soho, where the Usual Suspects were celebrating Halloween in gay fashion. It was alright I guess. I had one too many shots of sambuca and did my fag-hag duty (Aka: You look amazing with eye-liner dah-ling!).


I was woken up on Saturday morning by a text from Tarzan:
Sorry for the delayed reply, hope your night went well. Looks like it did... :p . Yes, it'd be good to meet up again. Take care.

It only meant one thing; I had sent a text that neither me nor my retarded phone had any recollection of...
Oh dear, I did send a drunken text, didn't I? My phone is currently refusing to give its content. I'm going to hide in the corner now.

His reply?
Haha, don't worry, you didn't write anything bad; it was nice...

-I love you I love you I love you!
Ok, I didn't write that, but it was close.
At the risk of repeating myself, I NEED to see that man again. And buy Italian Neighbour a massive bottle of champagne and a box of chocolates.


Well, if I don't fuck it all up. Because I've been very bad last night.
I went to my friend 'Pusc' 's birthday last night in Angel. It was great fun; nice bar, nice music, great company, alcohol flowing, etc... You know, that kind of night when everyone gets in the seriously-I-love-you-guys mood.
At 2am, while on the night bus back home with the Usual Suspects, my phone rang.
And guess who?
Bloody fucking OG, who has a knack for systematically calling at the wrong moment in my life.

I didn't pick up, and instead chose to complain to the Usual Suspects who kindly backed me up on the this-guy-is-such-a-dick assumption.
And once home I textingly unleashed all my hatred:
Is it just me, but was that a booty call? I'm sorry, but I don't find the fact that you're calling me out of the blue after months, when you happen to be a) in London for a couple of days, b)drunk (hello, it's 2am!) c) horny, exactly flattering.

-Hahahaha, no! But I kinda miss you. Yes I'm in London, but I'm not drunk. If you'd allow me, I'd like to see you again... If you pick up, I can ring you to prove you I'm not drunk?

-I don't care if you're drunk or not. I am. And I'm planning to sleep through the hangover. Now!

-If you'd like me to kiss you goodnight tonight, know I'm here...

-And that wasn't a booty call? Yeah right. Please stop that. What's the bloody point?

-I told you. I miss you... What are you doing on Tuesday night then?

-Revising. I've got exams on Wednesday.

-Wow, exams? You clever, clever thing. Well, is it ok to call you on Tuesday to see when's good for you, my lovely one?

-Fuck off. I'm not lovely. I told you I can't do late Tuesday. And you'd never get anything more than a coffee anyway.

-You really are lovely. And beautiful, and sexy, and smart. I'm really looking forward to that coffee of ours then. I'll call you on Tuesday, will try not to be late. xxxxxxxxx

-How can one sound desperate AND arrogant at the same time? Go back to a club and please pull another drunken girl.

-It's you I want to pull. Talk on Tuesday then! Can't wait! xxx


Now, I need help. Can someone please explain me how the heck that happened? My head is a fuzzy mess right now. I did not agree to see OG, did I? No I did not. I was verbally abusive. That's all there is to it.
How could that arrogant bastard assume I'd be up for it when I expressively told him to fuck off?

I'll tell you how. Both of us know I want to...

SHIT!