A man walks into a bar

I have no money! None! I know sometimes people will say they have no money but still have the money to buy one “little” thing. But genuinely I’m being honest! I have no money. Now this is not new news, I have known for a while that I am on the route to the land of nada. However, I haven’t wanted to bore you with the details of my finances on a daily basis. This is mainly because, if you’re anything like me, you may have just graduated into this shite economy, without a bloody clue how you’re going to survive and are thus equally depressed.

I too was among the many, who thought that going to university would give me some sort of advantage in life. I too am among the many who have recently realised that, that was totally untrue. Life is hard and getting rich is even harder.

So, after 17 missed calls from my bank and 8 from my landlord, I needed to relax, ease myself in to a place where money was not a worry. And where did that take me? To a cocktail bar in Soho, where a single is £7.50 and it’s all up hill from there. But, I did’t care. I needed one night where the argument with my brother, the loss of my beau, and my money worries did not have primary focus. Now, my friends are in a similar place but they too agreed that it’s on the nights that you’re feeling low you should do something fun, whether it costs a pretty penny or not!

So there we were Mya, Em and I at a bar in Soho getting royally smashed, without a care in the world or a shred of dignity to our names. I have to admit I was fairly glad I didn’t know anyone in this place until…..

Turning towards the bar I saw him looking directly at me. His face was one I knew instantly, largely because of its beauty and those eyes. I remembered those eyes from the moment he kissed me. My eyes were open at first, as were his until we both settled into the moment and our lips entwined. It was Jack, the art collector who lived in Paris. I met him just last week, in a gay bar, where I discovered he was not gay following one of the best kisses i’d received in a while.

I was planning on avoiding him because I was currently tipsy and had also been tipsy the first night we’d met. This is not a good look!  I didn’t want it to appear as though I was tipsy 90% of the time, which may be the way things are going! But he saw me, so with all the sense I had in me I perked up, straightened up and smiled. He was more handsome then I remembered and though I hadn’t exactly invited his kiss in through the door, I was happy he’d been assertive enough to give me one. I was even happier i’d excepted it when I saw him again. He looked amazing and as he walked over to me that beautiful smile crept across his face.

“Well there’s a face I’m glad I didn’t forget” he said walking in my direction and loosening the top button of his shirt.

I smiled, glad he hadn’t forgotten me.

“I’m impressed you remember me from afar, I mean the last time I saw you, your face was inches from mine”. I cursed myself for the shitness of  the line, it wasn’t witty at all. Damn tequila.

He embraced me and smelt…..like a man. Before long I was inviting him and his equally attractive male friend to come and sit with the girls and I. Now, in comparison to my friends, I am much better at holding my drink. They however used their intoxication as an excuse to grill Jack on the kiss and ask why he hadn’t had the decency to buy me dinner first.

“I guess it was stupid of me but I’m happy to make up for it” he said, looking in my direction.

Now let me tell you, in my dating life I usually search for one thing, just one. This one thing tells me whether or not it is ever going to work and if it’s even worth trying. If I don’t have this one thing well, it’s a waste of both our times. Butterflies. This year only one person has given them to me. Liam. But, as I was forcing myself to know every day, he was gone and I had to keep on living.

Life in your 20’s isn’t always about being super responsible, swearing off men, or having everything totally figured out. Life in your 20’s is about making the mistakes, growing from them, meeting people, striving to succeed and of course, it’s about those boys.

“Yes” I said, without a second thought.

And we’ll see where it goes from here!

Gay Chicken

There have been many moments since falling into my 20’s, that I have regretted the decisions I’ve made. Whether they be small, like eating that 7^th pizza slice, or big, like falling in love with the wrong dude at the wrong time. And, although I regret a lot of my decisions I suppose I pride myself on my ability to accept the choices I’ve made and deal with the consequences accordingly.

In the past year, which has flown by so fast, I’ve regretted a number of things: losing my job, having an open relationship with the fella whose now my “beau”, not being a supportive sister. But of all the things I regret, I think my relationship with Alex is a big one. I met Alex, strangely enough, when my roommate Em  dragged me to speed-dating. It wasn’t exactly my thing but the sight of Alex and a few other hotties changed my opinion. He liked me and on a particularly lonely Valentine’s day he made the bold move to ask me out. Our relationship was one of differences, he is an organised banker in his mid-twenties, I’m an unemployed writer in my early-twenties. We didn’t exactly click until he made an effort to understand my world and for a fleeting moment gave me butterflies.

Although I tried to fall for this ideal man my mind and body wouldn’t let me give in and after an awkward conversation, I decided we’d be best as friends. Now although I handled it better than I would have in my teens, you know when you avoid the guy who likes you and run the other way when you bump into one another, I still had my regrets. He’d put himself out there and offered me a hand and I had in some ways stood on it. It was for this reason I’ve made an effort to be part of his life, to help him out, to be the kind of friend I told him I’d be when I called it off.

So, when he called me yesterday evening nervous about a date I was happy to meet him for drinks before the date to ease his worries. He always picks the most swanky places in London, places were Bentley’s are standard and despite having the money, everyone gets things on “the company card”. It’s a privileged world he lives in and, though I’m happy to poke my head in occasionally, it’s not for an East End girl like me.

There we sat him with his Brandy and me with a good old vodka cranberry sitting out in the fairly little bit of sun we’ve be getting.

“So what’s her name” I asked playfully

“Nicky” he said, looking down.

The whole night I’d been getting the weirdest vibe from him. Whenever I asked specifics about his date he became embarrassed and gave particularly short answers. I didn’t understand why this was, he’d asked me to come and give him some date night courage, so why was he being so vague? I’m not usually one to pry but his behaviour begged a ton of questions.

“What’s up, you seem abnormally nervous? It’s just a date I’m sure she’ll love you. You’re funny, intelligent, sweet. I don’t understand why you’re so worried…Why are you so worried?”. He didn’t respond.

At this point I was starting to think it was me. I mean it was kind of weird, the girl he’d been dating prepping him for dating someone else but he’d asked me to come, so here I was. And then he spoke:

“This dates a little different. It’s my first… I mean I haven’t…” he stopped at a stammer.

If I wasn’t confused before I was seriously confused after he said that. I just sat thinking to myself: What on earth is the big deal? He hadn’t been this nervous when we were dating. Maybe the girl was some super-hot mistress model. Maybe I’d been so mean he had formed a dating phobia. What is the deal?

Then he looked at his phone. His date had text him. I didn’t want to be here when they arrived because that would be even weirder. I decided it was time to leave and just as I was standing up to say goodbye Alex waved at someone behind me.

“That’s my date” he said, smiling nervously.

Turning around I beheld his date. Let me first say shock does not cover what I felt when I saw his date and I had to use all my might not to shout “WHAT THE FUCK!” as they walked towards us. Apparently I didn’t know everything about Alex because his date was not some super-hot mistress model but a super-hot Mr. Male. A Dude, a guy, a he, a being with a male member. In case you didn’t get that Alex’s date was a man!

After introducing myself I took my leave and left them to it. I had to laugh though, maybe that was what I’d sensed wasn’t right. Maybe that was why I never felt the need to let him rip my clothes off and take me to bed. But it didn’t really matter now, as long as Alex was happy. Although I did wonder why he hadn’t just told me he was in to dudes but, to each his own.

So I took my boring self home and made dinner in my pj’s for the handsome fella whose now my beau.

His girl

We were getting comfortable. It is not the kind of comfortable you see in movies where the woman falls asleep while the man strokes her hair out of her face. Nah! That’s not, nor will it ever be us. It is the kind of comfortable where you wake up in the morning with messy hair, not sexy messy hair but your good old birds nest hair, and don’t mind at all. After months of the games, the yes and  no’s Liam and I are finally at a place in which we feel comfortable. It’s nice.

As an unemployed gal our time together currently has few limits I spend 7am – 5pm looking for jobs and just when I’m starting to feel hopeless or incapable of handling the burden of unemployment, he’ll show up with a takeaway and some music and suddenly I’m all good. I’m not entirely sure what brought on the change, what made the boy who had suggested that I join him in an open relationship change so dramatically. But it all matters less now, whatever the reason he’s here and we’re pretty cool.

We spent last night at a bar in Camden, one of the magazines I do a bit of work for had asked me to go down and take a look at a band. In true Liam fashion he had not only heard of the new band but new every single member of it, he is unintentionally awesome like that. So after the set and a few vodka cranberry’s he took my over to meet his friends. Now, don’t get me wrong I’ve been introduced to his friends before, we’ve known each other for years now. But, as we were walking over I realised this was the first time since “the change” he was introducing me to someone new.

Now I just want to clarify, I’m not one of those girls who over analyses every word, or the number of kisses at the end of every text, or what exactly he meant when he said “I’ll call you soon.” No! I don’t do that, I never have but Liam and I were in a content limbo space. I had no complaints about our comfortable limbo status in which neither of us had chosen to define or title our relationship. However, walking up I have to admit I did get one of those unnecessarily weird questioning traits. In the two minutes it took us to reach the band my thought process went overly attached girlfriend crazy:

“Is he going to introduce me as me? Is he going to say I’m his girlfriend? If he says I’m his girlfriend does that mean I’m actually his girlfriend? He hasn’t asked me out yet so there’s no way I’m his girlfriend. Oh shit! What if he introduces me as his friend? Is that bad? I am his friend, so I suppose thats the most logical way to introduce me. But hang on if I’m his friend now and was his friend before the change then nothings really changed. You’re a crazy fool! No, actually you’re not, he’s a douchebag for making you cry in the bath and  sleeping with another girl and… Stop! Get it together girl!”

Yep, if you thought I was a little crazy before I bet that ‘little’ has just disappeared. My thoughts were all over the place and then, I chose to discard every thought from my mind as we reached his friends. I liked him, I was happy, it was good.

He congratulated his friends on their performance, which I agreed was awesome and then he introduced me:

“Guys, this is… my girl”

🙂 🙂 🙂 After that I missed the part where he said my name because his “girl” was enough. It was perfect, we were never going to be the type to lay in bed holding hands, we were never going to be the type that began sentences with “my boyfriend/girlfriend said…” we were just us and I was his girl.

Following the introduction to his friends he took me home. This morning I woke up at 7am to start the job search. As he slept I took a little peek at him, he looked so peaceful but, as I said, we’re not the type to stroke each other’s faces while the other sleeps. So, as his eyes began to open, I made funny faces to wake him with a smile.

All my worries

Friday night and it’s a night in. I suppose it was exactly what I needed. The week itself wasn’t exactly the stuff of dreams. I lost my job and with it the dignity that had taken me out of the unemployed graduate statistic.  And now, for the next few weeks at least, I see only a bleak existence consisting mainly of the job hunt.

With all this in mind I suppose I was in need of a pick me up. There’s nothing wrong with that people. When one part of your life falls out of your control, I personally believe there’s nothing wrong in seeking comfort from another part. So last night, after a day spent on cv’s and watching bleak weather I decided to make a call. It was bold of me, I’m never usually one to make the first move but I did. I called Liam and asked if I could come over.

Our relationship over the past week or so had changed, no longer were we in the “friends with benefits” phase. We seemed to be moving on to a new kind of relationship that consisted solely of verbal communication and over-priced wine. However last night, feeling the sting of my new career status, I needed something, some form of antiseptic that could lessen the pain. What I sought was a little more than conversation but I still needed the wine.

Arriving at Liam’s house I was to say the least nervous, I was planning to be sexually bold…for once. I didn’t plan to fall back in love with him, nor did I plan to form a complicated kind of status. I simply wanted to feel, good and for some reason this boy, the boy that had caused far more trouble than he was worth, seemed to be the only that could make me feel that.

He was happy to see me, he’d laid out a living room picnic which consisted of all things comforting. As I told him about the job situation and my fears, he smiled.

“You’ve always been one to worry, haven’t you?” he said, sliding his hand across my cheek.

I guess I had. I wasn’t the cool type of person who could just go with any kind of flow. I was the kind of person who spent nights worrying about how to pay the bills and delaying doing the spontaneous things like travelling the world. I was the kind of person who lost a job and didn’t see it as a chance to find something better but as a failure. I was the kind of person who spent countless hours dwelling on my open relationship with one of the most amazing men I’d ever met, avoided him for several weeks and now found myself back in his flat mere seconds away from his bed. I was the kind of person who questioned every move before I made it.

These traits were one’s I no longer wanted.

So there I sat, a little unemployed 20-Something graduate with the only person in the world I wanted to be with both physically and, well physically and I made a choice. Not to think, but to act. I acted on impulse in a moment. So I did, I didn’t have to say much, he knew, he always knew and the look in his eyes told me he was more than happy to oblige and aid the healing of my wound. And there, behind the tinted screen that divided his studio flat I spent a night without a worry to my name.

Ever Sure

It’s a profound moment, when you realise that you are no longer the reckless teen that in old days made mistakes just for the sake of it. Or when you grow up and realise that you have unintentionally and subconsciously become your mother…when the fuck did that happen? Well I realised these things, rather ironically, yesterday on Mother’s Day.

I spent Sunday being the world’s best daughter, which included purchasing sexy lingerie (that I pray she’ll never wear), cleaning the house and cooking a meal that could best be described as a disaster on a plate (unless burning pasta is normal). Following a day of more family time than is healthy I decided to see Alex.

Alex, well as I’ve told you I’m unsure about Alex. To most he’d be considered perfection. For a man in his 20’s he’s really got it together. He has a great job, a beautiful apartment in central London and as far as looks go he’s not lacking. This is exactly why I can’t get my head around my inability to leap.

 I told you once he gave me butterflies and he did, once but since then well, nothing. My time with him isn’t the stuff of great romance novels but it isn’t awful either, he’s interesting enough, hasn’t shown any psychotic tendencies and yet I feel nothing more than a mild fondness.  I can’t figure out why even after we rode side by side through the streets of East London I had not so much as gifted him with a kiss. Or why I chose to text the words “Love You” not to him but to Liam on a drunken night out? The only conclusion I have come up with was that I am a total bitch.

Seeing him is always nice, his apartment reminds me slightly of a dentist’s waiting room in that it has very little character. Everything’s white, the sofa’s the tables, the walls and barring the magazines stacked neatly on the coffee table, you can’t really tell anything about the person who lives there but, like him, it’s nice enough.

We spend our time together having heated discussions about our vastly different opinions, most of which come down to political affiliations. But last night I had a plan, a simple but potentially effective plan.

Now, before I go on I have to mention that we hadn’t had sex. When I like a guy enough sex becomes a part of our relationship. I know I may be stepping on some toes here but to me sex is simply a mutually beneficial act that expresses an intimate connection between two people. Whenever I decide to indulge in the act there’s usually only one deciding factor, whether I’m sure.  I  usually am, in fact the first time I had sex I was so sure it was the right thing to do I called my mother and told her, to which she responded:

 “Meditate on it! (That’s a weird saying of hers) But only if you are sure, always be sure. You know it’s right when you’re sure. This may sound like bs now but one day when you need my wisdom you’ll thank me for it.”

A statement I gave shamefully little consideration.

 I was sure when I let Liam take me home after months of little to no contact. And when I’ve gone on a number of dates with a guy and am not seeing anyone else I’m usually sure it’s right. I wasn’t sure with Alex. But last night my plan was to sleep with him, sure or not. Maybe the fact that we weren’t being even remotely physical was the problem. Maybe through the physical act I would gain an understanding of my feelings and could thus express them (Haha, don’t worry I’m not winning any awards for intelligence). So that was the plan.

We sat discussing our mutual hatred of boy bands which included One Direction (I apologise to any fans but what the fuck is going on there?). There was a slight pause in the conversation which I saw as my cue. Kiss him my brain said. So I did. I placed my hand on his cheek and gave the look, you know the look that says “kiss me”. Never one to make the bold move I appreciated him leaning in and offering his lips to me, I accepted them.

 I always say the best kisses happen when you don’t think. The worst kiss I’ve ever had involved the following thought process:

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. I’m kissing him like actually right now. I hope he thinks this is good. What if he doesn’t think this is good? I have to make this the best kiss ever. Shit my tongue just touched his chin!”

The best kisses you’ll ever have happen when instinct takes over and you get lulled into the sense of the other person. This didn’t happen with Alex. With Alex my thought process while kissing was:

“I’ll sleep with him. I’ll sleep with him not. I’ll take my top of. I’ll take my top off not. I’m hungry, if I do have sex with him I hope it’s fairly quick so I can get to the corner shop before it shuts. What time does it shut on Sunday’s?”

It was then I pulled away and gave the signal that says “I want to if you want to”. As he leant in to kiss me again a voice that was not my own came into my head:

“Be sure, you always know when you’re sure. Meditate on it”, it said, totally interrupting my jumbled chain of thought.

The truth was I did know. What I knew was that Alex was an amazing guy for whom I currently didn’t have a physical attraction. That’s not to say I never would but I saw little point in adding sex to the pile of confusion and misleading him along the way. 

So we didn’t do it. I was responsible and mature and acted scarily like a woman I know quite well. He took my change of mind like a gentleman and even walked me home. When I got there, I washed of the make-up, pulled me hair up into the “I don’t care” bun and sent my mum a mother’s day text. This one, unlike the generic cards I always sign my name to, came from me and read:

“Thanks for all the wisdom, I needed it today”.

Then I closed my eyes, thought of Alex and attempted to “Meditate on it”. 

 

Butterflies

I must confess I really don’t know myself, not at all. I say this because at 22 I felt I knew a few things. I felt I knew what my ideal career would be. I felt I knew what my stance on marriage was. But most consistently I felt I knew what kind of man, if any, I wanted right now. It’s not a bad thing to have a type, I mean at 22 you’ve had enough experience to know which guys you like and which will end up video taping you in the shower. However, I must admit I may have been wrong.

Last night I found myself on my trusty bike heading to meet a man in a suit. I’d spent only a small amount of time with Alex, the investment banker who was not exactly my type. I hadn’t decided how I felt about him but any excuse for a drink after work was a good enough reason to get out. This time we didn’t meet in his territory but mine, at an overly trendy bar in Shoreditch.

He arrived just after me in an uptight grey suit, slightly relaxed only by the undoing of a top button, which made me smile. As we sat I let him talk and really listened, I wanted to see if there was anything about him that would sway me in either direction. He’s nice, interesting and so far, has done nothing that would suggest he’s a secret sociopath (which you know, is a plus). The thing is he hadn’t excited me, he hadn’t made me feel nervously excited or given me the butterflies I liked getting. It was nice but for me felt way too safe.

I hate being this girl, the kind of girl who appears to want a total dickhead because the nice guys lack excitement. But at 22, when I’m not exactly desperate to settle down, I wouldn’t mind the butterflies.

“Let’s go somewhere” Alex said, after finishing his second drink.

“What? Where?” I said. I mean I was happy to go for a drink after work but at this point I was ready to grab my bike and hightail it home. Not wanting to be rude or pass up an offer I said:

“Ok”.

As we walked outside I went to unlock my bike and as I grabbed it expecting to see him to be standing behind me offering to push it again, he called my name. As I turned I caught site of the man in a suite… on a bike.

“Well after seeing you on yours, I felt inspired to get some exercise” He said, wobbling slightly as he peddled. It wasn’t his bike mind you, it was courtesy of the City of London and of  course Boris. But I liked it. It was a funny sight, seeing a man in what I can only assume was a  bloody expensive suit on a city bike, but he’d done it with me in mind.

Following that we took a ride around East London. I showed him my favourite places, the clubs I used to sneak into with fake ID, my old primary school just off Bricklane, the place where I’d been mugged at 14, I showed him me. It wasn’t a fast paced journey on a motorcycle, nor the dates of drunken randomness I had become accustomed to but simply enough.

As we turned off the side streets and onto Bethnal Green, me in my casual clothes on a bike with a basket, him in his uptight suite wobbling as we went, I started to feel the unexpected, butterflies.

It was nice.