Off Topic

I can't stop blogging! Its a three post night!

This is not relevant, but I was thinking about the face cream that tackles the seven visible signs of aging (wrinkles, gross brown blotches, and bugger me! I can't think of any of the others). And I was wondering if there would be a market for a face cream that tackled the 7 invisible signs of aging. These, of course, are:

1. Wisdom
2. Cynicism
3. Grumpiness
4. Desperation
5. Forgetfulness
6. Excessive Bluntness
7. Poor eyesight

Tired. And that makes my mind wander.

Ade Day

Regular visitors to this blog (Hi Gillian!) will know that Monday is Ade Day. It is a challenge to generate an atmosphere of simmering sexual tension with a fellow teacher in full view of the sharp as nails 12 - 16 year old students hungry for something to take the piss out of. However, we managed a double-entendre of exquisite subtlety today. So subtle that maybe I imagined it..

I had got a student to summon him to come and be a football pundit and predict the results of next Saturday's matches.

Blink you'll miss it. Here it comes.

Liverpool- Newcastle... errrr... nil-nil
Gosh! Sounds like a dull match
Not really, because in fact there will be a lot of action close to the goal-mouth, but both sides will fail to follow through and make the winning play.
Umm. [eyes widen innocently] Disappointing.

I am pretty sure that he felt the sexual potential of this exchange too, because the art teacher came to the doorway and urgently called his name. Two younguns were beating the crap out of each other in the toilets it turns out. But Ade didn't notice because he was talking shite to me about the scratch on my hand.

Things are progressing so slowly we could be in a Jane Austen novel.

Found Out!

My long-term not-really-partner found out about Ian.

A few weeks ago my friend Nix told me that Ian had been seeing his ex, Dr Janet, all the time that he'd been having a dysfunctional relationship with me. This made me MAD, and had it not been in direct contravention to New Year's Resolution No 3 ("Be More Ladylike") I would have got my revenge in the usual fashion (told his friends he had a really small dick).

Then I had a brilliant idea. I would work my anger out through the creative and dignified medium of Javascript programming. And I truly think I was touched by the spirit of the great programmers (Turing and er...er... the others) when I created this revenge Valentine. WARNING: Contains very strong language, if not deterred click here to read.

It made me laugh anyway and it made me feel better, and I emailed the link to Ian on Valentine's Day. Incidentally it was received with silence by Ian, a stoney silence I imagine. I also wanted all my friends to read it. I wrote down the url for one of them on a scrap of paper, but it fell out of her pocket during a boisterous sing-along. There it lay on the dining-room carpet, undetected for weeks by my slack housework routines.

On Saturday, J, my not-really-partner, picked it up off the floor and went for a look.

Don't really like to write about J, seems mean, but in brief, we haven't exchanged so much as a kiss during the last 8 years. I want out, but we share some children, and he is in amazing denial. But after reading The Revenge Valentine, even he couldn't deny the possibility that I may have been seeing A Man, and he asked me if I was. I answered all his many many questions about Ian pretty honestly, he is upset, but I was quite relieved to be able to spill at least some of the beans. It is a step closer to freedom for me.

And that's all I want to say about that

I Wreck A Fairly Beautiful Thing By Being A Twat

I am mad on my Ade, A-The-Teacher, and have to berate myself nightly for the text-book style in which I screwed things up. My small regret at messing up has grown legs and facial features and become a large regret. Though he has settled down now to blanking me fairly consistently, the manner in which he blanks me makes the difference between cautious optimism and black despair. Luckily we only work in the same building on Mondays & Tuesdays so I only have to run the gamut of emotion on these days, the rest of the week I can pass being just mildly pissed off.

For example, yesterday he materialised in the IT room, attracted by the presence of a football league table on the monitor nearest the door (spreadsheets, geddit?). A lively conversation about Leeds United broke out, from which I was rescued by someone from downstairs running in and breathlessly asking that I stop the office printer from doing something mad. Ade watched that noone nicked the computers while I dealt with it, and when I came back he was sat in my special chair. Pathetically this made me feel really happy. I handled myself with average aplomb, as he interviewed me on my views on football (a project somewhat akin to asking Ted my dog his views on Bach). But I had to go home sharpish and we could not develop this unpromising topic. This was a good Ade day, and I felt warm & hopeful. But in retrospect, I don't get it - why materialise & chat when he won't effing text me? Is he just demonstrating what a friendly fella he can be, even to those he has tossed aside like a broken plaything? I kinda think that might be it. Any blokes that stumble across this - tell me - WHAT DOES IT MEAN? But on second thoughts, only tell me if it means he is harbouring secret longings for me.

Today was a bad Ade day. Took my littluns to a community art project thing at the place where I work. Ade swapped anecdotes with various people and didn't say Hi or nothing to me. We 3 had to trundle past him on the way out and he said "All right?" to my twins who naturally were terrified by his big booming voice and alpha male bearing. They looked at him like startled rabbits and nodded earnestly. Then I looked him in the eye and did exactly the same.
"Going for a fag?" he said, weirdly. "No" I said. "Good good" he said, and I can only pray that was because he mis-heard me, because as I herded my babies off down the road, I saw him come out the front door. For a fag.

Must get a move on it is getting late.

Not sure how I should have gone about nurturing a mutually supportive relationship full of laughter, sex and respect with Ade, but here's how not to do it.

• Get blind drunk at the office Christmas party
• Grab him by the hand and drag him to a graveyard in sub-zero temperatures.
• Discuss Talking Heads lyrics at length, spill a can of lager over him then suddenly climb on top of him and snog him with terrifying intensity
• Notice that he is freezing to death, then go back to his place, disarrange his massive lp collection and dance really stupidly.
• Have sex that noone can remember because they are too drunk.
• Wake up at 7am then wake him up with a blow-job so exquisite it nearly killed him (his words!)
• Get a lift home, asked to be dropped round the corner, then pour scorn on the idea that he is able to send text messages at his age
• Callously refuse to believe that he is ill the next day, though he has a kidney infection that lasts 4 weeks, brought on no doubt by freezing in a graveyard
• Text him on Christmas day to tell him he is a grumpy bastard
• It goes on and on....

But lets skip to the Terrible Night when I Truly Went Too Far. The same night that Ian blew me out & I ticked off the next door neighbour.

Here is the text conversation, lifted straight from the Phone of Doom. My messages in pink, his in blue. This happened between 9pm and 1am on that shitty January Saturday night.

Oi
Im at a mates. Its his birthday!
I'm at a mates too but no one's birthday thank god.
[pause]
We are talking about sex.
Thats nice
I've just reviewed you
Ten out of ten
Was that your best work then?
Nn way!
Yeah, my mates reckon I should give you another go
I look forward tn it!
Guess where I am now
Er, dont know
Purple turtle ha ha still carrying on like I'm under 40
Have fun! And dont do anything rash!
What DOES an anarchist consider rash?
Dont know
Oh for pete's sake. Are you home yet?
Yes and lve gone to bed!
Can I come and stay?
Please come when im really fit again. Just a few more days...
Not sex- just can't go home
Please! I will see you in a few days. Let me sleep!

Oh no the shame! Then next day...after crying about Ian all night.

Oh fuck, really sorry, i was dead drunk. pestering you was only the start of the stupid stuff I did last night. Won't pester you any more.
I feel self conscious coz ive been ill for so long. I feel rough but must get into work tomorrow. Normal service should then be resumed.

Then nothing for 2 weeks while I attempt to not pester. Ade intimates (live) that he may one day recover enough to shag me. And when I couldn't stand the suspense any more:

How are you doing? I am really shy of you now
No need to be. Im ok, nearly! Am away Sat but around friday.

Have already slagged off this vague and shitty message. Attempt not to reply but darn me! I do after 2 days:

Hiya. scuse delay.
Glad you are nearly ok.
Going out Friday.
That's a Haiku. not a very good one. Plus it rhymes!

Possibly one of my most beautfully constructed text messages ever. (This link says what a haiku is) But what did it get me? Fucking Nothing!

Ah crap. I sent him a text Valentine from my old phone so he wouldn't know my number. But he must have known it was me. And what did it get me? Fucking Nothing.

Wish I could rewind, erase and have another go. Never mind. Be my Valentine anyway. An Admirer.

And this is how it ended last Thursday. Not with a bang but a whimper
Fancy a pint?

Bollocks.

I Scare the Fella Next Door

I have nuggets to tell on all my shag bunnies. But I've left it too long again and can't do them all tonight. So I'll start with an update on the most straight-forward and non-fucked up relationship. Or so I thought.

Being granted the comparative freedom of only one teenager to nurture for one night (yay!) I thought it would be fun to have a pint in my local with the neighbour. So I texted R-next-door "Buy you a drink?".
Instant response "Now OK"
But it wasn't OK, because Coronation Street was just about to start. Hungover from the previous night's excesses, I forgot how to make my mobile do numbers so I couldn't text back 8pm. So I phoned.

He agreed to 8pm and then, outrageously, added in a querulous voice "We're just having a drink as friends though. You're not coming back after"

You're. Not. Coming. Back. Here. After. Jeezus Kerist. The deluded fecker. I was offended. BARE offended (youth speak). Black Affronted. (Glasgow Speak).

But I was cool. Though grim displeasure may have showed in my usually lovely face, I kept my voice light and charming as I said "You ain't THAT devastatingly attractive, you know".
"I know" he said "just making sure its clear".

Right, I thought, I'll get you for that. 8pm saw me glide into the Prince of Wales with a shortish skirt, subtly yet gorgeously made up (I like to think) and perch in a ladylike way on a bar stool next to the stunted bald R. First I ripped the piss out of him for his blunt way with the ladies till he started to feel silly. Then I told him with a faintly contemptous half-smile that I would never lay a finger on him as long as I lived and did he feel a bit happier now? Then I engaged several of the pub reprobates and winos in flirtatious banter. One of them was actually drooling over my legs, unhygienic but helpful. When R went to the bog, he returned and started apologising for neglecting me. "Shit, sorry" I said, "Did you go somewhere?"

It was brilliant. I think being slighted brings the best out in me. Having dazzled so comprehensively for about 45 mins, I suddenly glanced at my watch and said I had to leave without giving a reason. I left to the thrilling spectacle of R gazing at me saying "Don't go - can we do this again some time?"

Ha ha. I think he is in love with me but is unable to take this on board. But that, as we know, is how my special mental illness works.