Text Fatigue

My head is scrambled by constant texting from the insane chap I gave my number to on Saturday. But going to try and complete a project for once and finish the highlights of my week.

Need to cover the Boot Fetishists of Saturday night, the Sweet Protectiveness of My Neighbour, and D Being Too Much in Love. The first needs a photo and the third makes me a bit uncomfortable so I'll do the neighbour, so to speak. Nice short one anyway. Ha ha, I meant the anecdote, though the neighbour is, in fact, titchy

Crazy Week

Its been a funny old week but looking back, a good week for being comprehensively attractive. I AM a Goddess after all! A Goddess of Lurve!

As usual, when bloggable things happen, there is no time to blog. This means the blog is full of whinging about how nothing is happening.

But my mobile packed in on Sunday, probably due to the hot text action its been having. I will take advantage of this natural hiatus in my text life to try and catch up with the highlights of the last week.

Just a note before I start: for some kinky fun this week I have been asking men to marry me rather than text me or shag me. Actually this wasn't a ploy, just an expression of my new (let's face it - probably temporary) conviction that I want to get married and raise chickens and foster 15 children and have a nice husband rub my feet and smile at me. BUT less scrupulous, more manipulative folk might want to try asking people if they want to get married because as a pulling technique it works amazingly well. The difficulty seems to be not in getting men to accept, but in getting them to let it lie at the end of the night.

Without further ado:

Thursday : Attack of the Lesbian Teacher

The end of term drink in the Griffin started as tamely as usual at 5:30, with the added depressing feature of no Ade, who has fallen off his motorbike and hurt himself quite badly. The table was surrounded by serious boss types for the first hour or so , but they went home, leaving just me, L (a home teacher), N (an English teacher) and good old JH (another home teacher).

L is a pretty blonde funky woman of 37 whose demeanour violently suggests that she does not suffer fools gladly. I always felt that she suffers me even less gladly than the other fools. My theory was that she had a pash for Ade and resents my rumoured hot affair with him. (Turns out they're all speculating on it all the time! And we were being so discreet!!)

So anyway, fearing her contemptuous sneer, I started sucking up to her in the time-honoured fashion of the craven underdog. I gave her an unsolicited glass of Chardonnay and presented it as a token of my sincere admiration. It was the Magic Key. She dropped the conversation about teacherly issues to bellow across the table at me "So..are you shagging Ade... or what?"

I laughed and said "Ask him, and would you let me know what he says?"

The ice broken, she switched instantly into a drunk wild thing with a whole raft of unfulfilled sexual needs. I took off my crown and handed it to her right there and then. (As a mother of 4, I don't think she gets out much, and when she does she gets Over-Excited) She was trouble but she was fun.

After haranguing everyone on our table and all the neighbouring tables and the bar staff, she went off to interview randomly selected men, bringing the "best" ones back to our table so I could check them out.

Incidentally, while she was off on one of her outrageous tours, I asked JH to marry me who said he would love to if I could see my way to giving him some children and never ever divorcing him even if he got a bit boring. I did agree to this, but was only being polite, since I don't want any more children, particularly not the pedantic bearded ones that would surely spring from his loins.

Luckily we did not get to finalize the details as L returned, empty-handed this time, suddenly earnest and almost tearful because Ade Did Not Love Me. "Its OK, I love you because you are beautiful" she whispered "Come with me to the toilet".

Off we went, her hand on my arse all the way there, and after we had peed and looked in the mirror to see if we needed facelifts or not, she pushed me against the wall and tried to snog me. I probably would have too because she smelled lovely, but I couldn't because I was helpless with laughter and squealed every time she leant into me. But then again she was laughing too.

So there it is - the sum total of my lesbian experience to date. It was mild but fun, exciting to think there is a whole area of sexual experience that I haven't done yet. Another chance to be 14.

One benefit of dating a woman would be the great texts. We exchanged a flurry of texts a couple of days later, in which she tried to find out what she had done as it was all a blank. When I told her, she said "Yes I do have lesbian tendencies, especially after a drink xxx". She wasn't even EMBARRASSED! Which I thought was very very cool.

Thankyou to Louise who totally charmed me. I write her real name here because she would not give a tupenny damn that I did.

Lovely Moment Leads to Disappointment

Sorry for the grim tone that is becoming the norm round here.

Here's my life: a huge flat grey chilly sea of disappointment. And there's me, doggy-paddling bravely through the sea, kept afloat by the hope of passion, excitement, recognition, fulfilment.
Sometimes an island hoves into view and the smart thing to do is pretend you haven't seen it. But I'm not like that. I scramble up the beach, climb the tree, build a barbeque and a little house, write my name in pebbles and shout "Hey everybody I've found this BRILLIANT island". Which makes it all the more gut-wrenching when the tide comes in, you're back in the sea and it was only a mirage anyway.

I'm off out with my darling pal T tonight with my head held high. I'm always having to struggle to hold my head high, even with my back fucked from carrying a giant bag of Chappie and my ego in tatters.

I'm going to do two things I said I'd never do now. The first is refer to someone who knows where this blog is. The second is paste in a messenger conversation.

The mystery dude is a guy I used to work with. And here's the beautiful stuff he said to me the other night. (That was the island) Took it all back the next night though. (That was the tide coming in)

It was so lovely at the time though I want to keep it forever. Thank you mystery dude, one day I may get over my huff long enough to unblock you and talk to you again.

His words in bold. Incidentally it has taken me freaking ages to put all the bold into this conversation. Nothing like hard work to get you over the pain of being scorned.



hello my darling
hello. Are you pissed?
screaming still?
shrieking, I should say
yes.
i have just been subjected to a serious lesbian onlsught
onslaught
Should be good for your blog :) How serious tho? Onslaught? Was there, like, an army of lesbos?
no just one but she was determined J is driving her home
Aha! So she's gone, at least. And you can on with some hetero action with... errr... me...
also there was this other guy that wanted to like.. marry me
Marry you? Blimey - you must ooze sex hormones or something
i think i must tho i don't intened to
intend
Aha! Ur pissed enought to slur your typing. :)
Perhaps you just have a sexy personality.
dyou think?
(Oozing sex hormones sounds rather... messy) Well, you've been accosted by both sexes tonight, there must be something there.
A certain je ne sais quois
i guess i am just stupidly attractive
(sigh) :)
Ah, the wonders of self-esteem.
It's good stuff to have. And sex hormones. Self-esteem and sex hormones. A powerful combination.
well
So I take it you had a fun time tonight. How much shrieking was there?
very little shrieking
from now on I am only into guys that want to marry me
:) That makes sense.
(I think - I'm being positive here)
do you want to marry me?
Well... I have to say... that marriage never enters my thoughts these day. been married once, can't be arsed to do that again.
oh ok
Such a tricky thing to get out of. It's more emotionally difficult too. Especially if you have stood up in front of 200 people and said, well, yes I do love her, and yes, I will look after her. For, like, ever.
yeah, i think i should give it a go though
Have you not been married yet?
no
Oh, the wedding can be fun, especially if it's a big one, and you get to see loads of mates you haven't seen for ages.
i'm not bothered about that though
Oh, you should be. After the wedding, it's just like before, esp, if like, me and the ex, you had already lived together for four years previously.
So do the wedding thing. have a party. You should get a husband, no problems.
i don't just want any old shitty husband
Tch, I don't know, just cos you're geting married you ahve to be picky, eh? Should he smoke a pipe and call you darling?
yeah
How about slippers? Optional?
no slippers
Ah, OK. Do you want to sit in front of a roaring log fire, the dog at your feet, while you hold hands and whisper endearments to each other?
yeah
(The pipe is in his other hand)
(So he doesn't burn you)
Do you want him to do many things like go to Focus and buy wood out of which he'll make a trug for the strawberries you'll be eating on a spring afternoon while you watch your wedding ring glint in the warm sun?
"manly things"
god, yeah
And occasionally peel of his shirt and put down his pipe and chop logs for the wood burning Aga?
yeah yeah yeah
Actually, he should have put his pipe down first, he's probably burnt a hole in his shirt now.
yeah but he doesn't care
No. He doesn't care! Because he's a real man. A real man, who'll chop wood for her, make trugs, and drink daquiries in the evening sunshine on the balcony he made himself from wood he reclaimed by ripping it out with his bare hands from the derelict cottage down the road.
oh god, you know this guy?
I'm kinda shaping him as we speak.
I have the balcony, and the garden.
you want to be him?
he's kind of a modern day husband of Celia Johnston.
"Was it a bad dream darling?
"I'm so glad you came back to me"
Oh no, I don't want to be him. He's far more dynamic than me.
ah well
Although I could do you the balcony I'm not sure I could rip the reclaimed wood out of the cottage down the road tho.
I'd get my brother to do that.
He likes smashing things up
that would be ok i think
mind you people in cottage down road may feel pissed off
No, it's derelict. Tumbledown stinging nettles and stuff
its perfect. Marry me
be back in 5 minutes
It's a shame about the family of feral cats, but they've gotta go
Hah! "Marry me" and then pisses off for 5 minutes.
Just to let me stew, I suppose. A moment of tension....... in the movie. The phone has rung, say... S is left standing, looking slightly perplexed,,, looks towards the door. Shifts uneasily. H's voice is heard muffled on the other side of the door.
S walk over to a picture and straightens it.., ... "Oh my god. The feral cats!" - an amusing back reference to earlier in the movie
so what do you reckon?
I don't know. It's a bit... impetuous. Maybe even importunate.
well, if you're going to be like that
it would be easy
all i require is unquestioning devotion forever
I like the "unquestioning" part
goos
oopa good
oops good
lol
I can do devotion cos I'm a dogged bastard.
it just sounds edial
fuck, ideal
Well, it sounded edial too. :)
so shall we?
Well, I have to ask first, what was wrong with the guy who wanted to marry you tonight? :)
he was less good than you
i preferred you
Ah, that sounds fair enough. Does that mean you've forgiven me for my lapses into,, whatever,,, earlier in the week?
err.. what?... you lapsed??
i get mad very easy but forgive very quick
Ah, I see.
its the way i am
This could be a very volatile marriage.
Mind you, I forgive quickly too
it would be quite cool & possibly sexy then
Oh, I'm sure it would be sexy
brb back
have i freaked you out?
not yet
i have nothing more freaky to say
Oh! I was just getting into the swing of that one
go on then. when do you want to marry me?
well, I was just going to point out some of the initial problems we'd have to find a solution to.
oh bugger. you're going to be realistic about it. go on then
No, I was just going to point out that I want to live in Devon yet you live in Reading., What would we do about that then, huh?
we'd go and live in Devon
Would you keep me, while I lazed around?
not exactly. we'd have to manage on nothing
Well, I could practice my dogged devotion
couldn't you go get a shitty job?
well, a part time one I suppose. I could practice devotion on the girls at work, and when I'd perfected it, bring it home to you...
no no no
no?
only devotion to me & my children & your kid
Ah ok. You mean, the kids are coming to Devon too? There'll be no lazing around then.
course
i love them
and my dog
Lots of mouths to feed. I'll be out working all the time! Long into the night. When I get home, I'll only have time to get a match out of the vesta and light my trust briar before falling asleep in front of the roaring log fire.
Oh dear! The dog fell in the fire during the night! Shame!
you talk tough, but you would soon love him too
Me? Talk tough? Hah! I'm a big softie.
well noone said it would be easy
No, I suppose not. You have to compromise, find solutions, find a way of working through the problems....
it would be lovely
me leaning against the sink with a big mug of tea, compromising, finding solutions, while the runner beans sprout and the dog gambols in the garden...
exactly
... from the window of which there is a distant view of the sea
you see? it would be lovely
HOw's the picture doing in your mind?
its nice
it's fun. I'm writing a Hugh Grant movie here.except I'm better lookingand less diffident
only my housekeeping ain't that great.
but its ok because i'm so loving in bed
Ah, that's OK. I can do the tidying up in between building the extension. The bed thing can be a problem tho
oh cool! we're having an extension!
Oh yes. Probably two. One for lazing in. And one for the drumkit
why bed thing problem?
Well, if I haven't got a proper job, or a night-shift as a security guard, I have a terrible tendency to get up and read or watch a movie
I'd hug you to sleep tho
yeah but you got to have a proper job to feed my children & dog
Yes, but I might be making my fortune selling books on the internet. In which case, I'd continue to behave as weirdly as I do now. And given that this is FantasyTown just inside Devon, I can almost guarantee my internet bookshop is going great guns.
so what you saying? do i get good loving in bed? or not?
Oh, you get good lovin'. JUst, if you wake up in the middle of the night, I might have disappeared down stairs
oh that's ok
don't mind that
That's alright then. We're rocking and rolling!
Quite literally!
hmm, got to go fetch a post-fantasy cigarette
brb
back
yes, and a fine one it is too
we should do it
Yeh. It's a possibility
it isn't really, but we should do it
well, no, but let's do it!
it would be mad
yes, of course!
but so romantic
I have to say tho, that, ever the pragmatist, the being a woman, you have power, and could probably get somebody richer and younger than me.
i like poor, old men
Just as well then. Before the marriage, I might buff myself up a bit. Do a bit of exercise. So people don't pity you in your choice too much...
cool
get 6-pack
Well, maybe a three pack
any number between 1 and 10 just fine
Ah, you're not too demanding, which is good to see
so you'll marry me then?
might as well. If you can put up with a poorly-paid and inefficient book-seller who wanders around in the middle of the night, and who only has a one pack, I think I should grab it while the iron is hot.
i have an asset which i have not mentioned yet
You have? Tell me more?
1200 vintage Penguin paperbacks
Ah! They're worht at least 2 quid each
but i will only sell the swaps
Yes, but you'll be in bed, sated after an evening of good lovin' and I'll sneak down in the middle of the night and inadvertantluy list them on my website
have you gone? If you will only sell the swaps does that mean you have repeaters in the 1200?
yeah. you are being very technical about this. wish i hadn't mentioned them now
:) you said "books". Got my Pavlovian reactions kicking in
you loved me before you knew I had books right?
the books is just a bonus
Oh yes. Sorry to have been unnecessarily money-grubbing there. Perhaps you're right. Perhaps you should have held them back as a surprise. Like a dowry or something
also have a cow, and a roll of blue sateen
Cool! The cow can keep the grass down. I hate mowing.
And I can wrap you up in teh blue sateen and stroke you
oh wow
gotta make sure the right side is out tho, otherwise is won't feel the same, and I'll have to unromantically unravel you first
ok. like the way you anticipate every potential difficulty
Yes, in fact, I say "unromantically unravelling" but that might actually be fun. To ravel, unravel, then reravel. And all before the stroking has even begun
stop it, you
I like words you know. I enjoyed playing with all that ravelling there.
i know, i found it quite sexy
and blue is my favourite colour
me too
well, look at that, a match made in heaven already
so you decided to trust me not to shag other men then?
well, as I see it, we talked about it before the marriage. One deep night of long conversation
and did I promise never to do it?
Well, yes. Otherwise we wouldn;t have married. You understood what it meant. That this was a big deal. That you were makig a commitment that couldn't easily be played with. That you'd even work throught the three months thing
god you're sexy
by the way, there is no 3months thing. you made that up
oh, ok. But it showed the level of my own insecurities, and you took that on board before taking my hand and pointing out my error
brb
back, but making a sandwich
not cheese?
no, ham. not making tht mistake again :)
you know what? once we are married we will both become as fat as pigs. with the contentment of it all
yeh. porkers... Mind you. I do tend to sta the same weight (fat) and don't get any biggr
Once I get the six pack tho, I won't want to lose it. And you'll envy my gorgeousness and join me in the world of beauty
oi you. i'm already gorgeous. i was only trying to make you feel better
oh, ahem, excuse my little faux pas
that's ok
just a little lovers misunderstanding there
yeah i forgive you tho
when we're married can i swear?
can i drink red wine?
You can swear like a trooper
You can drink red wine as long as it's in moderation
uh-oh
Unless you're out with the girls, then you can get pissed
can i come home pissed & sit in your lap?
Oh yes. That's fine!
You can come home and dance for me!
what else can I do?
that's made you think :)
Dunno, what else *can* you do ;)
Oh - this might be a relationship breaker ...
what??...
can you put up with me playing odd music
Old 70s prog rock, 80s art rock, 90s metal. That kind of thing
yeah that's ok
don't know what it means but should be ok
(an aside: just sold another book)
So: what else *can* you do?
oooooh, successful
i can do most things
what do you like?
Yeh, you see, I'm a successful entrepreneur.
Hey, you can teach me to play piano!
ok
and i got a piano
at last! I can play a melodic instrument. And you can laugh at my first pitiful attempts! Oh, you'e got a piano... how cool. I'd love a piano in the houseI love jamming on a piano. I jam even now. Can do interesting moody atmospsheric things in the keys of C and B
B? how so? it got 5 sharps!
I just avoid the two white notes cos I forget where they are and play a pentatonic jam.
you would drive me mad. but maybe in a good way
(although they are, of course, B and E)
I'd drive you mad in a kind of artistic creative way, and you'd smile contentedly as you watch me jam mellifluously, and sometimes atonally
yeah.
....you'd even squeeze onto the seat next to me and join in, revelling inthe free interplay between us
yes my darling
"don't do that", I'd say, tho in a kind way, "be expressive!" Then I'd suggest freeing you up by suggesting you only play one note, but in lots of different ways
ok, tho i have to tell you this would start to get up my nose
:)What, me telling you to be expressive, or only playing one note
both those things
free me up! for fuck's sake!
Is that a request, or pointing out the idiocy of even suggesting such a thing :)
idiocy one
Ah, thought so. I have been thinking of interesting ways of playing one note while we've been talking
i think you need me
to stop you disappearing up your own arse
hah! :)Disappearing up my own arse is a trick I've cultivated for many a long year. If you stop it, you'll militate against some of my undoubted charm.
oh no! you're having doubts!
No, I'm just thinking I might have to put my pipe down and have gentle words with you about what made you want to marry me in the first place.At which point you'll remember and revel in playing one note with me
yeah ok
lol
you are adorable
It's OK, I won't make you do the one note thing all the time. THere are also interesting experiences to be had with experimenting with timings ;)
ok, i feel it all slipping away from me now.
have you seen the time? i must go to bed
Yes, it's late for you my little sweary flower of Devon
that was lovely
It was fun!
i really want to snog you
Yeh, but you're drunk, and un the morning you'll be sober :)
think i sobered up.
And one of my ex-s told me I was a useless snog anyway.
you'd be a good snog with me
i'd free you up
Yeh, I'd experminet with duration, rather than the one note thing ;)
you wouldn't even think it through
true. I'd just "be". I the moment rather than outside it.
As you need to go to bed, I won't go off on one of my word trips here
phew
I was thinking of doing so. But thought I'd better not. I'm off to watch Notting Hill again in a minute.
ok then. think of me. ask me tomorrow if I still want to marry you
Oh, alright then. Have nice dreams!
you too. XX
xo!

Fw : Post from mobile

Can it be done?

Post from mobile

Can it be done?

Rant

Time for a good old-fashioned non-specific rant.

I am so fucking busy yet so bored. Its 10:37 and my chores aren't done yet, as usual will leave a whole lot undone to stress me out tomorrow.

At some point in the early part of a new relationship (it has to be the early part cos I never get beyond that) a man will ask me what do I do in the evenings? Well, I say, I have three children, a job , and the world's most inexhaustible dog, Go Fucking Figure. Woah, they go, steady on I know how it is, the BMW is due for a service in 2 months and I need to go to Marks & Spencers and buy a really expensive snack to pop in the microwave.

There it is again, my trademark aggressive bitter tone that so repels the blokes that were only taking an interest for God's sake.

For the record: in the evenings I cook, I wash up, I launder, I fill in forms, I walk the dog through the pitch dark, I talk to my students on MSN, I calculate the equation of straight lines, I make lesson plans, I mend shoes, I drive into town to buy crap from Claire's accessories, I arbitrate endless fights about who's watching what, I mend my friend's computers and gaily refuse cash, I go to Lidl, I listen to problems, I read a chapter from Horrid Henry, I go to the corner shop and the cash machine, I invent pseudonyms so that the sponsored marathon forms look convincing, I see if my video will tape dvds for the old man up the road, I invent songs to keep everyone jolly, I tumble dry the young mother next door's laundry, I create Harry Potter outfits, I hang up the washing in the dark and step in dog shit, I clean up sick and wee, I make birthday cards, I try and find the Sudafed, I give piano lessons, I pay my speeding fines and I try to be humorous about the whole thing.

Is it any wonder I need something just for me?

Sometimes I hate men.

42 years old. I never really wanted love and marriage before but I do now. I want to live in a house in the country with someone who would look after me. Cos its me that does the looking after all the time. The children, J, the dog, the kids I teach, my friends, my mum, my brother's family, the neighbours. Total strangers see it in me and tell me their troubles.

Love and marriage: I'll never get it now, I'm too old and problematic. I know that.

Instead I'd take some excitement. Some laughs.

Tara Brown

Tara Brown was his real name, and there is a reason why I have to use it. I miss him so much that I search the internet for him, and it is wrong that Google can't find him when we all loved him. Though my corner of the www is so obscure that even the most avid search engine won't find it, at least I will know he is there.

I have a lot to say about him, and none of it follows on or forms a coherent story, so I will just have to blurt it out in disconnected bits.

Tara Brown had a girl's name but he got away with it, even growing up in Elgar Road. Even if you had planned to titter or beat him up, the moment you met him your prejudice would melt away and you would see that Tara was a proper man's name.

He looked like George Clooney if George Clooney had been through the mill. A ravaged George with greying hair. He had a pirate's smile with a front tooth missing. I would give a load of money for a picture of him, and I have thought of going to see his mum and asking her for one. Though it wouldn't make sense for an ex-neighbour to ask, and I always thought his mum had my number. My number wasn't hard to miss, it was graffitied across my keen little face.

The last time I saw him was walking down Elgar Road in Summer 2003. He looked terrible: grey everywhere with sunken cheeks. He wouldn't look me in the eye and I didn't feel that charisma that used to make every woman of child-bearing age start acting like a fool around him.

I had a mean thought that I would like to unthink. I thought "Ha, ha, look what your womanising has done to you, all sad, alone and old before your time, just like I said would happen".

I never saw him again though I continued my life's work of looking out for him all the time.

Then in May 2004, a friend told me to read the local free paper. There was a picture of Tara's mum dad and brother standing behind a bench and the headline:

"The sun came out for the official unveiling of Tara's bench"

Then:

"Family and neighbours were devastated last year when 35-year old Tara Brown died after a fall at his home in Elgar Road."

I have just realised what a long story this is, and I haven't even begun to convey anything about anything yet. Maybe I will attempt to tell the story in post-sized bits or maybe I won't get round to it.

But for now, I'll just say:
Tara Brown, postman turned probation officer, youth worker, militant socialist, womaniser, charmer, liar, drunkard, kind kind heart, was the Hopeless Crush of My Life.

I never shed a tear when I read that he died. I just sat staring for ages. Will say more another time.

Warm Fuzzy Feeling

Ade day was proving a wash-out, nowt but a cheery hello for the whole two days, despite my steaming hot texting of last Friday.

At the last minute I was hanging round having a fag with two of the girls giving them the benefit of my warped view on life when Ade joined us to hold forth. We all talked for a bit and then he started on about a TV program and imagine my surprise when I saw that he was making eye contact with me. His eyes are the weirdest colour, yellow green, I never saw them full on in the daylight before. Our two daughters (for that is what me and him are like as teachers, weird Bohemian mum and dad) went back in to do their art, and just as he faffed about making as if he was going in himself I did an unexpected thing. I beckoned him closer to me, actually waved my index finger, don't think I've ever done that to anyone before. But he came back to me.

I said "Sorry I sexually harrassed you last week"
"Its ok, I was in and out of lessons and in the end I didn't reply" {?????}
"I had a bleak weekend trying to confront my sex addiction issues"
(Ade laughs)
"Don't laugh"
"I'm not laughing. Why does your sex addiction matter if it doesn't cause you problems?"
"It does cause me problems"
"What problems?"
(I cower unattractively) "Dunno, loads of problems"
"Like guilt?"
"Well that's one"
"You don't need to feel guilty. Well depends on your circumstances. What ARE your circumstances? Am I prying?"
(I cower even more) "No its a fair question. But I can't tell you here. I'll tell you one day if you like"
"Text it"
"Too long for a text"
"Call me then"
"Are you cool with that? I might do. I might"


By this time I'm going and so full of cheesy joy that I turn and give him a thumbs up and a smile. He says
"Anytime. I enjoy our....[meaningful pause] ...chats"

And with a crazy laugh from me the incident is over.

Questionnaire

Boring one tonight but feel the need to write it down.

I am so tempted to go to a SAA Meeting and meet some fellow sex addicts. Which, in that rambly way that teachers have, reminds me of the first time I did the questionnaire to find out if I was one or not. Pleased at my score of 7 out of 12, I scanned the page for the key, expecting to see something like:

0-4 : you are frigid
5-8: you have a healthy interest in sex and everybody loves you! Congratulations!
9-12: steady on and tone it down a bit. There's more to life than sex you know.

But it wasn't like that. It said
"If you answered yes to more than one of these questions, we would encourage you to seek out additional literature as a resource or to attend an Sex Addicts Anonymous meeting to further assess your needs. "

Blimey! Mind you, I was a bit proud, if you're going to have a condition you might as well be a really BAD case.

Just for the record, i said Yes to questions 1,2,4,7,10,11 & 12.

This was supposed to be a preamble but seems to have formed a blog entry all on its own

Self-Flagellation, (but not in a sexy way)

Have had a depressing day reflecting on my sex addiction issues. Yes, I have come to that point in the cycle again.

The cycle goes like this:

• Pursue several men until one or more surrender and start an ill-advised "relationship" with me
• Have a few wild weeks full of suggestive texts and skin-on-skin action
• Alienate/scare those men who succumbed
• Decide I don't need all that anyway and will pursue other more meaningful & important goals
• Go insane with boredom and realise I do need all that after all
• Attempt to breathe new life into liaisons with scared/alienated men
• Realise I am flogging a dead horse and get depressed
• Suddenly realise I have sex addiction issues **THIS IS WHERE I AM NOW**
• Catch someone's eye and realise I don't actually have sex addiction issues, just a healthy interest in shagging idiots. Joie de vivre.

Oh dear. Today I was having a right go at myself. There is a local branch of Sex Addicts Anonymous, but I'm not ready to join because I felt quite excited by the idea of going into a room which might contain men who were up for an impulsive shag. I suppose they must be prepared for that though, probably have techniques to stop the addicts pairing up and going out the back for a bj.

Maybe I'll look into it some more.

Leading up to my melancholy was a shocking backslide into sexually addictive behaviour on Friday. A text exchange with Ade:

[8:30 a.m] I had a really dirty dream about you last night {and I made this up!}

[12 noon] Details?

[12:05] You sure? In school hours??

[1pm] I'm on a break

[1:05] You were annoyed with me so you bent me over the sofa and taught me a lesson

Let's face it, I would probably have been quite chuffed if this had led any further. But it was followed by two days of silence. Which is how I came to be striding across a muddy field in the biting wind this afternoon wondering what do about myself.

I nearly nearly sent Ade an text saying that I was depressed because I had been reflecting on my sex addiction issues and would really like to talk to him about it. It was a very close thing but a noggin of common sense made me choose "Save" instead of "Send".

The horniest thing ever is to meet a guy for coffee and confess your sex addiction to him. Then you can look sadly into his eyes and explain that is very important that the two of you never ever have sex. Any guy with an ounce of sense will immediately say that he understands completely and he would like to help because I am such a lovely person. It is a very short step from there to running into a back alley together to cop a feel, made all the more exciting by the knowledge that it is all wrong.

I know this because it is exactly how it started with Ian.

Feel better now. Roll on the next phase in the cycle.

The Types of Men I Like No 2: Funny Men

Funny Ha Ha, not Funny Peculiar, will be doing the peculiar ones later on.

Nothing original about liking men with a GSOH, all us wimmin want some of that.

I won't say laughing is as good as sex because obviously it depends. It is definitely more convenient and you can do it in public with anyone regardless of age, gender or marital status and still won't be ostracised when you collect the kids from school.

I am struggling to say anything new about this. I like men that can make me laugh, OK? Even better, I like men that can make me laugh and think I'm funny too.

I have just spent about 10 minutes failing to think of examples of men that were so witty I wanted to sleep with them. Wit is nice is a post-sex setting, but for a pick-up you can't beat bare-faced cheek. The sort of cheek that makes your jaw drop and then laugh like this: "Ha!"

For example, the other week a rough drunk fella came and sat down uninvited on the same chair as me in the pub and said "Hello Beautiful Lady, can I have a cigarette?"

"Now why would I give you one of my cigarettes?"
"Because I knew if I asked for sex you wouldn't give me it"
"Here, take a cigarette, but promise me you'll never mention the sex again"
"OK. Can I ask just one question though?"
"Oh go on"
"Can I bend you over this table and shag you?"
"HA!"

I talked to that bloke for a while after. He was fun. Until he got involved in a fracas in the toilets and was removed by the police. He was trouble. He freaked me out by telling me he lived in the next street from me, but I've never seen him around. Which is maybe just as well.

A New Thing to Over-analyze

My continuing and worsening obsession with cock is proving so fruitless, that sometimes for a change I spend time obsessing on other topics. One of those things is song lyrics. "But What Does It Mean?" "That is Brilliant!" "Is that Grammatical Construct Correct?" I go to myself while listening to music.

One of my talents is giving massive emotional input into considering the lyrics of songs that might seem to others very simple and banal. I am particularly prone to being moved, sometimes to tears, by the words of euphoric dance tunes. And they are often minimal and written by someone whose native language is Dutch.

The other week, I bought a big stack of dancey singles from a charity shop for 25p each. Some of them irritate the hell out of me, but one of them I have played approx 1000 times. It is "We Are Alive" by Paul Van Dyck. The vocals are way out of tune and awful, and I don't listen to the original, I listen to track 2 which is 5 or 6 mins long, and has the lyrics slashed to the following:

We're Alive {repeat loads and loads of times}
Take a Deep Breath {interject now and then}

Now how could that affect me? Am I a bit nuts? I dunno, it is just the solution to the whole problem of living, in a nutshell. I'm driving around in my little car looking at all the people agonising over god-knows-what dreadful problems and I feel I have a message for them. "We're alive! Take a deep breath!" I want to shout. Though I haven't dared to shout it yet.

It reminds me of something I heard somewhere. No idea where cos my memory is useless. But I think it is good advice when your life turns so shit that you have no idea what to do next or how you will get through the terrible day that faces you.

Here's the advice:

1. Breathe In.
2. Breathe Out.
3. Repeat from 1.

Yours euphorically,

Oh what the hell....

..maybe writing something kind about men will cheer me up

They're All Big Sissies!

Since I came out and told that I wanted a manly man, I have seen some shocking displays of sissy behaviour from all concerned. I am cheesed off with them and want someone new to get my teeth into.

First, Ade missed a golden opportunity to wow me at a works night out in TGI Fridays, opting instead to chat in dull way on general topics, punctuating it with sharp jabs on my arm, not sure how to interpret that body language but it sure didn't mean anything I wanted to hear. Then he went into paroxysms of embarrassment when i made a little joke during my monologue on my beige carpet (OK, maybe I was not that fascinating myself). The slimeball salesman had told me the carpet was resistant to stains, which of course we both knew was a lie at the time, and so it proved, the carpet is now minging. I said the carpet was about as resistant as myself. Not my best joke ever but not risque enough to merit such a reaction. So he is a pussy.

When I got home, D phoned to whinge on about "What do I want? Where are we going?" etc etc till I got fed up and hung up. So he is a pussy too.

Then G starts on whinging on msn about this girl and does she fancy him. I said Ask Her, and he says he can't because it might jeopardise their friendship. Fed up to the back teeth with such sappiness, I said "Bad luck then mate, you are stuffed". Which was mean, but he is SUCH A PUSSY.

Was going to carry on my list of Types of Men I Like, but better not cos I hate em all right now.

The Types of Men I Like No 1: Manly Men

I know Manly Men could mean anything in this day and age and I understand it is all very confusing for the poor dudes themselves. And before I elaborate:

DISCLAIMER: Don't worry if you do not possess all these blokish traits. I may well still shag you. Aim for one or two.

I fancy men who make me feel like a little girl. Being tall and big across the shoulders helps here. Ade is like that. Woof! Anyone physically capable of shoving me against the wall and saying "You asked for this" in a tough way. Don't want a wallop obviously, just to be ravished in a pseudo-rough way.

A Manly Man is not well-groomed. His shirt may hang out and be unironed, his hair may be longish and unkempt, but what the fuck does he care, when he has important guy stuff to do? Often my favourites have a battered leather jacket of some sort, which they wear all the time, sometimes even to orgasm. Wow, that is so true and I never realised it before! I fancy guys in leather! I am corny!

A Manly Man could make me a shed, no bother, from raw timber, not a kit. He would work up a big sweat hammering and sawing and so forth. You know what? The word "timber" turns me on because it so manly.

I get sicker with every paragraph, but oh hell! I've started it now.... a Manly Man would be stupidly jealous and protective of me and glare threateningly at any fella who looked my way. If they didn't stop, he would tell them to fuck off looking at his bird.

For a man like that I would cast aside everything I've learned and be a 1950's Little Lady. I'd put on kitten heels and a pinny and attempt some complicated cooking. I'd let him buy me a pink cocktail, and be grateful for it. I'd sit on his knee in public. I'd whisper in his ear "You're my great big man" and "Take me".

But meanwhile, in the real world...