because none of us is fucking up like we think we are, is what i'm trying to say

Monday, 16 November 2009

Lonely Hearts Ad.

This week I have been mostly thinking that it isn't a coincidence that everytime I type 'love' into my phone on a text message, predictive text sets it as 'live'.

Live instead of love. That is ominous for a single girl, and Apple should probably issue an emotional health-warning with their products. It feels a bit like a new-age magic eight ball.

Fortuitously though, my phone doesn't cleverly then comment on 'sex' and 'live'. I believe those two are synonymous, not exchangeable, you'll be pleased to know. Phew.

The iPhone answer to the question, "Yes, but will I ever find somebody crazy enough to love me again? I'm pushy, and bossy, and ambitious, and don't take any shit but have a tendency to give a bit and won't ever settle for anything less than I deserve which means that I'll never just talk about travelling the world and finding adventure and laughing at the good stuff and crying at the crappy stuff and just being OK not great, I'll actually go out and do it. WITH OR WITHOUT A BOY" would probably, at most, illicit a, 'Do I look like I care?' magic-eight ball response. And an award for the longest sentence ever written in the history of the world. Add 'verbose' to my list.

This week I have also been founding out that The Ex-Boyfriend is seeing an old girlfriend of mine. I knew it was coming because I had some crazy Italian woman read my cards back in the summer and she told me.

I am trying to take my phone's advice in wake of the actual news, rather than getting drunk on prossecco like I did when Crazy-Loo pissed me off by telling me that I'd be alone for a long time to come and wouldn't have a kid until 40. But it is incredibly difficult not to want to play Alanis Morriessette really loudly and swing between talking crap about them both and crying into a tub of cookie dough.

Mama's advice? "Fuck 'em". She is like Deepak Chopra on the other end of the Sykpe line.

The temptation to call either of them and infer some sort of superiority from the fact that whilst they, ensconced in couple-dom and those first heady throes of initial love (also known as the fuck-a-thon month) I am a ballsy, ambitious, intelligent and sassy single gal taking on the world and travelling the globe far and wide in search of said adventure instead of trying to hold in my stomach in case my new beau clues up that I am not Kate Moss, or going for three days without a poo because the other one might hear and realise that I am an actual human being. No, to do any of those would be immature and show a serious lack of self-awareness.

Instead, let me tell you about the time I peed on a kids tee shirt.

I confiscated Federico's tee shirt after it hit me in the face- not once but twice. During a game in the garden with me playing English tutor, he got hot and decided to do a Beckham.

(Ooooh, Beckham. Without a shirt. Stood with Robert Pattison. Without a shirt. And look! There are JLS and none of them are wearing tops either, and I think they are waving at me. They are! I think they want me to come over. Oh! Well THAT'S rude, JB... JB! Stop!)

(Oh, I'm sorry, excuse me. Where was I? Focus, focus, focus. Back to the peeing story)

(I just realised I've said 'poo' and 'pee' in a single blog post)

I tucked his tee shirt into the top of my shorts so that I still had my hands free to teach the kids, but sort of toward the back so that that it was out of my way. Then I forgot about it. Sat on the loo two hours later I only then remembered about it it when I looked down. I had peed on this kids shirt and DID NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO. I literally hopped around the bathroom in confusion.

I threw it in the sink ("Ewwww! My pee!") and blitzed it under the cold tap. Then I came to my senses, realised that I didn't really like the kid much anyway, and so I gave it him back.

There we go- another fascinating example of what any future boyfriend of mine might have in store. Hop abroad the crazy ship, fellas! Poo jokes come as standard!

Huh, well what do you know? Thinking about good old Feda really did just cheer me up.

I wonder if he has an older brother...
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