I won't lie. Despite being an English student at University (albeit, dropping out after 18 months), my language is fucking appalling. I'm constantly told to stop dropping the 'F' bomb. So, if you're sensitive to such language, I suggest you close the tab...it'll only get worse from here on in.
Anyway, where was I?
Ah, yes. I was about to give you a brief introduction to the Shakespearian tragedy that is my love life. In true Tarantino style, I'll start at the end and piece the puzzle together.
I have just come out of an 8 year relationship. I say 8 years, but the bitch ended it a week before our 8 year anniversary. "That's a bit harsh, calling her a bitch", I hear you say. Well, no. Truth of the matter is, there had been no relationship for roughly 2 years before the guillotine was finally brought down on the neck of this relationship. In fact, I had been conversing with a friend of mine that I was expecting something to happen in the near future, mere weeks before I was put down like a diseased animal.
The worst part? She was clearly cheating on me.
No, put those miniscule violins away. I'm not after sympathy, as I've not exactly been a Saint during my lifetime (we'll get to that later). In fact, I've not even got a problem with the chap in question. Shit, if I was single, I'd have done exactly the same thing.
However, I had given up my life for this woman. You see, I fell for her pretty quickly. I proposed a little after a year of seeing each other. 25th May 2005. Now, I'd love to say "Hey ladies, look, I can remember important dates like our anniversay" and shit. But to be honest, I proposed the night that Liverpool FC won the Champions League in Istanbul. Who said love was dead!?
I stopped going out, preferring to save money for our future life. After all, we'd had the mature "house, marriage, kids" discussion. And so, I lost touch with a lot of friends - through no fault of theirs, I stress. Again, put those violins down for fuck sake.
Our near 7 years weren't without incident, mind. I had my transgressions. Namely 'sexting' a colleague, and foolishly leaving my phone on loud prior to passing out through intoxication before she returned from work. Needless to say, she dutifully checked my phone when Bullet For My Valentine began screaming out of the tiny speaker. A curse-filled argument ensued, and I was (rightfully) kicked to the curb for a couple of weeks.
To cut what is turning out to be a very fucking long story short, our relationship was never the same after that. In fact, if my memory serves me correctly, we may have had sex 3 times in the 3 years prior to the split. But fuck it. If I ever refer to this girl again, she will be known as The Bitch.
As I mentioned earlier, I fall for people quite quickly. I've been in steady relationships (sprinkled with various one night stands in between) since I was 17. And they've all gone pear-shaped in one way, shape or form.
To the beginning...
I went to an all boys school. One that required an 11+ exam to enter. That's not a boast, merely a clue if any of you are trying to figure out who the hell I am.
Except, this all boy school allowed females in for the first time just as I moved in to A Level. I'm assuming they wanted the boys to walk around with permanent erections...
And so, my first sexual encounter with a member of the opposite sex.
A stunning red head, henceforth known as The Phoenix, lived just around the corner from my school. I'm sure I made it pretty obvious that I was attracted to her. However, seeing as I've had over 10 years of alcohol induced comas since, I cannot for the life of me remember how I asked her out. Not that it matters of course, because it worked! Nor can I remember what we did on the date. At least, not until the end of the night. I won't go in to graphic detail, basically because she was and still is a very nice girl.
Instead, I shall describe the week after. And so, we travel to the Flapper & Firkin in the city centre. At the time, absolutely none of the group of friends we hung out with were of legal drinking age. Matters not, nobody was in the Flapper.
I remember this night for two reasons:
1. It was the first and last time I ever drank Aftershock. Repulsive stuff. But I remember buying 15 shots for roughly £5. And you wonder why the Government wants to crack down on binge drinking.
2. Closely linked to reason #1 is the fact I promptly threw up all over The Phoenix's feet. She was wearing open-toe shoes.
And thus began the car crash that is my sex life...
Shortly after this God forsaken incident, I realised I was a walking erection and went after anything and everything. Eventually, I landed The Teacher. No, not one of my teachers, she turned out to be one after completing Uni.
I'm still not sure even to this day how I managed to land this girl. Stunningly attractive, sarcastic (one of my favourite features) and smart, I could have sworn it was a wind up. Well fuck me, it wasn't. This turned out to be my first real relationship. 17 whole months of a relationship.
And yes, I fucked it up. Come on, the blog is called 'My Car Crash Love Life'. Did you expect anything else? Working part time at a bar to allow me the misfortune of frequenting Snobs (Wednesday) and Ramshackle (Friday) every week, I worked with some very attractive ladies.
One of which came on pretty strong one night, and I ended up going back to her place. After drinking all night prior to going to her place, I found myself unable to, well, finish. After a few hours of blood, sweat and tears, I eventually gave in and passed out. Oh how I regretted this decision.
At SIX FUCKING THIRTY IN THE BASTARD MORNING, her 4 year old son snuck in to her room and began tapping me on the shoulder. Unaware that this would scare the living shit out of me, he then proceded to scream the word 'Daddy' over, and over, and over again. I don't think I've ever put my clothes on quicker than I did that morning.
I decided not to tell The Teacher about this, as I knew what would happen if I did. Plus, it was a drunken mistake. As was the Police Officer (who lay there like a sack of fucking potatoes, but who had a better sucking action than a Dyson Hoover), and the other barmaid (again, could give a Dyson a run for it's money).
Well, this wall of silence broke whilst at University. You see, by pure coincidence, we ended up at the same Uni together. Unfortunately, I told an Irish (not sure if his nationality is a mitigating factor in what transpired, I'll let you be the judge of that) housemate of the events prior to Uni. As you can guess, he promptly told The Teacher whilst ridiculously intoxicated, and the relationship came to an end.
I'm wary that this is fast becoming a dissertation rather than an introduction to my blog, so I will attempt to speed up the remainder of the 'interesting' history.
Shortly after quitting Uni, I met another girl. The Liar informed me that she was 19 years old (I was just turning 20 myself at the time). After several weeks and several amendments to her date of birth, her family revealed she was in fact 16. No biggy, she was a nice girl. Until she cheated on me with someone from Coventry. Coventry for crying out loud. Touché, life. Touché
Not one to hang around, I then met and got with The Bitch.
But that is not the end of my first blog. No, you see, this is just the beginning. I'm now embarking on a new chapter in my life. One that I've not known for a very, very fucking long time. That of a singleton.
The problem is, I'm not very good as a single. I've not know of this life for a while, and quite frankly I get bored with my own company. Hell, there are two women in my life right now who I'd sacrifice a testicle to be with;
Miss America
I first met Miss America roughly 5 years ago when she worked over here at a pension company. Beautiful, intelligent and fiesty - she was and is amazing. We very nearly shared a kiss (I can hear the cries of GAAAAAAY!) one night out. But I didn't, much to my regret. Actually, I'm flying over to see her in September.
Girl, Interrupted
No, she's not clinically insane. Far from it - she's one of the most intelligent people I've ever known (she's a teacher). No, the reason she will be referred to Girl, Interrupted is because she never gets off of her fucking phone. Girl ,Interrupted and I have a little history. We did actually share a kiss (GAAAAAAAY!) about 10 years ago. But a buddy of mine told me he liked her, and like a good 'bro', I backed off. Anyway, after The Bitch and I parted ways, I thought I'd text her and see if she wanted a drink.
3 dinner dates, 8 hot-tub hours and several scenes of a sexual nature (although, no sex...dammit) later, and I'm absolutely crazy about this girl. She occupies a large space in my mind most of the day.
Unfortunately, I don't think I'll ever get anywhere with either of these two girls.
Miss America has just ended a relationship with, how the Yanks put it, a complete and utter douchebag. But she still has feelings for him. Right now, I'm of the opinion that if it takes effort, I cannot be bothered.
Girl, Interrupted has also just come out of a relationship. That doesn't bother me. However, our last encounter ended in such an awkward way that the only conversations we've had (through texts or otherwise) have seen her respond with one word answers or not at all.
And so, with this final nugget of history in the car crash that is my love and sex life, I formally invite you to join me on my journey as I look to engage in explicit sexual encounters without somehow finding a way of fucking it up.
Actually scrap that, it wouldn't make for very entertaining reading. I'll find a way of shooting myself in the foot for your entertainment...
Follow me on Twitter: @Elf_Olive
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