Put your damn phone away...

No, we're not talking about Girl, Interrupted. Fuck, I haven't spoken to her since the awkward ending to our last encounter, although she has gone on a 'like' fest on my Facebook statuses. Me being the Facebook stalker I am, I know that normally means something, but I refuse to concede. I tried talking to her, and she didn't reply. Fuck her.

Man, I'm deviating already.

Anyway. Possibly the most embarrassing moment of my life occurred last Friday.

Determined to go out, I met my best mate and his missus (they actually split up not long after the Ex and I did, but have recently got back together). We went down the high street, popping in to the 'classy' establishments that Kings Heath has to offer.

Eventually we ended up in The Station, which has transformed amazingly over the last few years. It's now full of ostentatious assholes, rather than little chav pricks. Anyway, I'm digressing again.

The couple decided they were going to go home and have something to eat. Eating is cheating people, so I decided to call up my back-up and continue the night away before meeting back up with the two of them.

Joyfully, a few guys were going in to Moseley - the Bulls Head to be precise.

Now, I'm not really a fan of the BH. It normally plays Rasta music or hip-hop. I'm metal people. So I decided that I would spend my evening out on the balcony getting trashed and smoking copious amounts of cigarettes. A good, and bad choice that turned out to be.

Firstly, I bumped in to my sister's previous two ex-boyfriends, who were out together. My initial thought was "fuck, that's got to be weird". but that feeling soon subsided as the Red Stripe began to flow. Seriously folks, I'm nothing if not classy. So we got drinking, and Dave (the one before my sister's current boyfriend) just has this non-stop string of smoking hot ladies coming up and talking to him. He has a fucking glorious beard, it must have been for that reason.

Shortly before midnight, this one girl asks me for a smoke. A hipster. You know, oversized, pointless glasses frames, without the fucking lense in them? I oblige. I couldn't really say no. She departs back to her group of friends, and I'm back talking to the sister's ex's.

Because they both know of The Ex, they asked how she was, and on that note I told them what had happened. It must have been the alcohol, because I somehow got on to the fact that, well, the sex life has been quite dry.

*cue Hipster's friends turning round, grabbing my arm and pulling me over to their group*

At first, I was a little taken back by this. But then one of her friends whispered in my ear and told me that Hipster had recently split from her chap and was in need of a rebound fuck.

Jack. Pot.

We get talking, fuck knows what about...I wasn't really paying attention. But about half an hour later, she invites me back to her place.

Repeat. Jack. Pot.

And she was 18 years old. I felt like a male cougar (what is the male version of a cougar called, anyway?). Honestly, could this night get any better? No. It gets worse. A lot worse...

Shit. I've got to meet The Couple. God no, they'll understand - they've been told several times about my cobwebs down *there*. I know, I'll text him.

"Not meeting you later - and the following deserves constant full stops; I. Am. About. To. Get. Laid. YEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

*Send*

FUUUUCCCCCCKKKK!

Instead of replying to Sam's last message, I had clicked on my mother's last text. I had just told me mother I was going to get laid. In a desperate attempt to retract, I sent her another..."Please ignore last message and delete immediately!". Too late. It had woken her up.

And that was my Friday night done. Dying of embarrassment, and barely able to stand, I hopped in a taxi back home and cracked open a bottle of wine to drown my sorrows. Yep, I just left a guaranteed fuck because I had told my mother about it. Grow some fucking testicles Elf. I should have just gone with it. Wait, I didn't even get her number!

Double FUUUUUCCCCCKKKKK!

So the moral of this story is; if you're going to get laid, don't try and tell someone about it over a text. It won't end well. In fact, if out drinking, turn your fucking phone off and save yourself the embarrassment.

I'm down with some family getting drunk in Devizes this weekend. Let's see if I can get a country girl. Probably not.

Until next time, folks.

Well that came out of nowhere...

Evening, bloggers!

Haven't been blogging much lately. Mostly because I've been ill. I spent the weekend a couple of weeks ago with MS Mummy of Two and Rock And Roll Papa, along with their two beautiful daughters.

Unfortunately, it seems I picked up a bit of a cold from their eldest, having spent most of the weekend with her in my arms playing on her toy (which I got ridiculously addicted too, if I'm honest).

So with nothing going on in my life other thans copious amounts of medicine and Cornish Ice Cream (although I'm inclined to include this under 'medicine'), there really wasn't much to talk about!

Miss America seems to be hooking up with an old flame, putting my plans to seduce her, when I go over in a little under a month, on hold. Although, saying that, she has been flirting with me via WhatsApp...I'll of course keep you up to date with developments if there are any!

But on to the point of this blog...

If you recall from a previous post, I know I've not been a saint in my relationships. As Oscar Wilde once wrote, "I can resist everything, except temptation". This has never been more true than with a former colleague. Being a single mother at the time, I will refer to her from now on, as The MILF.

Insatiably attractive, and even even more so in the bedroom. I was hesitant at first when she made it clear she wanted me to take her for drinks. I was in a relationship, after all. But after just an hour and a half in the bar in the city centre, we were in the back of a black cab heading back to hers, tongues down each others throats.

What happened back at hers were, quite honestly, the best 8 hours of sexual experience in my lifetime - and still are. (Disclaimer: I didn't last 8 hours - I produced my 'end game' several times, although I'm no 30 second wonder either, I should stress...).

This happened again on another occasion, along with other encounters at the office.

But after a while, I was sent the following on Facebook;

"I'm despised at myself as i type this but god would i love to be sneaking off somewhere right now just to be sliding on to you xx i really can't even flirt anymore so please don't tempt me again, it has to stop for my sake now. Wish i was still single for times like these but i'm not now and it's important to me so i won't take this risk again. Truly loved every minute of you and will forever enjoy your humour but no more teasing! Loved my experience of you but goodbye lover, hello friend x x"

Naturally, my response was "Fair enough". What else could I say? She wanted to make her new relationship work, and I certainly didn't want to be the one to be responsible for it not working.

Anyway, she then un-friended me on Facebook (an unnecessary action, I may add). My old colleagues and I were all made redundant a couple of years ago as the company looked to outsource to Mumbai. But since then, we've been having re-unions as you do. She never turned up.

As it's my turn to arrange the next re-union, I thought I'd try my luck and add her again on Facebook so that I could invite her to the event. To my surprise, she accepted. Thinking nothing else of it, I didn't say or do anything else. This was nearly a week ago now.

Unfortunately, I own a BlackBerry. Anyone else that owns one knows that the battery is a piece of shit. It did however beat it's personal best of not needing to be charged for 14 whole fucking hours last weekend. You are probably thinking "Where is Elf going with this?". Well, it was just adding a bit of meat to the story, you see.

So I turned my phone on this morning, logged in to Facebook as I took my morning dump, still very, very sleepy. Shazzam! Trivium's "In Waves" blasted out of the speaker as i was informed I had received a message on Facebook. I've been doing a lot of networking for an amateur American Football Club I used to play for, so I thought nothing of it at first. But as I opened it up;

"How/why have you got to me again? I've been thinking about you for a while now and only brave enough to say it after a few drinkies! Would you meet up again if you had the chance? How are things with u now? Not quite sure anyone got to me quite the way you did x"

She certainly knows how to feed my ego, that's for sure. Another thing to note is that I often reminisce about our encounters when on a date with Mrs Palm and her 5 daughters, so admittedly a beaming grin grew across my face.

I told her that I would love to meet up again, and gave the usual chit chat about what I've been up to etc.

What I won't do though is go there again if she is in a relationship, no matter how strong the temptation is...

Stay tuned for the developments on the MILF front, folks. For now, I'm well again, which means I'm going out to get blind drunk tonight. See you soon.

What Women (I) Want...

So, I like to re-read my blog posts once in a while. Not because I believe they deserve to be read (they do!), but because I go in search of the kind of grammatical errors I normally correct others on. Thankfully, there doesn't seem to be any...


But re-reading my previous effort "Decisions, decisions...", I realised that I only touched on what exactly I want now that I'm newly single. Yes, I want children sooner rather than later. But I'm determined to go out and have fun. And yes, that means have lots of sex with lots of different women.


Disclaimer: Don't be a fool, wrap your tool, fellas.


Apologies for the blog picture above. It was the only decent, non-loved up picture I good find when Google-ing "What men look for in women" pictures. For the record, I'm an ass kinda guy, and not fixated on the size of womens breasts. Heck, I believe that more than a handful is a waste (I do have pretty large hands, mind).


But I began thinking about my 'type'. The kind of woman I'm interested in.


I've signed up to so many different online dating websites over the past couple of weeks that I've had to create a new, dedicated online dating email address. Why? Because of the amount of notifications I get from the various sites informing me that someone has 'viewed your profile' or 'winked at you'.


Of course, I'm intrigued. I instantly log in and check out the woman in question.


But 99.9% of the time, I log out immediately after seeing the profile picture of the woman in question. I'm not vain, I'm really not. I know I'm no Brad Pitt (although, at the same time, I'd like to think I'm not exactly ugly).


No, the reason I do this is because they're just not 'my type'. I've never really known what is 'my type'. Attraction is key in any relationship / one night stand. If you're not attracted to the other party, then you will be forever friends, and that's is all.


So what is my type? Below are pictures of 3 women that I would sacrifice a testicle for one night of passion with...

Carrie-Anne Moss

Well, more specifically, Trinity from The Matrix Trilogy. Just wow.

Zooey Deschanel

I've been besotted with Ms. Deschanel ever since I saw 500 Days Of Summer.

Milla Jovovich

Look at those eyes. And mouth. And body. Wowzers.

Looking at these three women, it's clear that I'm more of an ass man, than a breast man. One other notable point is that I prefer short hair on a woman (Ms. Deschanel has had her fair share of shorter hair cuts, too, but that picture is smoking). I'm not sure why, though. Also, if you remove the make-up from Milla Jovovich, she's a naturally beautiful woman.

One thing I always look for in a woman is the 'girl next door' look. A woman that is naturally attractive waking up in the morning, dishevelled, and going straight to the shops without looking in a mirror.

Except, most of the women that sign up to online dating are the exact opposite of that. They apply 3 inches make-up to their face, shave off their eyebrows only to draw them back on again and insist on pulling the duck face pose in every photo that is taken of them.

That, ladies, just isn't fucking attractive. Just no.

I'm also in to the sporty type. The flexible type is probably a better way of defining this one, actually. Again, I'm not saying 'no fatties'. I actually quite like a bit of cushion for the pushin'. Plus, a man needs something to hold on to...

But some of the women are either all bones or they indulge in several Super Sized McDonalds meals every week. Seriously, one of the ladies who 'winked' at me had a KFC bucket in the background of their photo. Fucking seriously? I know you can seduce some men with a bit of Southern Fried Chicken, but not this man! I much prefer steak. I'm hoping that they just wink at every male profile they come across...

Back on to the hair for just a moment.

I don't like blondes. It's not because of the stereotype that blondes are thick. The few blondes I do know aren't at all. I just prefer brunettes or red heads. Something more 'exotic' about them.

However, on the subject of 'thick', I need any woman I am with to be intelligent. I'm not talking Stephen Hawking level of intelligence. But I need to be able to hold a conversation with a woman that consists of more than what The Kardashians are doing.

So where do all the women I've mentioned previously match-up against this criteria?

The Ex

 - Short hair

 - Brunette

 - Naturally beautiful

The Phoenix

 - Short hair

 - Redhead

 - Sporty (currently on a very strict training regime)

 - Intelligent

 - Naturally beautiful

Bar Girl

 - Short hair

 - Brunette

 - Great body

 - Naturally beautiful

Girl, Interrupted

 - Intelligent

 - Great body

 - When she stops dying her hair, I think it's brunette!

 - Naturally beautiful

The Teacher

 - Intelligent

 - Great body

 - Short hair

 - Brunette

 - Naturally beautiful

The Liar

 - Brunette

Miss America

 - Brunette

 - Sporty

 - Intelligent

 - Naturally beautiful

So it seems that I have been following the criteria outlined above. It's just a shame that the 'scientific' method of suggesting people used by online dating sites isn't very 'scientific'. Heck, I'm pretty sure that they ignore all the responses to the questions they ask you when signing up anyway!

And with that, I'm done for the evening. Single lady? Meet the above criteria? Why not leave a comment below, share or follow me on Twitter; @Elf_Olive.

See you soon.

Decisions, decisions...

"Life is the sum of all your choices" - Albert Camus.

Dear readers, I'm writing this post sitting naked in front of my television watching last nights UFC Pay Per View and listening to Hell Yeah's new album, 'Band of Brothers'. You're probably thinking one of three things;

1. That's far too much information.

That's probably true. But sharing is caring, after all.

2. Wow! Men CAN multi-task.

The notion that men cannot multi-task is a myth. We've been able to succesfully drink our beer whilst pretending to listen to the other half for years. That's a skill.

3. Why?

Because I wanted to. I made a conscious decision to strip down to my birthday suit and relax on this wonderfully sunny Sunday. Seriously, the sky is actually blue today. Who would have known!?

And that, my friends, is the theme of today's blog. Decisions. Sometimes I make them without a seconds thought as to the consequences. Other times, I 'um' and 'ah' for so long that the decision is eventually made for me.

We'll start the last week worth of action with the last couple of days.

A friend and I decided last weekend that we really, really needed to see one of our best friends who we hadn't seen in a good couple of years. I know what you're thinking. How can he be one of your best friends if you haven't seen him in so long? The answer is simple: Life. Until the last couple of months, we've both been ridiculously busy at weekends, always doing things that meant we could not get down to see him. That's not a good excuse, I admit.

So last weekend we decided to give Rock And Roll Papa a text and see if we could come up the following weekend. To our delight, he wasn't working, so on Friday we headed down to Evesham to see Papa and his family.

It is amazing to see the transformation from angsty teenager to mature husband and father of two. As I type this, I am swelling with pride. He is such an amazing father, and his wife, MS Mummy of Two is a wonderful woman who speaks openly and honestly about her daily struggles. They welcomed us into their home for the weekend, and it was by far the best weekend I've had in a long time (I even got slightly addicted to their eldest daughter's hand held game...).

Rest assured, it will not be as long until I see them again. But this weekend got me thinking about what I want in life.

I'm 28 years old, and I've always wanted children. Two, to be exact. But after things ended with The Bitch, I don't know when that will happen. I wanted one before I turned 30, so that I was still 'young enough' to play football outside with them etc.

Let's deviate for a minute...

In the previous blog post, I told you about the slanging match I had with The Bitch last Friday night over the phone. It occured to me that each and every single one of my previous relationships has ended on bad terms, and I've never spoken to them again. It's just the way I am, as I decide to cut ties and completely move on.

For some reason, I don't know why, I decided on Wednesday to text her and apologise. I'm still absolutely furious with her insinuations that my folks were not supportive of her, but I felt I had to apologise for the way I spoke to her and for the names I called her over the phone. Don't get me wrong, I still don't intend on ever seeing her again, but I wanted our last communication to be a happy one, and not the standard 'go fuck yourself'. So from now on, if I ever discuss her again, she'll be known simply as The Ex, rather than The Bitch.

And now back on topic...

What I don't want to do is rush in to anything just to have children before I 'get old'. Whatever happens in life, will happen. I'm intent on making up for my 'lost' singleton 20s. I've got two years to party as much as possible and make up for the 8 years I spent tucked away at home on a Friday and Saturday night, saving for the family life I thought The Ex wanted.

On that note, we'll move on to Miss America. Remember I told you that she was not over her ex, and that I couldn't be bothered with the effort? Well, I'm going to see her at the back end of August, even stopping at hers rather than getting a hotel.

At the time of organising the trip (a few weeks ago), she insisted that I was merely coming over as a friend and that nothing would happen. I never thought, or assumed, that anything would, and told her so (as much as I wanted something more though...). But over the past couple of weeks, her actions and her words have suggested otherwise (or it could simply be a case of me misreading and over analysing things as usual.

Firstly, she texts me as soon as she wakes up. Every day. It's got to the point where I can clock watch the seconds before the time hits 1pm BST / GMT and huzzah! My phone goes off and I have a WhatsApp notification from Miss America.

Secondly, we Skype'd last Sunday for a good 4 hours. That's not the normal length we Skype for - it's normally only an hour or so, but we'll ignore that. It was something she said during the Skype conversation that has puzzled me.

5 years ago, when she lived over here and we worked together, we very nearly kissed when out one night. But I was with The Ex, and couldn't do it, as much as I wanted to. We've also been very talkative about our relationship failings, giving each other advice about certain things. So when I mention the slanging match between The Ex and I, she said something along the lines of (and I paraphrase here); "Pfft, I want to tell her that I could and should have had her fella". Could? Yes, probably. Should? Why? Why are you saying this now?

I didn't want to dwell on that because it would probably end in new found levels of awkwardness. But looking back on it now, I should have pushed her for an elaboration. As the days count down to my flight, I may do so.

One woman I've not pushed for anything with, and quite deliberately, is Girl, Interrupted.

As I mentioned in a previous blog, our last encounter ended in such awkwardness that we've barely spoken to each other over the last 2-3 weeks. In fact, I haven't text her in over a week. My previous attempts at starting up a conversation were either replied to with one or two word responses or a wall of silence.

So I couldn't be bothered.

However, she decided to randomly text me yesterday. Why? You haven't wanted a conversation with me, or wanted to see me over the last couple of weeks. So why now? Oh, I see, you've had your tattoo re-touched. Congratulations.

When she asked what tattoo I thought she should get next, I replied "A swallow, on your neck". I did this for two reasons. Firstly, because I was having a weekend with my friend and his family, and didn't want to be disturbed - hoping she'd get the hint. Secondly, because it's the sort of arsey response she had previously given me.

But no, she continued.

I really, really do like this girl. But it goes back to the effort thing again. Right now, I can't be bothered putting it in if the other party clearly doesn't want to. So her last text of the evening was ignored.

Decisions. Sometimes I make them, other times I dither. But I can say for certainty that whatever decisions I make in the immediate future, they will be for my benefit, and nobody elses. Some may say that this is a selfish attitude, and you may be correct.

But I've spent my entire life wanting to please others, that it's about time I started looking after number 1.

Me.

Feel free to comment and share, folks. Also, don't forget to follow me on Twitter (@Elf_Olive).

Memory loss...

So, where did I leave you? Ah yes, the amusing text message exchange with The Bitch on Thursday.

On to Friday...

Working 9am to 5pm, Monday to Friday, I enjoy going out on a weekend. A lot. So when I get a text from a mate inviting me down to his local, I immediately jump in the car and head straight down there. Before we continue, I must stress that I do not condone drink driving whatsoever. I don't do it, and do not understand why those that do, do so. So I ended up leaving the car at the pub - more on that later.

The problem with the local, The Red Lion in Kings Heath, is that it is primarily a 'builders' pub, and the women are short in supply or are old enough to be my mother. But at the bottom of the high street, it's the perfect starting point for an evening.

Unfortunately, my Friday nights tend to end at the same place - primarily because it's open till 6am and plays my kind of music (rock, metal etc). It's also full of scantily clad women sporting colourful tattoos (a major turn on, seeing as I have a few myself).

One such lady works behind the bar there, and the last few occasions I could have sworn we were flirting. Dear readers, I shall refer to her as Bar Girl. I actually don't know how to flirt, I've been out of the game for far too long and just don't remember how it's done, so I probably misread those signals.

Anyway, I decide that after consuming copious amounts of alcohol over the previous 6 hours that tonight was going to be the night that I asked for her number. She was working, so even if I wanted to go balls out and kiss her, I couldn't!

So, with a firm pat on the back from my mate, a swift downing of what at that point must have been my tenth Jägerbomb, I approached the side of the bar and asked if I could have her number (whilst trying not to deafen her by shouting down her ear). Her response?

"You asked me last week"

Did I? It's at this point that I vaguely remembered being so ridiculously intoxicated the Friday before, that this was a distinct possibility. Slightly distracted at this point, what with my 'mate' holding a pint in the air with a wry smile on his face, I continued.

"And did you give it to me?" I asked.

"No, I have a boyfriend".

Bollocks.

As I went to retreat though, she grabbed my hands and proceded to try and make me dance with her. What? Sorry love, but I've made the decision that if it takes effort - and it would, trying to see off a boyfriend to win the girl - I can't be bothered.

And so, I continued back over to my pint.

Of course, there was an awkward prelude to this short tale. Another friend of mine had actually dated this girl for a while. They were even engaged. 'Bro Law' should have dictated that I didn't even try anyway. But try I did. Serves me right, if I'm honest. So it turns out that my first rejection of my new found single life was actually my second. Just the first that I could remember...

Back on to the beer and Bro Fun then. It was at this point of the evening that I decided to just get as wasted as possible, with no fear of how my bank balance may look in the morning (not good, as it turned out).

Unfortunately, The Bitch decided to call. You may remember that I had deleted her number as soon as she ended our relationship. But I still remember it, and being drunk, decided to answer.

Bad move.

We ended up having a slanging match over the phone for a good ten minutes. I'm pretty sure I saw a couple of awkward glances from my mate (also recently single, and not dealing with it as well as I did / am).

The night didn't last much longer after that. I was drunk, shaking with anger and running out of cigarettes. My mate was drunk and hungry, so we decided to make a move home (it was around 4am, so not too shabby).

I still have the ability to drink until dawn, but over the last few months, I've found that my body takes increasingly longer to recover from it. As a result, an alcohol free weekend meant that I didn't go out again.

I did however play a wonderful game of hide and seek with my car after waking up from the alcohol induced coma on Saturday morning. Having walked out the door to go get some cigarettes, it occured to me that my car wasn't on the drive. It took me a good hour to remember where I had left it.

So, my first week of blogging about my car crash love life, and nothing much happens. Boring.

I promise to make things more entertaining, if only for myself! It has been agreed between a few of us that we won't be visiting the rock bar for a while, a multitude of reasons.

But before I leave you: Remember folks, alcohol may lead to memory loss. Or even worse, memory loss.

See you soon.

Follow me on Twitter: @Elf_Olive #carcrashlovelife

Dial 'E' for Ex...

So, hopefully you'll have read my (not so) brief introduction to my car crash of a love life. If you did, you'll have noticed that I affectionately refer to the ex as 'The Bitch'.


The awkward nature of the break up is that we were together for so long that a lot of my friends are hers too. One such friend, who despite being 5 foot nothing in height and whiter than Casper the ghost, believes he is a Rasta. Anyway, that's deviating a little. He's been caught in the middle, receiving nothing but lies about me from The Bitch, until he sees me for a drink and has the record set straight.


One such lie was that I had been non-stop texting her since we broke up. Admittedly, I made a drunken mistake whilst at a wedding. But that was the only time I had contacted her since the break up back in May.


So, to my surprise on Thursday, I received a text from The Bitch asking if I fancied joining her for a 'blow out' drinking session this coming Monday. Obviously, my natural response was to reply "You're fucking kidding me, right?".


A few minutes later, and The Bitch replied that she had sent the text to everyone in her contacts list. Hmmm. Funny that, because she also has my best mates number on her phone, and he didn't receive an invite...


As I was at work and not really in the mood for an argument with a woman I no longer give a damn about, I sent a short, succinct text back telling her to remove my number from her phone and we'd avoid this kind of 'mistake' in the future. I honestly didn't expect the venom I received as a response. But hey, I decided to seize this opportunity and wind her up.


People that know me well, know that I use sarcasm as a tool to belittle people. I must stress that I'm not the kind of guy that thinks he is better than anyone else, far from it. But when someone rubs me up the wrong way, I'll make them feel stupid. More often than not, they don't even realise what I'm doing - they're that thick.


So a couple of messages are exchanged, and I inform The Bitch that I'm bored of her trying to start an argument with me, and decide to sign of the message 'Goodbye'. Now, most sane people would take that as the end of the conversation. Not The Bitch, though. She took that as a reason to launch in to a tirade about how rubbish our relationship was. That didn't bother me, as again, my friends I know that's not true. What bothered me was that it was littered with spelling and grammatical mistakes.


Always one to dust off my Grammar Nazi uniform at every available opportunity, I corrected her each and every mistake. Yep, that didn't go down well with her either. Like I care.


Two messages in this hour-long exchange did get to me, however.


Firstly, she asked how I knew it was her in the first place if I had deleted her number (which I did, the day she ended the relationship). I deal with numbers at work. Lots of numbers, so I consider myself a bit of a Rain Man when it comes to them. So for starters, she's insulting my intelligence. But the reason this annoyed me was because we were together for (nearly) 8 years. 8 years for crying out loud. It's going to take me a little more than two months to actually forget the number - it's embedded in my brain.


Secondly, her last message during that exchange was signed off "I'd appreciate it if you stopped texting me". Pardon? You text me love. And continued to do so when I signalled I didn't want to continue the exchange (you know, when I said 'goodbye'!?).


And so, that was my Thursday afternoon. There was another exchange last night (Friday), but I'll save that for my next post, which involves my first rejection of my new singleton life.


Follow me on Twitter: @Elf_Olive #carcrashlovelife

My Car Crash Love Life to date: A (not so) brief introduction

So, this happens to be my first attempt at blogging. I figure that my sex life is so tragic it borders on hilarious. But before we continue...

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