Thursday, December 28, 2006

The Calm Before The Storm

The twilight zone between Christmas and New Year. Large Northern Flatmate is still up north til Sunday and I have an empty flat to myself.

This morning I woke up hungry, a sensation I haven't felt for about three days, so I had a celebratory omlette at my local cafe where a blonde Russian woman may or may not have been eyeing me up, I'm not sure. I had gone to bed at 6am as I had spent the previous evening in a lovely little pub with Phil, Natalie, and a real fire. When I got home, I accidentally drank a godawful bottle of Hungarian red.

The Hungarians aren't known for their good reds.
Or good whites.
Or good rosé wine, for that matter.

And half way through downing that while trying to find something vaguely interesting among 15 billion webpages, I may have accidentally walked to my local newsagents at 4am and somehow bought some hardcore European pornography.

This morning, my lovely ex-girlfriend from New York called to say she was now standing in Kensington and should we meet up? I said yes. She came round. I forgot how pretty and cute and intelligent she is. I cuddled her while she cried. I apologized for dumping her as the whole 'Long Distance' thing was proving to be hard work and it seemed sensible to end it. We cuddled some more. Cuddles turned to kisses. Then we paused to chat. Then we were overcome with something or other and went back to kissing and ended up on the floor. Then she started crying again and we went back to cuddling. Throughout she declined the opportunity to thumb through some hardcore European pornography.
Then she left, saying 'Remember I still love you', so I mumbled that I like her and coughed a bit.

And with that, she left to go back to her boyfriend.

Oh, I left that bit out. She's flown over with her current boyfriend and told him she wanted some time to go shopping by herself, then came over to see me instead. The guilt I've got is considerably larger than the wasted hard-on I had trying to unzip itself from within my jeans a few hours ago.

My Mum phoned before my ex arrived and I told the scenario. Her half-hearted advice? "Make hay while the sun shines." Honestly. That woman's indifference to my love life is remarkable. A quite unique situation, I thought, and her advice is for me to help someone to cheat, told via a fucking farming analogy.


Shoshana said...

Yeah, um, your mom's advice is so wise. If only I could make out what it meant, even a little.

But come on - you got some action - I think that's the first I've read about since I found this blog!

Joie de Vivre said...

You don't need to feel guilty, YOU are single. Thats her deal if she wants to get the guilts about HER behaviour. Surely crying women in your arms tempers the woody somewhat?! My first instinct was to ask you what you did to make her cry ... but I assume it was your good looks and charm that sent her into a regretful spin!

Anonymous said...

you should have shagged her, its what she wanted, she came back to you for it, hope to read that you meet here again and give her a good seeing to, the guy in USA can't be delivering between the sheets,


Eileen Dover said...

My rule?

If you can't be good... be good at it.

fwengebola said...

Shosh ~ It's the first bit of action I've chosen to tell.
No, you're right, it's the first bit of action since September.
And 'Make hay while the sun shines', go into the fields and cut stuff now, before it rains. I.e. strike while the iron's hot. Or 'Just sleep with your ex girlfriend and leave me alone'.
JDV ~ She feels guilty too. But was quite happy again. I don't mind crying women. I'm used to it. I think she was crying because, christ, I have no idea.
WC ~ I wasn't going to push it and demand. I'd feel bad.
ED ~ That sort of works. Dammit, I wish I didn't have such stupid fucking morals. Bollocks!

Shoshana said...

It's such a shame - you'd like a strawberry blonde with/without facial hair would have a much easier time getting action. You've probably thought that once or twice yourself already though.

VI said...

It's good you've got morals, Fwenge. Keep it up!

Fussy Bitch said...

Your morals are lovely.

Every time I see Kris Marshall I think of you. I have this feeling that you look like him.

luna said...

O God O God O God you've blown it, and she wanted it so badly, and I wanted so badly to read some European porn on your blog.
Don't you understand? There is NO boyfriend so to speak, only a male escort for Xmas shopping.

Funny how mothers give completely different advice to sons and daughters in the same situation.Could that be the root of universal machism I wonder.

Pushing porn into your GF's big romantic moment, calling your Mum for sex advice, o God o God o God...Let's hope they do a second take of that tearjerker scene

The Nothing Man said...

Mate, the fact that you can't say the words 'I love you' to her pretty much says it all about your relationship.

Time to let it all go. Move on and start internet dating again.

fwengebola said...

FB ~ Agh! The 'BT adverts'/ 'My Family' guy? Hmmm, slightly. I'm not thin and lanky but broad and muscular, although most of that muscle has turned to turkey and Ferraro Rocher based fat over the last few days. I get Borrised now and again, and I was recently compared to Nick fucking Knowles by my mates in Brighton.
I think I'm more the hideous bastard child with no eyebrows they'd have if they mated.
Lune ~ Nah, she's currently avec homme, definitely. I never thought about the advice thing. Most mothers (and absolutely fathers would advise their daughters to run away and hide. My Mum's just odd. Or believes strongly in having fun and sod the consequences. And she called me. I don't call anyone for the advise, except Large Northern Flatmate who dishes it out to me regardless of my asking for it or not.
NM ~ A good point. But is that a bad thing? The only women I think I've ever loved was evil French woman, and that's only because she was absurdly beautiful and I was blinded by lust. We got on about 1% compared to the 99.8% of my American friend.
And her laying it on heavily - perhaps because distance makes it easier to express yourself fully and run - doesn't mean I don't care about her.

I dunno. What is love anyway? She's really bloody perfect, except for the distance. And her laying it on heavily. Erm. And stuff.

Sod this, I'm going to bed some wine.

fwengebola said...

That was a typo. Albeit an ironic one. Bedding wine does sound rather interesting, now I think about it.

fwengebola said...

Oh, and sorry Shosh n' Vi. To answer both your points, I'm not David Beckham enough to 'not have a problem' getting any. Plus I like my morals, so I'll keep 'em as best I can.

Ugh, fucking morals.

The Nothing Man said...

Nick Knowles?

You don't look anything like that cockblocker! Who the fuck said that?

Boris, I can see.

fwengebola said...

Nick Knowles is a cockblocker?
A lad I used to know called Jason is a cockblocker. I was in India with him and we'd met this charming Israeli girl. We were all pissed and sat in her room while he sat mutely in the corner. Me and her were getting on rather too well. At no point did Jason leave, even when I said "Mate, you look tired, why don't you go to bed?"
"Nah, I'm wide awake," he grinned.
That's a fucking cockblocker.

Ali was of the opinion as to my NK familiarship. Others agreed. I think I look more Orlando Bloom.

luna said...

I'm lost with your reasoning.
What is it that the evil French/Moroccan witch has got that Yankeegirl is missing? Tits and arse?

Whatever it is,she's so crazy about you that you could ask her to go and get it and she'd fetch it.

As for the boyf: no doubt very easily disposed of, though unpatriotic to do so.

But as they say "A l'amour comme a la guerre" bang bang!

fwengebola said...

The French say a lot of things. Such as 'fuck off and leave me alone', ultimately. I think I was enamoured by my ex for being gorgeous and indifferent, that lethal addictive combination.