Log in

No account? Create an account





I'd take care of you if you'd ask me to

       I can't decide whether I'm more exhausted with losing people and just plain growing apart, distant, almost nonexistent to one another, or with fighting to keep said people in your life and well, be present. It's not like they'd died or moved to another country, in fact, that would prove an easier feat, to concede, oh the irony. Why does everyone I know around me just choose to take the easy way out and push people away, it should be perfectly okay to be vulnerable and experience raw emotions openly, unabashedly, but damn society had to deem this a sign of weakness.

Sure, I get that once in a while, we're all met with shitty circumstances upon shittier circumstances, so much so that it leaves us disillusioned and quite frankly, spent, utterly spent, that maintaining our relationships, much less the very thought of it, become such an absolute chore and we just decide all on our own without considering the other party's feelings or opinions, to call it quits, and give up on the so-called "union" entirely.You know what truly blows though, not the fact that that person has just upped and left without even the slightest decency to offer a (bittersweet) goodbye but the crippling realisation that you're the only person who feels this way, feels so strongly, because you loved harder, cared more and was willing to hold on to him just a little longer, it was the kind of love that couldn't be returned, demanded to be returned, should very well have been returned but didn't quite make the cut, it wasn't enough. I sure as hell wasn't enough.
       Emphasis on HOT mess. There is a certain ineffable thrill that comes with stepping into a sleazy, dodgy club decked out in your raddest clothes with your best youth-embracing girlfriends and not knowing what kind of cray-cray shit will ensue. We ended up catching the bad boys australia striptease at Attica, completely on a whim and by sheer chance. Good heavens though, bless their hot, sweaty, oiled-up, ripped as hell-bodies.

After imbibing a round of tequila shots, some champagne and vodka cranberries/ screwdrivers, we decided to hop our fine asses over to the next bumpin' club we could think of; Butter Factory, or more commonly known as, BUTTER(*said in terribly pretentious British accent and an upward inflection*). Made a huge ruckus on the cab ride over, to which the female cabbie chided us to calm the fuck down. She's jealous of our youth, I'd say. Slutbag and I still remained relatively sober, not quite reaching our threshold for alcohol yet, on the other hand, my fellow munchkins were pretty hammered already and had lost all sense of self, and morality. LOL, look at my dolls all grown up and allowing randy men (nay, BOYS. I personally consider men to be legitimately REAL men if they possess facial hair or at least a trace of it no matter how frequent they shave. Whatever happened to 5'o clock shadow? That shit turns me on like nobody's business) to flirt with them, buy them drinks and obtain their digits. Usually, I'd get all protective and tell these lame, desperate creeps to leave them alone, they're not at all interested. However, this time proved different from the usual ordeal of standing our ground firmly and reinforcing our rights as women to be able to dance in a loud, dark place without being leered at or hounded by, by random strangers of the male gender; they actually seemed to be having a genuinely good time and were, dare I say it, BASKING in the unwarranted yet mildly pleasant male attention/ affections they were getting. There is nothing I want more than for my friends to have a smashing time and be exposed to the grand possibility of getting laid, even if it totally surpasses my own level of enjoyment at said present point in time.

A couple of loser malay blokes tried their luck with us, when all we were doing was unsuspectingly, openly contemplating where to grab breakfast, i.e., the nearest McD's. One of them kept asking for my number, but I couldn't be bothered on account of my shoes  debilitating me and my joints radiated with excruciating pain from the inside out. Clearly, I was in absolutely no mood to be hit on. I sure was in the mood to just plain hit somebody though. I just wanted to go home so bad but the girls were my responsibility for the night and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if anything were to happen to them.

Let's recap. I've been on that end before; getting noticed by a decent-looking, attractive young chap, a yuppie expat who buys you a couple of drinks which you foolishly down like there's no tomorrow and no such thing as, oh, what is ALCOHOL POISONING, he showers you with tons of attention and whispers sweet nothings in your ear, tells you you're cute and all's peachy, well and good, fun and games, right up to the point where you're just on autopilot, he shoves you in a taxi and lures you into his fancy CBD area apartment, takes off your clothes and makes you wonder where the hell you are and what the fuck is going on, and how on Earth you got there, the next morning. I never want anybody, especially not my best, most precious girls, to ever be in that awful, totally undignified position that I managed to dive headlong right into. For what it's worth, his apartment is crazy swanky and neat with minimalist white furniture, and the view from his room, thanks to the full-length glass windows, is unbelievable. Took my breath away, or at least whatever was left of it, because I woke up sans underwear and clothing next to some dude with really lovely curly blonde hair, but naked and passed out as well, nonetheless. First thing I did, I remember, was check the sheets, discreetly for any stains; nothing. Hallelujah. My chastity was still very much in tact. Then I had this voracious urge to pee, so I did, and was greeted with a lovely assortment of luxury mens' dress-shirts. Would've stolen one if I had my damned purse with me, but the inebriated genius that I was left all my belongings at the club (1-Altitude. Amazing alfresco rooftop bar in the heart of the CBD). So basically, the gist of it was, I had to practically beg this filthy rich but stingy ass French motherfucker with good hair, to lend me some dough for a cab ride, he wouldn't even let me borrow a phone to make a call. Then, I did the walk of shame out of his apartment, bumped into his roommate who was grinning slyly from ear to ear, and I swear I just wanted to crawl into a pitch-black hole and die of humiliation and intense shame. Oh, the absolute cherry on top was the huge bleeding gash on my right knee, which 'til this day has left a hideous scar, physically and emotionally, I am traumatised to say the least. Okay, maybe more appalled at myself for becoming the very thing I despise, a cheap, loose skank that goes home with the first (actually, he was probably like the third) guy that pays you one iota of attention.

Apologies for meandering, so, back to that Wild Wednesday night; I decided to make use of these sad chaps and their 'services' for a bit, since they offered, or rather, INSISTED, they drive us to the nearest McD's. They looked sober enough to handle a moving vehicle, and we really needed a ride anyway, my poor feet. Blah blah blah, the girls and I engaged in our usual giddy, excited, girly conversation about school, boys and the like, however, it seemed to be slightly amplified due to the presence and close proximity of well, BOYS. My interest waned further, no you know what, it wasn't even there to begin with. I can't place my finger on what put me off more, the fact that they drove to drink at a NIGHTCLUB for the sole intention of picking up loose women willing to just give IT up, the fact that they speak like uneducated, simple village folk, the fact that they still persisted in getting our numbers when neither of us expressed the tiniest semblance of interest. They're too keen, and too sleazy for any of our liking. I felt like obligated to return the favour, though, so yeah, I gave them my number. No promises though, getting my number is easy but getting me to respond promptly or at all, is a huge feat.

We all crashed at Mj's and again, stumbled noisily into her room, pulled on her Bhammie merch t-shirts which she so sweetly lent us and recounted the entire fleeting but fun night, before drifting into sleep. Woke up to someone's blasted phone vibrating and ringing incessantly. That was the turning point. I couldn't force myself back to sleep, after being accosted by that THING. LOL. I trolled FB for a bit, and attempted to start intellectual debates about Communism and Democracy with them. Like I said, it's never too early to get educated. I am a real royal pain in the caboose. They, two, are the epitome of LIGHTWEIGHT. 2 shots and a dilute cocktail was all it took.

You know what made me recoil in disgust lately, witnessing a middle-aged lonesome man wanking in the cinema, to Zac Efron, no less. He could've practised some form of discretion, and well, basic courtesy or decency and put a sock on it or something. The girls and I were distraught with fits of laughter as soon as the lights came on when the movie ended. I had no idea you could encounter such debauchery here. Indian cuisine seriously fills me up sufficiently and then some. I think I was either Mexican or Indian in another life.

Sidenote, I think I've found my calling, my OUTLET; Driving. Cruising around in my candy apple red mini coop with the windows rolled down, music blasting just keeps me sated in more ways than you could imagine. Liberty. Freedom. Autonomy. Things I need to survive on a daily basis.
            Apparently, I've gathered from dubious sources on the vast magnificent cesspool otherwise known as the Inter-web, a date can be defined as "A social event with the threat of sex". Why, I ought to think that the prospect of imminent sex was more encouraging instead of threatening. Or, a less crude definition albeit more ambiguous one; "When two people meet alone for some kind of decided or time-limited event for the purposes of either (a) fun or (b) getting to know each other better". Let it be known that the two said people can vary in gender, sexual orientation/ preference, financial background, ethnic make-up, etc. Also, these two very same people may or may not harbour deeply, (what's the opposite of platonic?) platonic feelings towards each other.

How does one qualify a date? I, personally, feel, from years of acquired dating skills and experience (um, BULLSHIT), that a date is only legitimately a DATE if it includes but not limited to the following conditions (much like a legally-binding, enforceable contract between two consenting, mutually-inclusive adults);

1. An Offer or Invitation (may be verbal, as per teleconversation, text messaging or the holy grail of all multi-media social platforms for communication; Skype. I am still undecided on video calling being the best, most innovative online creation of all time or an atrocity to mankind that borders on being intrusive and troublesome simultaneously and needs to be eradicated. Nay, the former definitely. I just hate it when I'm caught off guard and totally unprepared, or underdressed, or undressed and sloppy as fuck, so much that it should be considered an offence to look that ghastly, and then I have to actually put clothes on and make sure my hair is just right amount and combination of disheveled, just-rolled-out-of-bed-after-a-romp as well as polished and decent, like I'd put in some sort of effort.

2. Actual Intent (if it's a movie date; online bookings for a cozy couple seat, no less, must be rendered. Oh and don't go making it look like an accident because it sure as hell seemed INTENTIONAL, and a tad shady because I didn't even know, what if I don't want you to invade my personal space and be all up in my business whilst I try to enjoy a perfectly good, stimulating film about obsession, betrayal, sex, lies and deceit.)

3. An Acceptance (provided the datee/ party being asked out has not committed to any social plans of her own on said occasion. A non-committal grunt and a nonchalant 'Yeah sure why not, I'm free anyway, down for whatever. Oh you wanna catch a movie, you pick the time I'll come get you' will suffice. No need for the over-the-top, overly-enthusiastic furious repeated nodding of the head and the banal 'Oh, I'd love to go out with you'. Signify this acceptance immediately and with zero hesitation, preferably. It's not very nice to leave an offer of a prospective, potentially-fun date hanging in limbo. If on the off-chance, someone else, a very close mutual friend of both parties, spontaneously asks you both out at the same time, via text message, more eager party must scheme behind other less enthused party's back and sincerely beg said close mutual friend to not impose upon our little 'tete-a-tete'. This ain't no menage-a-trois, alright. One's lonely, two's company, three's a crowd.)

The Daily Grind As Told By Me

          Just yesterday, I was just minding my own business having a quick fag while waiting for the bus when suddenly, completely out of nowhere and unwarranted and unnecessary, this deranged Islamic psychopath decides to accost me, yelling something in a foreign language, okay, malay, and looked as if he was about to hit me, to which I was totally taken aback, appalled, humiliated and horrified all at once. Praise the Lord for ear candy to save and soothe my soul. Don't want to be paranoid or anything but this must be some kind of sign from the Universe that I've wronged someone and need to be punished or at the very least, publicly shamed.

Alls I know or am aware of is that my boss has been an even bigger prick lately, but I've managed to maintain composure and professionalism, or rather, I've accumulated an incredibly high level of tolerance/ threshold for his nonsense. I can't do right with him, I swear. He makes me question or even doubt my basic work ethic and my responsibilities as an INTERN. Apart from being stuck with a horrible boss, everything else about work is all fine and dandy. The rest of the department seem relatively nice enough and not interested in making my internship a living hell on Earth. To be perfectly honest though, I reckon I've advanced a couple of stages since I first started all of only a meager yet sufficiently-enriching/ fulfilling 2 months ago. I'm pretty on the ball now and alert, attentive, meticulous, efficient, competent. I know where important documents are kept, and important people to look for, I am able to muster up enough sanity and grace to handle difficult customers and just people in general. I've nailed the art of multi-tasking without forgetting what my initial task at hand was, sort of. Did I mention I've also become a Keyboard WARRIOR, quite frankly, I respond to emails at the speed of light. Granted, I've all the information I require to answer inquiries and my boss or some other office drone doesn't berate me.

Seems I am capable of doing the whole 'working adult workaholic'  thing. Alcoholic would be more apt though HAH. If I'm keeping count, my last drink, a mere Corona, was on Thursday and that's it. This is my attempt at exercising some form of moderation. Can't continue with things in excess, it's bogging me down. Excessive boy time, excessive shopping, excessive dining out, etc.

I wish someone could invent some kind of crush tracker app or GPS, he's performing the disappearing act again but somehow, I'm not surprised or even fazed by it. I've just been focusing on me and my internship, it's dawned on me that there aren't enough hours in the day for me to fawn over him and gush repeatedly about him. He's nothing but another entry in my diary.
I can't eat, I can't sleep ANYMORE waiting for love to walk through the door.

What qualifies as an 8, on a (hotness/fitness) scale of 1-10? God forbid, I'd ever consider myself remotely possessing the 'stellar' qualities or attributes of an EIGHT. And what is the deal with rating people based solely on their looks anyway, let's not kid ourselves, ladies, THIS PERFECT, PUT-TOGETHER FACADE IS ALL JUST AN ILLUSION that we are incredible at keeping up, an OPTICAL ILLUSION. Masterful makeup tricks, a proper and stringent skin regime, meticulous and painstaking hair removal, and not forgetting cute, flattering outfits allows women everywhere to become a veritable magician in her own right. Keeping up appearances. Yes call us duplicitous, conniving, etc; we consistently dupe men on a daily basis and hey, they fall prey to it every time. I figured he stroke off two points on account of; 1) my puny mosquito bites for boobs and 2) my chastity, i.e, the fact that I'm a sad, undesirable, desperate virgin who can't hold down a man much less attract one GAWD.

Aside from that, I for one would appreciate and much rather be rated on how one find's me as a PERSON, with intense palpable feelings/ emotions, provoking, stimulating opinions, thoughts and ideas. Tremendous mental and emotional capacity really gets my boat a-rocking. That's what's really attractive though, isn't it. A sage person who has an abundance of knowledge and experience to share with you, someone who can teach you things that you wouldn't normally come across in the books you read in school or articles over the web. Or maybe, just someone who makes you laugh 'til you cry or wee yourself, and really has a way with pushing all the right buttons to rile you up. Or could it be just that initial yet still burning spark, that undeniable chemistry between two people? The way our paths are cosmically-aligned, and only they come into focus when you're with them, or so much as within a 5-meter radius, because nothing else matters, and they're all you'll ever want to see.

Ciao bella. When NOT in Rome, make like the Italians and speak their native language. *Brain fart* Excusez-moi, mon ami.
Aren't your twenties supposed to be meant for figuring out what you want to do for a living, progressively, and isn't it perfectly normal to make mistakes and bad decisions right now because it won't exactly dictate how the rest of your life will pan out.

So, truth be told and it won't come as a shocker but I have an intense aversion to people who are terrible at communicating and just plain inarticulate to the point of no return. Why can't they just say what they need to and in the most comprehensible, clear and concise manner they deem fit for the intended conveying party?
It's extremely debilitating trying to decipher what they're trying to say and how they expect me to respond or act upon hearing said things, whilst still remaining calm and composed and pleasant and submissive/ docile. My boss at this crappy-ass, sordid internship I'm doing for school, won't give me the time of day, and just has a knack for making me feel like a total and utter incompetent, incapable imbecile and yet I look at him and wonder how in the world he got to where he's at today. Maybe I'm being a little too harsh with these snap judgments, after working all of a fleeting month and a half, and I reckon, I'm good at reading people but this internship just took me out of left field.

Whatever, the daily grind will always suck for me for as long as I'm doing things I possess not the tinsiest speck of interest or passion for. It's the repetitive and mundane 8 to 6 confined to a cubicle- thing that I honestly cannot handle. My creativity, and just my whole being, is stifled. I can't help but feel suffocated and bored to tears, half the time. The only consolation is that I have 2 other intern friends, my school mates, to commiserate with over lunch and just knowing that I'm not entirely alone, is my saving grace. This isn't my future, and the only direction is UP. Not straight ahead with a couple of pit stops, all the way UP. I'm through ranting about work, it's making me miserable like I have this perpetual, proverbial dark cloud floating above me. Bad bitches just relentlessly take multiple, colossal dumps all over me and rain on my parade. It's okay I've 'cleaned' out all the negativity out of my system. No, literally, when I'm so overwhelmed with feels and palpable emotions that run the gamut from stress to anxiety to despair to anguish, I resort to cleaning and doing chores, becoming a real Martha Steward around the house, to deal and wrap my head around things, keep my thoughts in check.

How have I stayed single all this while, what with my irresistible charm and personality, dazzling good looks and wit? Note: Irony and sarcasm is my defense mechanism. Why hasn't anyone grown receptive or remotely keen on hopping on this express train? Clearly, the problem does not lie with the (unattainable?) men I fall for and actively pursue, (and when I say active, I mean, hella ACTIVE. I am one smothering kind of lover.), it lies with ME, and my innate ability to scare them off with my ummm, quirks and..nuances. I prefer to see myself as too fiercely independent and fabulous to be weighed down by a man. Apparently, I was sorely mistaken, I have allowed myself to be thwarted by this selfish, douchey yet intoxicating and endearing bloke who has irrevocably stolen my heart. Yes I know, that has got to be the biggest cliche ever, I'm not proud it surfaced. Namely, two things I've had to sacrifice for this obnoxious prick; time, he consistently, days on end, insists on making me late for work just so that he has my lovely company on the train in the morning; money, he conveniently claims to have no cash on him and tells me get the tab or the fare, FIRST, no that's not it, maybe he's just one stingy, cheap bastard but I have fallen in love with the ILLUSION of him that he is this affluent yet generous, caring, kind, thoughtful and just one plain stand-up human being. And when I happen to casually mention the times that I've paid, just to poke fun at him a little and annoy him, he accuses me of being calculative?! He has some major gall, though, I'll give him that. That sheer audacity could have only been acquired from years upon years of fucking around with a bevy of sad, non-self respecting  women, right?

Sadly, these things wouldn't even matter to me, if he were actually my BOYFRIEND. My legitimate, existential, willing and able BOYFRIEND. Sure, I continually try to convince myself that I have no qualms at all about how things are between us right now; I am in love with our closeness and playfulness with each other; but no, I'm too neurotic and introspective and desperate for my own good, so I conjure up these ideas of the (immediate) future and imagine what it would be like if there were a WE, an US. Wishful thinking. Or as the old cynical, skeptical and relatively SANE/ PRACTICAL version of myself would call it 'Expecting and Setting Yourself Up For Disappointment'. Despite him repeatedly inflicting so much emotional trauma on me, I decide to stick around, or it's like whenever we're together (physically), he's like quicksand and as soon as I attempt to escape, frantically might I add, he sucks me back in a little deeper and deeper 'til I just stop trying altogether.

I have truly let myself go. Oh one more thing, I am under the impression, that he actually enjoys, nay, RELISHES putting me down, disparaging my work and belittling me as a person in general. How do I put up with that, is beyond me, when I know for a fact that I am and always will be my own worst critic, no one is permitted to go harder on me than myself, or my parents. But this fella doesn't know when to quit, and leave it alone already. Uncouth (because Rude doesn't emphasize my point, sufficiently) awakening; he could very well be the most TOXIC friend I've ever had, and how I usually deal with toxic friends is FUCKALL, I am unfazed by them and I have pretty decent judgement of character, so I don't befriend toxic people in the first place. This time would prove impossible because well, I am irreversibly in love with said toxic friend, and I think the world of him, every goddamn waking moment.

Be right back, I have to go cry me a river and turn a whiter shade of pale because I feel like the biggest loser in the universe right now; on account of; I can't hold a proper job and I let assholes mess around with me.
In all of my young adult, pubescent life, I have not once been on a double date, but now that I've hopped on that double date-phenomena bandwagon, I find it to be strangely liberating and nerve-wracking at the same time. I was DUPED, I mean, you led me to think it was just me hanging out with you and your friends, who I now have come to acknowledge as my own because they're nice, intelligent, discerning working adults, but then picture this, a glorious sunny Easter Sunday with no committed plans whatsoever and you decided that that day was the most opportune moment to laze around on the beach, and with your bestfriend and his fiance, and your, umm, what do I call myself, a number of things spring to mind, hmmm there's illegitimate girlfriend, school wife, caretaker, babysitter, friend with plentiful benefits, no-strings attached insignificant other...So the sun is scorching hot, sweltering and we're all drenched in sweat, chilling by the bar on the beach, chowing down on good ol', hearty, artery-clogging canapes and swilling beer, and rum and coke and frozen margaritas, basking in each others' company, engaging in light, playful yet meaningful conversations with one another. As much as possible I try to be myself only COOLER and MORE CHILL/ LAIDBACK, which comes naturally once my feet touch sand, albeit rough non-white sand, I become this cool, enigmatic, aloof and serene beach bunny.

You know how on typical, run-of-the-mill double dates, there's always one couple having more fun and is way more affectionate with one another than the other. Like they would be all sweet and rubbing sunscreen on each others' hard to reach places, I'd just pretend not to notice and avert my eyes to the beer that's never more than arms-length away from me. So the men being boys made like whales and did laps in the water, leaving the ladies to our girly talk. I absolutely love talking to women above the age of 30, they have some extremely vital knowledge and sage words of wisdom to impart unto me, like for instance, once you've reached 25, you MUST go see a gynecologist, or at least as soon as you've had sex and would like to discover hidden treasures in your fanny or speculate something fishy is going on down-south, a regular pap smear once a year is mandatory, oh and when in doubt, Cambridge over Oxford, any day, as if I'd ever have the honor of being offered a spot in only the most prestigious and renowned colleges in the world. Oh and, it's okay to date and kiss all the wrong guys, because one day you will find that special someone that just cancels out all of the wrong and makes you feel like a princess, and is the sweetest, kindest man you will ever meet, where even your dad pales in comparison, I guess girls don't always marry into guys that are like their dads huh.

Swimming against a massive current and your wilder-beast of a 'boyfriend' while mildly tipsy is never a good idea. Your hair gets all tangled up in your face and then you can't see shit apart from that, you're trying to stay afloat and getting ahead, and deliriously channeling your inner sex goddess mermaid. I made it to the end and tried to catch my breath for a bit but no, that's too much to ask for, so I try to swim back but to no avail, in the end, he had to come get me and cause he's so tall his feet are already touching the seabed and I'm still flopping around like a walrus, I cling onto him and he walks us back to shore, how adorable and sweet it would've been if he hadn't just dropped me like a sack of potatoes, without so much as a hint of immediate warning. I'd say we are that one non-attached couple that everyone just kind of expects to get together in a matter of time, but nothing will materialize 'til one of us makes a clear move, like romantic advances on the other person. Sexual advances, I've become sort of indifferent to them because it happens so very often, but sometimes it's not about tickling my fanny dammit, it's about making me swoon and setting my heart aflutter and making me feel wanted. Sure it was sweet when we, umm, cuddled and waded around in the water, just the two of us, and I almost felt like he was my boyfriend in that moment, but even my naivete has its limit. Have I reached my maximum threshold for painful, giving-it-my-all loving? I hate it when we both get drunk concurrently, and can't keep our hands off each other, then I wake up the next morning, craving that touch. I'm going to sound so cheesy, but, god forbid, CARESS.

I can't keep track the number of times people just assume we're an item, but it gets exhausting trying to correct them and explain, so we just let them think what they want, none of it matters anyway. Of course, I have no qualms at all about being called his girlfriend and neither does he, but if you're fine with me being called your girlfriend, here comes the craziest notion, why don't you just bloody well make me your girlfriend already. It's not about possession or territorial claims, I'm just allowing the chips to fall where they may, and if they're falling our way, so be it.

1. Open a tab but make sure everyone is set on going dutch.
2. Flirt with the waiters to get first priority on those wildly in-demand daybeds.
3. Be at ease and one with the ocean, let your sunny, delightful disposition just shine through.
4. Offer them suntanning oil.
5. Ask them what they'd like to drink.
6. Order their drinks.
7. Jab fun at each other but not in a vaguely condescending or insulting way.
8. Laugh at all their jokes and really LISTEN.

Last but not least, when one couple is all packed and ready to leave, and one of them's driving, just call it a night and hitch a ride home. Car pool intensely surpasses getting ripped off by limo cabs. 

Blame it on Planet Mercury.

Damn it, Mercury, why you gotta be in retrograde, screwing up with my mood and shit, making me have one too many emotional breakdowns or just constantly feeling god-awful wretched.
It doesn't help that I'm in love with a manic alcoholic either. He's doing that thing again where he infuriates me profusely, then becomes all needy and slobbery at the end of the night. I'm pretty sure he gets like that with just about any pathetic girl who bears witness to the wrath of the beast he transitions into upon gradual yet intense inebriation. Don't want to read into it, but let's be honest, I cant fight my neurosis any more than I can keep up an argument with him; I'm quite certain he propositioned me in a way he never did before, he asked me to sleep with him but okay, he was hammered out of his mind, speech slurred, pupils completely dilated and he can barely stand upright on his own, propped on my shoulder and that's like the furthest I can go, I mean, fuck 6'3 seriously. Giant is an understatement.

Anyway, so we left the chalet together, as usual, I mean I could have left without him but I have this innate need/ urgency to take care of him, make sure he doesn't wake up lying in a ditch somewhere, much less in a pile of his barf, he passed out on my lap again when in actual fact it should have been me, I came from work and a meeting consecutively, shattered to the point of no return but with him, no, he's the only one permitted an 'act like a total and utter psychotic baby' pass. He's one honking slab of man, I can't even so much as prop him up and shove him out of the cab, nay, he made me personally, selflessly escort him to his doorstop and at first, he was like mumbling something about sleeping with him, he basically was asking me to literally tuck him into bed and then crawl in next to him? Hopefully. Tempting, so so tempting but I resisted because the odds were not in my favour , it was hella late I left my bag in the cab and the meter was still on, I couldn't possibly just forget everything, I mean drop the tiniest remaining modicum of common sense and attend to his needs, and his only.

Yeah sure, everyone's thoughts get fuzzy and alcohol makes you feel warm and vulnerable and a warm body right next to you at the end of a long night of getting intoxicated would be ideal, but where does that leave me, the sober one, the logical one, the one whose judgement isn't clouded by the atrocity that is vodka and rum. Oh and whiskey. Can't write off the whiskey, it's his kryptonite. And it's so bloody convenient for him, to just claim to have no recollection of the night before, the morning after. I'm the one living with his rubbish. God, I have got to quit mothering everyone I irreversibly fall for, when they wouldn't think twice about doing the same for me. Mutual understanding my ass. I harbor extremely non-platonic feelings towards him and he just enjoys toying with me. He' s unbelievable. This self-destructive non-relationship is bordering on toxic, seriously. There's never going to be an end to it, closure. But a larger part of me doesn't want that, because despite how much he makes me want to kill him with my bare hands, I'm the happiest and most 'whole' when I'm around him. And that is a lot to live up to. If he knew. He'd run like hell in the opposite direction. I don't think he could take my no-holds barred approach on love. Gosh, I'm not kidding when i say we have practically done everything a 'regular' couple does apart from well, sex.
As a self-proclaimed, fully-fledged, ball-busting, floating-on-cloud-nine, naive, almost deluded hopeless romantic, I've always lived vicariously through films, music, books, and if I craved something more 'real', my closest girlfriends, my parents, etc. Everything I think I know about love, I've learnt through constant, prolonged conditioning from a very very young age, so it's only right or makes sense that I have these over-romanticised, unrealistic, exaggerated, fluffy idea of 'love'. This does not in any way qualify myself as an expert but at least, I am aware of what to steer clear of and knowing myself well enough, I'd attempt to mirror things I've seen in my favourite movies, much less, dream about them. Pray tell, what is this 'love' that occurs between two separate people unified by said 'love', but a verb hanging in the air? How does one let their guard down completely and selflessly, and just allow oneself to be irrevocably and unabashedly vulnerable in front of someone else? I'd really like to know.

My idea of love, as acquired from countless years of watching romcoms and Disney films repeatedly for hours on end, is such; I believe in an all-encompassing, whirlwind, passionate, intense, almost frighteningly self-assured kind of love, where two people get at each others' throats all the time, bicker like there's no tomorrow but it's only because they're absolutely, no-turning back, no-holds barred, balls-out, CRAZY for each other, in all senses of the word. I don't want love if it doesn't come even remotely close to that, yeah, I know I'm only setting myself up for disappointment  but it's this teensy sliver of HOPE that keeps my heart full, despite, the void in it that desperately needs to be filled. Oh, clever, look how I combined both hyperbole and ironic rhetoric. I am on a roll. I speak so fondly about love, and yet, I'm scared shitless of it, or rather, that I'll never find that type of love, because it's just this wisp of smoke I'm frantically chasing to no avail, because you can't chase something that is impossible to be caught, like a pipe dream. I want a love that's intoxicating and exasperating, as it is comfortable and mellow, where you know just how to push the other person's button without it actually hurting and leaving a mark, or you also know the quickest and surefire way to cheer them up, without being overbearing and pushy. I want a love that acknowledges and embraces all things and that includes people, associated feelings, behaviors, attitudes, successes, downfalls surrounding it, without needing anything in return, or any hidden agenda. Love should make a person whole and FULL, and positively bursting at the seams with all kinds of emotion in the spectrum.

Thinking of a person you love every damned waking moment is tough work, I should probably save that kind of commitment where it's due or warranted, otherwise, your energy just gets sapped from beneath you and you begin to lose all sense of self. Self-worth.