Currently feeling like I've walked into a soap opera...

So, I know I haven't posted in quite a while and I do apologise for my appalling inability to maintain a regular update on my not-so-thrilling life, but I have been ridiculously busy (I know, excuses, excuses, hey?) and I had such an Eastenders moment at the weekend that I thought it was necessary to share...

It all began on Saturday evening. I picked up the guy I was seeing from work - for the sake of this post let's call him T - and took him back to his as we were babysitting his little brother that evening. As we were waiting for our takeaway to be ready, his phone started ringing but as it was his (psycho) ex, he chose to ignore it (brief background summary - the moment his ex got wind of the fact that he had moved on and was seeing me, she decided to start mindfucking him into thinking that she wanted him back - she'd ended it last year, completely destroyed him, the bitch - and for a while he considered it but told her last week that it was over for good - smiles all round for me :). However, she doesn't seem to be getting the message, hence today's extraordinarily long post). 

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, the persistent bitch (sorry for the necessary use of profanity, but you will see why I have particularly violent feelings towards her if you choose to continue reading) wouldn't seem to take a hint and continued to irritate the fuck out of both me and him, until he went outside and took her call. I collected our food and walked with him to the car while he explained his ex's completely retarded way of thinking: apparently she'd called him saying she was about to buy a bottle of wine and then she was heading over to his for a night in with him. Um, hello? You weren't invited? Obviously he told her no and continued telling her no until she turned up on his doorstep in the middle of dinner!

*pause for effect*

I know, right? So he went to go and talk to her while I sat in the living room with his little brother and mum, feeling incredibly awkward, and after about 15 minutes he came back in and told us that she was leaving, thank God. End of, right? Oh no. The relentless cow phoned him not 5 minutes after leaving, telling him she was at his local (2 minutes down the road) and once he'd got rid of me (!) she'd come back and they'd have a lovely evening in! Can you believe the cheek of her? T clearly told her no, he wasn't kicking me out, I was staying and she was going home. And she left, right? WRONG! She called and called and called until eventually he went up there and put her in a taxi himself. He returned and we chilled out with his little brother watching a film, thinking that was the end of that and we'd finally get peace.

Note: as you may have guessed, that is NOT the last we heard of her, so the post is going to continue. Feel free to stop and take a coffee break before reading part 2...

What a relief. We'd finally got rid of her and could relax and enjoy a quiet evening in with his little bro...oh wait, did I mention what a persistent little bint she was? No? Well, just as T had launched into a game of Fifa with his brother, guess who decided to call? Oh yes. His phone vibrated and vibrated until I was ready to answer it and tell her to fuck off myself. He answered, told her he was playing Fifa and would talk to her later (extremely bad move in my opinion) and hung up. So, later (about 2 minutes, no joke) she called again. And again. And he picked up and told her he was playing Fifa with his little brother. And so it continued, until I got so fed up of listening to his phone buzz on the arm of the sofa that I went into his room and laid down on the bed in despair, knowing she was going to spend the rest of the evening taking all his attention away from me because she could. Eventually T got the hint that I was majorly pissed off/upset and came to see what was wrong. I explained that she was going to do everything she could to ruin our evening now she knew I was there, and so he turned his phone off. Smiles for me, we went back into the living room and watched TV with his brother until it was time to put him to bed.

Finally on our own, we chilled out in his room for a bit and *ahem* had a bit of fun which cheered me up a lot as the whole situation had really got to me. Afterwards, I went through to the kitchen to get a drink and when I came back, guess who was on the phone? (Btw, he'd had to turn his phone back on in case his mum tried to get in touch on her night out, which was fair enough) I was so hurt that not 5 minutes after we'd just had sex, he was talking to her, and so went and sat in the living room to give him some privacy (coz I'm too fucking nice). He came through and told me that she was at one of his friend's houses and was going to come over so they could "talk". He'd told her not to, but then, when has that ever stopped her in this story so far? Completely knackered, we both went to bed having heard nothing more from her.

You can guess what happens next, can't you? Are you as incredulous as I was? Quite possibly. Anyway, although you've guessed, I'm going to tell you anyway.

At around 5 minutes past midnight, I heard a loud banging on the door. I shot up in bed and no sooner had the words "T, there's someone at the door" been issued from my mouth, we both heard the door crash open, then his door (he sleeps on the ground floor), before the room was flooded with the light she'd just turned on (may I just mention that we were both completely naked in his bed, just to highlight the complete panic I was currently feeling). I laid there in absolute shock while T hurried to put on some underwear and tell her to go and sit in the front room (umm, hello? Why not just tell her to get the fuck out of your house?). He apologised profusely and went to go and sort her out (she was completely and utterly wasted) and get rid of her.

And in the space of about 5 minutes, the shock wore off and anger and fear had crept in (considering I could hear her moving about and knew she was trying to get into his bedroom to get at me. I grabbed my clothes (which were strewn around his floor - makes me smile to know that probably pissed her right off) and was in the process of doing up my shoelaces when T came back in. I told him I couldn't stay here while she was here (go me!) and he begged me to stay, that he'd get rid of her. So I conceded; I'd go out for a walk while he calmed her down and got her in yet another taxi home, and once she was gone I'd come back. Without another word, I kissed him and walked out (collective 'awwwww' for me here please) and walked towards the town centre, about half an hours walk away (bear in mind that it was now about quarter past midnight and therefore pub emptying out time, and I'm a 19 year old girl terrified of horrible drunk old men). When I was almost in town I received a text from T telling me that she'd just punched him in the face repeatedly, at which point I saw red and told him if he didn't call the police right now then I would. He called me and told me the police were on their way and could I please come home. I told him I'd walk to the corner of his road and call him and once she'd gone I'd come back. Once I'd made it back up the hill and to the corner of his road I called and he told me the police were letting her stand outside his house and have a fag before they left!! (Sorry but if you've broken into someone's house and assaulted them,you don't deserve the luxury of a cigarette). Standing 100 yards away I could actually hear her shouting as they put her in the car (she has got a massive mouth tbh). They finally left so I could go back inside (it was warm Saturday but once it got past 1am the temperature had dropped quite a bit), at which point I sat on his bed and burst into tears (I know, so lame but I had been walking around for about an hour by this point and was funnily enough feeling rather shitty).

So, obviously we weren't really up for sleeping much after what had just happened, and so decided to stay up so we could tell his mum what happened when she got back. Unfortunately, the stupid girl had lost her phone and some point during her drunken rampage (which should have been good news for us) and so we still didn't get any peace as we then had the police calling T and asking him to look round his house for her phone. It wasn't at his, so when the police called back and we told them we didn't have it, they then started asking about the ex's best friend. Turned out that they took her back to hers and her door was locked so instead of waking up her parents or taking her back to the cells for the night, they decided to take her to her best friend's house, who funnily enough, lives in the same town as T!! Which therefore meant I spent the rest of the night unable to sleep wondering when she might come back for another round. Not only that, T continued to get call after call as her best friend allowed T's ex to borrow her phone to carry on harassing him! Strangely enough, I was completely shattered and in a foul mood for my mother the next day when I went home.

So there you have it. I've tried to make light of what was, frankly, a really shit and slightly scary night. Feel free to join me in my new found hatred of unhinged, criminal exes.

Do you think I should write in with my story to Hollyoaks?

Bullet for my valentine? Preferably several, loaded into a machine gun.

In response to the numerous anti-valentines blogs, Facebook statuses and Twitter updates, with everyone claiming that today is a day created solely to boost the profits of evil environment-destroying corporations (with the added bonus of mocking the lonely, and therefore miserable, single individuals that seem to be the ones posting all these negative texts in the first place), I am here to offer a rather more positive outlook on the February 14^th. Well, I’m just going to piss you all off by telling you about my jour d’amour.

I’ve actually had a pretty productive day. Not only did I have lunch bought for me, I managed to bag myself a £20 Waterstones gift card (to all my admirers/future Valentines, take note: a gift card for this store is a sure-fire way to my heart…or at least a cheeky grope in the car on the way home), a sweet card telling me how amazing I am (which hello, I already knew, but it’s nice to know that others are also aware) and therefore boosting my confidence, and a little plastic keyring perfect for helping me to locate my car keys (its bright orange). And all this for less than 3 hours of my time. I didn’t even have to perform the usual mandatory blowjob, or lay back and think of how much better it would be if it was Jason Statham laying on top of me instead of my boyfriend.

I know it sounds harsh, and makes me look like a materialistic, self-obsessed bitch, but I’ve always believed in being completely honest and transparent for my followers (yes, all one of you).

And to top it off, all of the sweaty blokes that came into the jewellers and shelled out their hard earned cash on diamond earrings and necklaces (that their girlfriends would never wear because it looks like it came out of their mother-in-law’s jewellery box), guess what? You just boosted my commission for the month. Thanks guys!

So, to all of you who believe that Valentines Day is a complete waste of time, I just think you should know that I completely and utterly agree, but at the end of the day, I’m a plastic keyring and a couple of books better off than you. Happy Valentine’s Day!

Mushaboom :)

So, my original intention of starting a blog and posting almost every day has pretty much fallen flat on its face. But in all honesty, I've had an extremely busy week. So far in the space of a week I have:

-been for an interview, got my first full time job (with a rather lovely starting salary - cannot wait for the first paycheck);

-handed in two notices (for the part time jobs at which I've been employed for about 5 weeks);

-told my parents I'm moving out (only from my mum's house to my dad's, nothing exciting - still in the same county for God's sake);

-gone on two dates with my ex-boyfriend (very long story);

-had my mobile number changed (I don't really want to pay 11p a minute to listen to messages to a Mrs Dorothy McGiven, informing her that her son is a little shit at school and her daughter still continues to wear the wrong shoes to school - I don't think Dorothy is going to be winning Mother Of The Year award anytime soon);

-moved all the stuff in my room into my sister's old room (only to have to put it all in boxes in about a week - just don't ask);

-ordered, started and finished a new book (not really a surprise, as I read scarily quickly);

-and of course, been at work six days last week (up at 6am every morning, without fail).

I'm actually quite proud of myself. Who knew you could get so much done on so little sleep? Not to mention the fact that I've had constant headaches since the beginning of last week, I've been an emotional train wreck for the last four months, and my hair looks like shit; unfortunately I have only myself to blame for that last one, due to my willingness to be my (hairdresser) friend's gullible little guinea pig. My hair is now a fetching shade of red/brown roots, black underneath with a very bad dye job on top, trying to cover the fact that my hair has been bleached to within an inch of it's life. It's also short. I let her cut off my lovely long hair, that had taken two years to grow back after the last hack job.

Still, I've been unusually optimistic this week, considering all that. I'm feeling...mushaboom. Mushaboom is my word for peachy, hunky-dory, however others wish to express it. Taken from the so-titled song by Feist. Listen to it. It makes you feel all fluffy inside. If that's the kinda thing you're after.

It must be the endorphins. Stupid fucking endorphins. Apparently I'm in love...again. With the same bloke I was in love with before. And then wasn't. And then was again...beginning to see a pattern here? That's why it's a long story, and terribly dull for those who don't really give a shit. So...about everyone then.

I do apologise to everyone for being so incredibly chipper this week. I can assure you it won't happen again. I will be back to my lovely morose self before you can blink.

Now off to talk to my parents about the best way to wallpaper a room.


Dear God, I need to get out more.


P.S. Also bought Adele's new album last week. It's fucking incredible. Buy it.

P.P.S. Sorry for the long post. I applaud you if you've got this far without falling into a coma.

Pity the newbie...

Ok, so I'm pretty new to this whole 'blogging' thing. As much as I love writing, I've never been able to keep a diary for more than a week, and I've also never seen the point in publicising my most innermost thoughts to complete strangers. But I thought as I'm trying to make myself a better person this year (and yes, I say this every year), I might as well try something new. Talking about my feelings instead of just eating them. And to be honest, although I've only posted once (which was a pretty heavy first post to be fair), I'm thinking that this could actually be quite...cathartic.

So I have been randomly scrolling through some blogs (found a couple of interesting ones already) and I think I could become quite addicted to this. It's possibly one of the most interesting forms of people watching I've ever attempted.

I think the chances of anyone actually reading my, let's be honest, pretty boring blog are slim, but if there are any veteran 'bloggers' out there who can give me any ideas on how to make my blog a bit more...jazzy, shall we say, then please leave a comment as it would be much appreciated :)


Tigerlily_xx

Who I am.

Who I am. I am insecure. I have made some bad decisions in my short life, some I may regret for the rest of my life. I’m not a cheat, even though I cheated. I am happy with my family, even though I don‘t show it. I have two or three “friends”, but nothing real as most of the friends I had are all at university. I do not want to be superficial. I hate myself sometimes. Actually, I hate myself a lot of the time. I just want to be happy. I don’t have a career plan. I can’t really afford to go to university, although it may happen in the future. I love books, writing and acoustic music. I hate being taken for granted and manipulated by other people, most vegetables, and anyone who does not respect my books. Sometimes I feel so desperately lonely, even when I’m surrounded by people. I get so low I feel like there’s no way out. I’ve had suicidal thoughts before. I would never do it though, I’m too scared. I am weak, and I hate myself for being such a walkover. I wish I could stand up for myself. I’ve tried to be someone else, but that didn’t work. I can’t hide from myself. I can only keep up the act for so long. I wish I could stop scarring my face, and my back. I know it’s bad, but I can’t seem to stop until it hurts. I wish I could lose a bit of weight. I wish I had the motivation to lose weight. I miss my singing. I miss performing. I miss him. I broke his heart. I broke my own heart. I’ve been breaking my mother’s heart for the last six months. I’m not a bitch, even though some people may think so. I’ve just made some big mistakes. I don’t want to be a clone, even though I follow the crowd a lot. I wish I wasn’t such a flake. I just want to be happy in my own skin. I’m scared of a lot of things, mostly of being alone for the rest of my life. And yet, I still struggle to open up to people, to let them get close. I hate being vulnerable. I think people think I’m this strong, confident person, capable of taking the world on by myself. But I’m not. I can’t handle a lot of things. I especially can’t handle change. I don’t want to change for that one person, but I would, to have him back in my arms. I just wouldn’t be happy. I need to grow up. I need to sort my life out. I need to clean my room. And my car. I think I’d like to be a writer, but I need lots of practice.

Finally, for the first time in my life, I feel like I might have found myself. This is who I am.