Despite my slightly doughy exterior holding me back from fitting into my favourite dress, food has never, ever, ever, steered me in the wrong direction. People on the other hand are the worst.
I wanted to write something poignant and meaningful about the current political climate, or how I managed to control a panic spiral by frantically cleaning someones bathroom, but that wouldn’t be fair. I have something I’d like to get off my chest. And I’m worried it’ll grow into something horrid and bitter if I don’t. It’s probably worth taking note that I am in no way making a statement that all men are evil.
I am making a gesture towards the notion that there are evil people out there.
I had my first ‘boyfriend’ when I was about 10 years old. His name was William and I thought he was the bollocks. Had my first kiss with a game of kiss, cuddle or torture in the school playground and wondered what all the fuss was about. It took a whole other decade for me to find out that there was quite a lot to be fussed about. I’d been pretty confused about all that kind of stuff anyway but nowhere close to how confused I would become over the next 17 years. Finding out that there are some people out there that just have so little fucks to give, that their every action is followed by a half-hearted apology and a whirlwind of lies.
My relationships have been one continuous hangover; and like a hangover I can never seem to put the bottle down, despite the outcome being perpetually soul crushing. I did manage to whittle my experiences down to 3 different categories, all named after my ethanol induced guilty pleasures:
Make mine a double. Maybe.
Fuckboy Fishbowl: You probably met through a website like Tinder or plenty of Fish. They didn’t really look like their photo but that didn’t matter. They make you laugh and takes you to nice secluded restaurants so they can ‘have you all to themselves.’ Everything is peachy until you get about 2 months into whatever this is and you realise you know nothing about them. The mystery turns to confusion, and they slip out of your life as quickly as you let them slip in. The fuckboy fishbowl is that relationship you find yourself in post-break-up/dry spell territory. We’ve all been there. but if I’m honest? I’d marry for funny.
The Pornstar Martini: This is the one that makes the good impression. Too good an impression. Your friends like them, and they reeeaalllyyy like your friends. Next thing you know, in their eyes, you’ve gone from a magnificent martini to the cheap-ass prosecco on the side; downed at the bar quickly so your host can move on to the main event.
————————— P.s: YOU ARE THE MAIN EVENT. Remember that. —————————
The Green Russian: Ahhhh… the jealous one. You may never have spoken to anyone else in your e n t i r e life, and these people will find a way to hide their own infidelity with the notion that YOU are a cheating bastard. How dare you wear your hair like that, put on that dress or go to gym?! Who are you trying to impress? Who’s that guy at work you’ve never mentioned before? Give me your phone. Hacking into your emails. But God forbid! you ask for the same in return. Everything is your fault, the universe is a hologram, Jay-Z is in on it and you’re being played. Smashing.
IPA on Draught – This is the one you don’t see very often. The one that only seems to come out of the woodwork once you post an ambiguous meme about not needing another person in your life to validate your existence. They’re the ones with ‘Netflix and Chill,’ takeaway pizza and who you don’t mind sharing all your most depraved sexual deviance with. They’re exciting and mysterious in the way that getting shitfaced and fucking in an alley is both dangerous and horrendously unhygienic. They’re also 97% absent and only get in touch when the self-loathing can’t be contained to just one set of genitals.
Tequila Slammers – I saved the most painful for last. Probably because I’m in danger of coming across as a deranged psycho bitch with nothing positive to say, but I’ll try my best to keep it light. Apologies in advance.
The Tequila Slammer is the one you can’t let go of. The one that you gave everything you had to because you saw a life ahead of you for the first time that didn’t revolve around the consolation prize of Dinner Date. They will have seen you at your most vulnerable, and you at theirs. The level of mutual understanding is unfortunately shadowed by the lack of love and respect that they have for you. You want to up and leave but some kind of misplaced loyalty keeps you rooted. Just like tequila seems like a good idea at the time, you’re coaxed into a false sense of security that this person is the key to your future.
Here’s the kicker though: they’re not. Some other faceless person is, and you’re just another notch on an already broken bedpost.