idriveabluemini

So this is what my life is looking like this week.

I am basically at the stage where I have to tell F that the train has reached his stop and this is where he gets off. Not because T is coming on thursday but because I cannot be in this position any more. If I have to give up drinking and smoking for free (oh g'n't's and marlboro grays, I shall miss thee!), but if it means less drama in my life, I am happy to give them up. All that booze was making me fat anyway. Really, though, I am feeling more and more that I am simultaneously waaaay too young and getting way too old for this shizzle. I can't be messed around by one more man. I refuse to allow myself to get messed about with by one more man, and if I stick around with F, waiting out his infancy and adolescence, like my patient roommate (to be explained shortly), that is essentially exactly what will happen. So, in conclus, if I really have to give up dating for this year, then so be it. Bring it on. I am growing the fuck up and moving the fuck on. Honestly speaking, I don't need this aggravation and stomach upset. And it sucks but every time I get stressed out by someone and irritated with someone, my stomach hurts and i feel nauseous. So when I say he is not worth the stomach upset, I am talking literally.

In other news, I had a very eye opening discussion with my roommate, E, last night. she gave me some insight to Italian men. Apparently, the first year that you are with them (provided it even lasts that long, which might explain why all my male friends are single and a fucking wreck) it's like pain and suffering and getting to know eachother and jealousy and all this drama. But if you stick it out and show him that you really want him, he will eventually stop acting like a horny lust-struck teenaged boy (and by that I mean, trying to fuck anything with a pulse within a 20 mile radius) and get his shizz together and be a really loved-up, tame person and you can then start to have a real relationship with him. I nearly choked on my soup. I wanted to ask her, but my Italian is not so great, if she was fucking with me. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!!! This is the big secret to getting this shit on track, patience and forgiveness?!!!

I wanted to throw myself off a bridge in frustration. I mean...HOLEEE CRAP.

But at least then , I got it. I understood why Italian women are such bitches. It works the other way, too. You can't make it too easy for him to get what he wants either. So, in a way, it's almost perfect that I haven't slept with F. This way, we are on almost level playing fields. So the next time he jabs, I won't duck and run, I will roundhouse that motherfucker. Well, at least I would, if there were to be a next time. Unfortunately, he has had me chase him so much that I am bored of running. The only upside to being a Gemini is that I know I am going to get bored. It is a virtual guarantee that it will occur in my life, with everything (except my job thus far, touch wood) and when it does, I feel absolutely no remorse. If I want something, sure I would prefer to hunt and catch and kill before I wallow in my infinite joy at having gotten it, but then I am satisfied and ready for the next thing. Like, NOW.

I have been on this hunting expedition for close to three months now. I am bored. My man ADD has kicked in and he is suffering the consequences. Poor sod, doesn't have any idea of what is about to hit him. And at this point, I am trying to be a decent person and TELL him at least that it's over. A good chunk of the others never even found out, until I was quite happily dating someone else, that is. See? This is me trying to repair my man karma, because God only knows how much I need it.

In other news, I am trying to get myself de-excited for the arrival of T. My horoscope says that I need to chill out and calm down, and everything will be alright. And you know what? I believe it. Because it dawned on me, and settled into my skin, that I am 23 years old. These are not the last men I will ever date (apparently, if Fate has anything to do with it) and if I really want to find my 'prince' (can't believe I just wrote that with a straight face), I have to date around, I have to fumble, I have to make mistakes and feel a little silly and recover. I have to try and fail and try again. So, it's okay is these little dalliances don't work out, because in the long run, I am heading towards something greater. Something better. Something that will have been worth all the pain and suffering and madness in my life. And I have a sneaking suspish that it does not include F. Bless 'im.

Okay, now I have to get back to school, because it actually is getting good all of a sudden.

Belle xxx

Well, well, well.

Just when I thought I couldn't possibly want to strangle the man any more than I did, he gave me new incentive to run him over with my proverbial tractor. And yes, we are discussing F, our favourite heart burn inducing, psychopath-du-jour. It would appear that the man has trust issues of the Aaron Spelling variety, namely, I think he thinks I a cheating on him.

So he calls me on a friday night, (which is rare, because his fridays are usually always taken) at like 9.30, too. Apparently just to say hi and see what I was doing and stuff. Again, a rarity. So when I inform him that I am at a bar, with some friends, he asks me which one (are your eyebrows rising in suspicion yet?), so I let him know where I am and then tells me that he didn't mean to disturb me if I was with my friends and he was going to go home and sleep. Okay, whatever. At this point in the saga, I am so over him and his messed up life that I just don't care anymore, and aside from the mild irritation that I get because he ruined my nicely growing buzz and cigarette break, I pretty much let the thing go. Fast forward 2 seconds later and I send him a text message asking him why he called me so late, because it's out of character and just fucking odd as hell.

Please witnes the fact that as soon as I hit the send button on my cellphone, he walks into the bar.

Not that I was not happy to see him, because every time I see him I get a girl boner so large you could knock me over with a feather (that's how much lust I am storing up for him), but it became increasingly apparent that the man was CHECKING UP ON ME. I mean, REALLY! He looked genuinely relieved that I was sitting with a gang of girls and that there were no guys within a ten mile radius of our table. And the he asked what we were going to do after we left the bar. I told him we were going to go dancing at a place called Rolling Stone (where do they get these names from?!) and he nodded in that way that means he is unhappy but trying to get over it. And the he said he would call me today to find out what I did last night. Trust issues ahoy! And this coming from a man who has questionable dealings of his own and is possibly still in a relationship/living with another woman. I mean, really, pot calling the kettle black, much?

Anyway, my night got a lot more interesting as the hours ticked past. Holy Mary! So we went to Rolling Stone and got our respective grooves on to bad Italian music and even worse DJ's. It was so bad that at one point my friend N, who had her i-pod in her pocket, whipped it out and started dancing to the beat of her own tune. Literally. But then things started looking up. The best thing about Milanese men, is that when they buy you a drink, they do not see it as an all access pass to your underpants, a la men in Rome, and given my strange talent for getting random men to buy me drinks (hooray for free drinks!), the firewater was flowing in plentitude. And then I met D, a very sweet man, who just wanted to talk, smoke and dance with me and of course, buy me drinks. Now, I had assumed he was gay, because your average Gaydar is all but useless in Milano. For example, one of the straightest men I know in Milan is a shop assistant. At Balenciaga. Anywho, after discovering that he was not gay the hard way (he had a boner when we tangoed. AWKWARD.) we decided to just be friends.

HOWEVER, there was a guy, whose name I cannot remember for the life of me (which is a real crying shame you have NO idea) so we'll just call him Stripy Shirt, because that's what he was wearing, was checking me out, from practically the moment we walked into the club. He was not the best looking man in the world (God, I have become such an Italiana) but there was just something about him that just made my blood sing. Oy vey. So finally after doing the subtle eye flirting thing for the better part of an hour, I walked up to him, asked him his name, and then told him to stop staring at me. He laughed. Can you believe it? And then I knew I had to have him. Or at least possess him just for the night. He was tall, long legged, great ass, strong shoulders and a wonderfully firm nose (wobbly nasal cartilage throws me off), was wearing glasses and had eyes so green it looked like someone had melted olive oil in his irises. (Mamma mia, now I'm waxing poetic about a man whose name I don't even remember. Go, me!) Terrible teeth, though, but I am getting accustomed to that now.

So, we were talking, flirting, baiting eachother and then I called him an ass and he called me a 'stronsa' (which is somewhere between bitch and shit-head) and then he hit me. It was a playful slap, but that was all it took. So I punched him. And then he laughed and my heart just exploded. And then I hit him again, and he hit me back. He let me choke him, too, and then he grabbed my wrists, and he kissed me. And I bit him, because he hadn't asked if he could (we already had rules you see) and he bit back, which made my little S&M heart go all aflutter, you have no idea. So we basically had the best pseudo bondage wrestling session on the dancefloor of a club, and at this point, I would have stripped down naked and brayed like a donkey if he had asked me to, I tell you, such was my lust for this man (whose name I don't even remember!!!!). And then we went to the bathroom together, and when I came out, he was gone...I don't have his number, don't remember his name, and the irony of it is that he was the most interesting man I have met in a looooooooooooooooooong time. Like, years, literally. The last time I met a man this crazy was when I lived in Rome, and I thought he was one of a kind (shout out to Senor Loco). Until this guy. And he just blew out of my life, like a fart in the wind. And I know, this is so '9 and a 1/2 Weeks', but I had a flash forward and I could just imagine how incredible the sex would have been. Holy Jesus

And all he gave me to remember him by was this lovely little hickie on my neck...

Anyway, I am going to go sleep of the rest of my four Long Island Iced Teas and two gin and tonics.

Belle-o-rific xxx

PS- after the night, I realized that F was a little bit justified in checking up on me. And that I am pretty much over him.

PPS- T is coming on thursday!!!!!!!

I am trying a new diet. it’s called The Poverty and Cigarettes Diet, as trademarked by your very own Miss B. Because I have put on FOUR KILOS ie. a small Shetland Pony, if not Amy Winehouse’s whole head of hair, in the past three months. And if you think about it, it is actually cheaper to exist on air and a pack a week, because food is just something I can barely afford rght now, and all my alcohol is bought for me by other people (shout out to all my pseudo boyfriends!). Hooray for unemloyment and cheap nicotine. Although, I think we all know that this diet wil go swiftly out the window when I get to the point where I am smoking rollies. Because let’s be real, smoking something you rolled yourself is only glamorous when Johnny Depp does it. To be fair.

In other news, up until this morning, I was totally winning the ‘battle of wills’ with F. He sent me a message this morning saying how he couldn’t wait to see me. Which I ignored, as is my wont. And then when I asked him to call me, he IGNORED MY TEXT MESSAGE. The nerve of some people! And if you need help finding the sarcasm in that one, I cry for you. Anyway, so I am now at a disadvantage, because he was totally my bitch this weekend. And then I think I tipped the scales in his favor by sending him a message (or two, I have to be honest) and he didn’t respond. Ugh. My low self control and self esteem is amazing if not totally terrifying in that totally unneccessary bad plastic surgery kind of way.

Though in my opinion, he was probably with the wifelet. (Ahem! Sorry, that was my cynicism talking. We have now sedated her.)

I think the problem with the two of us is that our trust has been eroded to the point where we don’t want to give in at all and just be at ease with eachother and just give a little. He has been monumentally scarred, and told me that he was probably never going to be in love again, not if he could help it, in any case, and I agreed with him. (And now it’s time to once again acknowledge that P1 is a collosal A-hole, and I am still hurt by that whole mess). So I know where F is coming from, and I feel akin to him in that we are still suffering from injuries past. I have picked up another emotional cripple. Oh, joy.

My horoscope told me off today for seeking the same kind of man, because it was obviously what I was seeking - that man whom I can never have (best symbolised by my father, if we want to get all Freudian about it), someone who is always seems so cool and well put together, who is never ruffled and always in charge, and I think it is because that is the person whom I would like to be. Y’know, instead of the squallid emotional and financial mess which I currently am. But then they all turn out to be, much like my much detested Papa, a fucking mess-o-potamia of catastrophic proportions on the inside, which I then feel is my responisibility to clean up (good times). So I guess that that is why I have become the human equivaent of an abused dogs shelter. Huzzah.

Anyway, now that I know what my pattern of behaviour is (only taken me 23 years to figure it out - go team!), I am determined to change the way I respond to all these bleeding heart, wounded in the soul types. No more consoling them about previous heart breaks and being the shoulder. That’s what their friends are for.

I am not their friend, I am the person they are sleeping with. And besides, tears kil my boner. And I swear to God, if one more guy cries in front of me, I am going to go postal on someone. Like Courtney Love postal, too. I am not fucking around, people. Woman on the verge, here. When F cried (and he did, big salty tears, too), I was tempted to put my fist through that pretty face of his. GOD. If I sound insensitive and unfeeling, it’s because I am. They all need to take a large shot of testosterone and deal. Like the rest of us do. I only ever cry at moments of extreme emotional fracture (which are few and far between, f-your-i) or when I am trying to get out of trouble, and barely/rarely where other people can SEE me. Jeez. No pride, these chaps, I swear.

Anyway, that be the word.

Reports from Roma to follow.

Beeeeeelle-ze-bubble!

Well, I am totally stoked.

First of all, I was pleasantly surprised when F, who is usually a flake (and as a fellow flake, I feel no shame in calling him that), called me today and asked if I was free to see him for a couple of hours this evening. Well. Colour me pink and call me boner! Of course, any chance to meet with him, his usually erect penis (I can’t even tell you what an ego booster it is to see a gorgeous man go ga-ga over you on an almost daily basis. hehe) and his wonderfully soft lips and tight ass...okay, now I digress. But any chance to see him and be in his magnificent presence (and by presence I mean HAWTNESS), and just to have fun and shock him a little, which I do every time, is like candy to a chubby teenager, basically. And I quote, ‘How can the same man who makes me so mad. Girl you know what he did? Turn right around and make me so glad. Oooh girl you know what he did? I love the way he talks, I love the way he thinks, I love the way that he treats his mamma, I love that gap in between his teeth...’

Because the truth is that he makes me happy, as awkward as our conversations can occasionally be (god bless language discrepancies), especially when he goes into Papa Bear mode, which is what I call when he is dispensing advice and feeling all superior, and I just want to slam the nearest rock into his head...I would still rather be with him for a couple of hours, if only to study him like rat in my proverbial science project, than not see him. At least then I know where he is and what he is up to. (Oh trust issues, wilst thee never disappear?)

So, I was meant to go an a date with this guy, V, earlier in the night, but when F barged in, I had to reschedule to accomodate everyi]one into my schedule. Of cawssss. So I went on a date with V, who is basically the world’s sweetest man and we talked, he ate (and felt none the better for it. I guess F was right, Italians just HATE Japanese food, which is a crime in my humble) and I drank some more. I have to confess that I was pretty much in the hole after my minor drinking sesh with F. Well, we both were, F and I, because as pretty as the man is, his booze tolerance is much like that of a pre-natal infant (Cheap date ahoy!). And F and I then got carried away making out and such (‘Maybe in a metro station in Milan’, I say, and she knows who she is). In any case, V was totally smitten with the fact that I am a moderately serious person with actual ambitions, apparently a rare thing for grls of my age in these parts. Who knew. And then I proceeded to scare the shit out of him by saying that I wanted to get married (look my testosterone evels are so high right now that I am beyond factor ten on my Give-a-shit-o-meter, okay?) and settle down. It seems that he thought I was just down to have sex and partay. Poor thing. Probably thought he’d won the lottery. Guess not. Bless ‘im.

In other news, T, my insane and wonderful, beautiful, Porsche-driving Bulgarian is coming to Milano, for an extended weekend just to see ME. Well, okay he has meetings with Bulgari and Tods on Friday, but he is staying the weekend at his own cost (no mean feat in this town) just so he can spend time with me. Awwwwww. Come on, give it up, it is pretty sweet of him. And no, there wil be no sex. This is my future husband we are talking about. Gotta give the man something to dream about. Ya know. Haha! Seriously, though, I am aching to see someone who knew me before this crazy shit started happening in my life. And by crazy shit, I do mean the city of Milano. Blessed be. And I am sosososososososooso glad that it is him who is coming, and that he meant what he said and that we might have a chance to really make something of this and maybe have some sort of relationship. Although the way my life is going, there is more chance of my being hit by a thunderbolt than that ever happening.

Fear not, amigos, I have bought myself a trusty Life Helmet, and I am making full use of it. Even in my most life suspending moments (the man I actually like, T, calling whilst I was kissing the man I currently like, F). I don’t know if that makes me a twisted person, but at the moment, it’s all I’ve got. SO I am hanging onto it.

That be the werd ya herd, berds.

Belle, all up ya ears xxx

Well.

Cut off my legs and call me shorty.

I had previously started to realise the fact that a good deal of the Italian men online were either already in relationships and were either just fucking around, wasting time, or wanted to play when the cat (wife/girlfriend/mother, call it what you will) was away, but the majority of them were basically just looking to get laid. Which was all well and dandy because I was not ever going to date those men. Hah! Well, that was the intention, in any case. And yet here I am, innundated with a shitload of penises, who come on all sweet and nice, but are all really just hoping to get my knickers off and explore the finer points of my anatomy. If you know what I mean.

Perhaps I am an idiot (which is actually starting to seem more and more likely every day, you have no idea) but I am looking for love. Real love. Again. Despite the fact that it seems increasingly probable that I am just incapable of caring about anybody but myself, or doing/giving anyone any part of myself. And the fact that no one else on the earth seems to share that motive in life, a belief in which I am wholly justified.

Every time I open up to someone, and show them a little sliver of the Real Me, I get fucked over. BIGTIME. I try not to judge the people in my life, absent of the need to break them down and understand them (which does occasionally call for a more detached analysis of, which I admit might every now and then sound judgemental), but for the most part, my whole philosophy with my friends is ‘Live and let live’. Come as you are, be who you are, because we all just deserve to be accepted freely and loved for who we are. I don’t know, maybe I slipped up and took a ‘Hippy’ pill by accident when I was a kid. But that’s just how I am. It would seem, however, that I might just be the only person in the world like that.

So I am making the decision to let it go. I have accepted the fact that there is no one on the face of the earth, save my sister, with whom I will ever be able to share myself, my true Self (fucked up shit and all) with, and so I have basically given up trying. No more sharing, no more talking, no more. No more. And it makes me sad because this is making me bitter and cynical, two things I never ever in my life wanted to become. But then again, perhaps it’s just the world’s way of telling me that life is tough and I just need to buy a helmet. Well, Fate, please consider your message delivered. I am buying that helmet as we speak.

Ladies and gentlemen of the world, I quit.

In other news, I have come to the conclusion that our friend F, as pretty as he is, is not really destined to play a great role in my life, save being the guy who buys my booze and makes out with me every now and then. And that, believe it or not, is actually preferable for me. He is the kind of person who crawls into your life, gets under your skin and then slowly poisons you to death with his toxic narcissism. So, on that count, I am back to square one. And he now wants to spend the night with me (gosh, what a lucky gal I am!), ‘just to have the sensation of me’, as he put it. Wow. Really. He really said that. Where do they get those lines?! In a previous, and FAR more stupid and gullible incarnation ie. BP (Before P1), that shit would have made my head spin and my toes curl. In this incarnation, it makes me laugh so hard that my gin and tonic comes sprouting out of my nose. (Which is a waste of perfectly good alcohol, in my opinion).

So, I give up this whole dating thing. apparently it’s a crapshoot. Who knew. So goodbye to G, little G, L, V, F et al. I am keeping Frenchie, though, because he is a totally stand up guy and very sweet. He means well, and he did warn me that he was an emotional no-go zone. which I, like a fool, ignored. Anyway, anyway, anyway, I am dunzo. Of course, I fully reserve the right to call them when I need something (ie. a free drink). Because whilst I may occasionally be stupid, I ain’t no dummy.

Hell’s Belle xxx

PS- My life is not a novel by Balzac, it’s a Steven Spielberg movie. But like, ‘Schindler’s List’ and ‘Munich’ Spielberg, not ‘E.T’ Spielberg. My life is Sophie’s fucking Choice.

Well, there have been a few wonderful and not so wonderful developments in the Land Of B since we saw eachother last.

Firstly, our friend F, who, whilst being very sweet and insanely hot, has been pushed off our radar and almost 100% by his own doing. He once again went AWOL, which is fine with me, I am not a specifically needy person (“lies, lies, all lies!”), and would have continued being fine with me had I not known that he lived with Charlene, the crazy ex and that they possibly shared a bedroom. So, basically, I cannot deal with this (which I think is pretty fucking justified, no?) and am doing what I usually do, which is closing down the fort and running away. In any case, despite the strange feeling that I got from him (I won’t jinx myself by saying it out loud), and the fact that he was a good and honest human being (which again made me feel like I had struck gold after years of wading through horse shit), I have to let it/him go. Never mind that we had quite the bust up the last time we saw eachother, and I don’t think I will be speaking to him any time soon, I have decided that it is over. If he wants to call me and make a go of it, I am open to it, but until then, I am going to be occupied with my school work and getting some kind of job to pay for my life, because much as I love it, it doesn’t come cheap.

In other news, I had a sweet and lazy weekend with Frenchie. There was sex (mighty good sex, if I do say so myself), food (an amazing lobster and spaghetti fusion thingy that would blow your mind) and all the cuddles and love stuff I could handle, and now I feel much better. He could tell I was down about something, but I didn’t want to tell him about F, just because...well, he didn’t really need to know that. And besides, that’s a little cruel, don’t you think? Anyway, I told him about my troubles with G and how irritated I was by the whole debacle and he sympathised. And then when I said ‘men suck’, he chimed in and agreed with me. Which makes me wonder just what exactly is going on with him. He just seems soooo unbelievably sad again.

Most of the time, I feel like he and I are two shipwreck survivors holding onto eachother for dear life on a raft we’ve constructed out of what was left of our prospective ships. And this weekend just solidified that feeling. Much as I know that it is not helping either of us (most especially him), it is comforting to know that someone else in the world is hurting just as much as me.

ANYwho, life isn’t all pity parties this week. So my friend G, my wonderful cutie pie (cute like a squirrel, not cute like a fox) DJ friend came in from NYC and we hung out. It was nice to see someone who knew me before I got here and things fell apart that my center could not hold. We went to his gig, myself and a couple of girlfriends, and we had the VIP treatment all night, which was fun, I cannot lie. And I am going to go hang out in Rome with him next weekend (it’s where he lives) and see the city of my re-birth as well as my asexual, male BFF, D, and my gay brother, S. And have a weekend away from here. Because I think it is fair to say that this is the most depressing city I have ever lived in, and I have lived in some pretty crazy places, believe me.

In other news, I have been thinking recently of my wrecked relationship with P1, in large part because F reminds me of him so insanely. (How is it possible that God hath cast two such creatures on this planet?) But anyway, it just reminded me of all the things that went wrong with my relationship with P and how I had always said to myself that if I could have had it to do over again, I would have and I would have done it differently. Now I come to realise that I cannot do it at all, but maybe that’s how I would have done it differently; I would have run in the opposite direction and spared myself nearly eight (going on nine) months of depression, tears, heartache and emotional scarring. It’s been almost a year since we broke up, it’s been more than a year since we first met, and I am just realising this: I would have been married almost a year. We would have been happy almost a year. We might have had a baby. I might have been a year into marriage with the love of my life. And as hard as it is to come to this conclusion, I don’t think, as much as I would like it, as much as I would want it, that I can fall in love again. That bastard, because he was an unholy terror (believe me, I still have nightmares about it), has ruined me for life, and I just have to deal with it.

And you know what’s strange, I can still remember the way he smelled. The different ways he smelled, I mean. When he was asleep, when he was just out of the shower, when he had been working all day, when he had been in the wind and the rain, when he was sweaty...his cologne. His hair, under his arms, his legs. Everywhere. And I miss it. I miss his skin, I miss his bones. I miss him making love to me, and the way he would look at me, like I was the only woman on earth.

I miss him and it still hurts. It hurts the same every day, only I am able to forget about it more and more every day. And of course, there are the stupid distractions, like Frenchie, to keep me from throwing myself off a bridge (and as I write this, I am listening to ‘I Will Survive’ by Gloria Gaynor), but it still hurts. I have to make peace with my pain, though. I hadn’t even allowed myself to think about him for almost three months now, so I allowed myself this one wallow, thanks very fucking much.

Wow, enough blog for ya? Haha!

Belle xxx

As a post script- let me just add that I have been emailing with F and the man is once again trying to cloud my (what's slightly worse than) better judgement. Sheesh.

So, I am pretty sure that it is officially over with our friend F. We had out last bust up last night. Basically, he's a jerk who is all but still in a relationship with his ex girlfriend, and I think they might even still share a bed. Which takes it from strangely incestuous to all out bad news bears, no? Basically, we fought about the fact that he still lives with her, so always has to be accountable for his whereabouts, which just reeks to high heaven of still being in a relationship (I see the signs now, and I am taking heed, believe me)and the fact that we can never hang out for more than a certain ammount of time. The man could have my pants off literally in one look, and he has never even tried to sleep with me. Which is both chivalrous and suspect. Amirite?!
In any case, as much as he says he likes me, and all of that good jazz, he's hiding something, and it's pissing me off.

So, he is done and done. I can't be bothered with him, with IT anymore, basically.

Pity. I liked him.

Moving on, my friend the DJ is coming tonight, to play. I think he might like me, but I think I will make it perfectly clear that I am a no go zone, from now on. I am man free and rock'n'rollin' with it. Ugh. and that is just the way it's going to be.

In other news, I get to go and have a sexy sunday with Frenchie this weekend. I am so stoked, I can't even tell you. Sexy sunday is basically a weekend of taking loooooong baths, having tons of sex and eating. My three favourite things in the world. Woo hoo!! Merry hannukah to me!

Love, babies!

So, once again, I find that I am fate's ass puppet.

Of course.

Well, m'darlings, I feel that the time has indeed come to throw the towel in and throw myself to the lions. Ie., I quit. The world of men was obviously not meant to be for me, and so, I quit.

Our darling and really quite charming Italian, F, it turns out has QUITE the skeleton in his closet. And my darlings, it will blow your mind. He still lives with his ex-girlfriend. That's right, in the same appartment, sharing the same bathroom, kitchen, living room, cats etc. And, no, I didn't even ask about the bedroom, because he's very honest (one of the few) and he WOULD have told me. And quite frankly, I do not think that my poor little heart can handle that much more of his honesty, tbqh. I mean, really first Frenchie with his gay ex girlfriend whom he may or may not (HE IS!) be in love with. And now THIS b.s?! In the words of the great Whitney Houston 'hell to the naw!'

In other news, I am sucking, at school. Like 'choking on the exhaust pipe' bad. And don't give me any of that 'you're great' bullshit. i know i'm sucking like the proverbial transvestite hooker, okay?! I just wish I had one person in my life, whom when I said, 'wow, i really suck at this', would say 'yeah, babe, you really do. try something else or work harder till you get it right'. You know? I hate all that fake, mollycoddling nice-ness. It blows. I just want to be called out on my bullshit by someone who cares, and isn't doing it to be bitchy and mean, but because they genuinely want me to succeed.

God, I miss my mother.

If nothing else, when I fuck shit up, she says 'dude, you really fucked that one up', but she will still love me in the morning and make me want to do better the next day. That's right, I love my mummy. And I'm not ashamed to say it.

So there. And seeing as this evening marks the start of my easter break, I am on vaca and there is nothing anyone can do to stop me. My friend G of the DJ deck madness is in town this week, and I full expect to be a druken motherfucking mess until at least sunday night. At which point, there will be shenanigans aplenty to recount.

Peace, love and buona pasqua (happy easter) to you all

Belle xxx

After having decided that I would NOT be in contact with F, because I had no interest in chasing him, I decided that if he chose to contact me, I would respond. But if not, then fuck him. Another one bites the dust, right?

right.

Well, after ignoring me all weekend, guess who decides to suddenly answer my text message (which was sent yesterday, btw)?! Yep. And he tried to call me but I didn't hear my cellphone ring because I was in transit. Yerpz. He wants to see me tonight. And I said to call me back later because I had things to do.

(Like update my LiveJournal. Because I'm a narcissist like that.)

In any case, we spoke and so I might go and see him tonight if I don't fake sick and stay home and watch t.v instead. Hehe. But my horoscope says that it's going to be a great day for romance-y type stuff. So I might just go and see if he's interested in getting me liquored up and trying to take advantage of me. At a sushi restaurant.

Sound good?

Hehehe!

And rest assured, darlings, that there will be stories to tell you.

bisous,

belle

Well, I spent a long night alone last night. I basically avoided G last night, because I need his kind of trouble in my life like I need a bout of Herpes, right now. Harsh, but true. Basically, I just need to tell him that I love him with all my heart, but if he ever tries to grope me again, he’s going to find out what it’s like to sing in soprano.

As for the other (okay, one of) penis in my life, F, he is basically on the non-recieving end of my texts. He was supposed to stop by my place after work on friday before everyone came over, and we could just spend some time together (remember what I said about the fish thing), but he didn’t. I sent him a message asking him what happened, no response. So, he starts messaging me on saturday morning, asking if I had a good time the night before, I said ‘yes, it was amazing and i had a blast!’. To which he said nothing (I scoff). So I sent him a text message yesterday, sunday, asking how his weekend was. Dissed, again. So basically, he has been removed from the privelege of my company. For life. I do not have either the time or the inclination to be chasing after a man.

That’s right, I’ve got my balls back, and I’m not afraid to use ‘em.

In other news, Frenchie and I are talking again. He gave me some perspective on the ‘whole P2 having cancer’ issue and so he’s my bud again. I think we’re going to have sex again next week, but I’m not sure. I would sleep with someone else, but my field of choice is very barren, indeed, and I don’t like to swap sexual partners with such haste. Besides, if I let him go, whom am I going to have sex with on a regular basis and whose home am I going to escape to on the rare weekends when my roommate’s boyfriend is in town (don’t ask, it’s an Italian thing)?!!

Let’s face it, the man has his uses.

In other news, I have to start working out again. I have given up chocolate, pasta and fatty things. I am going the fish and steamed vegetables route. I will do it this time. I’ve given up smoking too. I only started six weeks ago, so it’s not like it was THAT hard. But on thursday I smoked too much, and ended up throwing up because of the overdose of nicotine and I decided that that was my sign to give it up before it ended me.

That’s all, folks.

Ugh. It strikes again.

So, my Man ADD is back, and boy is that flag waving high. I have gone from dating, mating and having fun tobeing tired, pissed off and wanting none. We start with my friend G, and I use the word friend verrrrry loosely, who tried to a) put the moves on me this afternoon repeatedly and b) wants me to come and meet his family. This, by the way from a man who I rarely touch and have never even kissed, alright? Now, I am partly to blame for this debacle, and I will explain why. In any other part of the world, when you have been hanging out with someone without making out, without going on romantic escapades (I have decided that dates are now escapades. learn to love it), without trying to get busy...it means you’re friends. JUST friends. Now, I had forgotten that in Italy, when you say to your male friends ‘Hey, I like hanging out with you, because you’re awesome’, it doesn’t mean (as it does in the rest of the world) ‘Hey, I like hanging out with you because you’re awesome’. It means ‘Let’s get naked and have lots of sex and babies’.

What do they put in the water over here that makes men think every woman in the western hemisphere wants their sex?! Anyway, we’re going to have a chat, G and I, one of these fine rainy Milanese days about that.

The second part of this, is that the man whose sex I DO want, is making himself available at absolutely NO given opportunities. Really, it’s like catching a wet fish trying to get him to see me. Which then leads me to suspect that he’s either married, has a girlfriend or is involved with the Mob. And it’s getting hard to decide which of the above would make me feel like a bigger idiot. So I am letting him go. Matter of fact, I am letting them ALL go.

I can’t do this anymore.

Seriously. I lack the time, energy or ‘Give-a-shit-ittude’ to keep going with this mess. It’s like swimming in mud trying to find a decent man. And so I quit.

In other news, (Anster5, I did take your advice), I went out dancing!

And it was heavenly. I laughed, I drank, I partayed and it was sooooooo unbelievably good to just be with people and have a great time. So, the girl is back, and happy to be that way. After having eaten half a loaf of bread today though (hey, that alcohol ain’t gonna absorb itself!), I feel a little chubster.

But that, too, shall pass.

Love, love!

So.

The small ironies of the country I now inhabit are slowly seeping in. For example, everyone in this pit of iniquity smokes, right? Right. But in an effort to sanitize the country for the roughly ten people who DON’T smoke, they have banned smoking indoors. Which, and I’m not quite sure if the government gave this very much thought (my money’s on NO), then means that everyone a) spends all their time outside smoking and not working/teaching/doctoring and b) the fantastically smog filled air now gets a 6 times-daily infusion of nicotine. Secondly, for a country in which dentistry and deodorant seem to have taken a backseat to shopping and bad sneakers, everyone is incredibly preoccupied with having the usual post-cancer stick bad breath. Sales of chewing gum in Italy are through the roof, apparently.

Just your daily dose of Italian anecdotes.

Anyway, this is how my life is currently going. I am single, I am at school and I am broke. “And when I say broke, I mean but not a farthing!” I have absolutely no money. And when I say no money, I mean that I am literally living on my last 20euros. EVER. Whoever said that living in poverty in Europe was romantic was obviously smoking some pretty heavy Opium. For real. I am trying to drum up some work, (okay, admittedly not as hard as I could be drumming to be honest), but hopefully soon things will turn around and I can start maximizing, as opposed to minimizing my shithole of a life.

In other newses, I am on the fence about F. As much as he really is the kind of man I have been wanting to date (tough, strong, kind and gentle, honest, crazy, responsible, serious, hot, etc etc), I just can’t seem to get all excited about it. I was, I really was. But I woke up this morning, and maybe it’s because I was insanely hungover (which is what I get for drinking roughly half a bottle of gin), but I just couldn’t get it up for him anymore. And of course the man is gorgeous, and raging hormones aside, my dinners and drinky-poos won’t pay for themselves, but that whole Love malarkey is so over for me. I am dunzo with all of that mumbo jumbo.

We were talking last night and he said that after his break up from Charlene, he became cynical and closed down. That, after my recent dating fiascos (which in Italian actually translates to ‘fucking disaster’, F-your-I), is what has happened to me. I’m not a cynic about it, not at all. To quote one of my favourite films, “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return”. I believe that it exists and it is out there, I have just come to accept that it might not be for me after all. Sadly enough.

God, that sounds a bit maudlin, doesn't it?

Well cut off my legs and call me shorty.

I went on a date last night with all around hottie and Italian man of mystery, F. At first, I was very nervous and stressed out mostly because it's always nerve wracking meeting someone you have a boner for. But in my new and more zen state, at the end, I put on a sweater, pants and went suuuuuuuu-uuuuuuuper low key. And then I saw him and my heart skipped a beat.

Of course.

Because he's hot, he makes me want to rip his clothes off and makes me want to get fertilised. As they do, them men-types. Of course, it has been a record four days since I last had sex, so it might just be the hormoneeez talking. But fluctuations aside, it ended up being a very interesting evening. We met up at about 7pm, because he had to go to a business dinner and I didn't mind, I wanted to do my laundry and paint my toenails anyway so the sooner it was over, in my mind, the motherfucking better, right? Right, because I'm a narcissist like that. So, we started out drinking a little bit, talking, being flirty (me being shy because my first G'n'T hadn't kicked in yet) and then I cracked him open, and it began.

Oy vey. So he tells me about his past relationship. And I'm thinking that there must be something in the water in Europe because all these women are basically witches (well, from what I've heard) and how it left him ruined blah, blah, blah, blah. And I am sitting there, feeling that we have known each other for ever the way he's talking, and then he tells me, after one strawberry daiquiri and one G'n'T, that he's quasi drunk (and I'm a cheap date, I ask you?!) and so we decide, as you do when you're quasi drunk, to just go all out and get hammered. He blows off his business dinner, and like all good booze-hounds, we then go hell for leather to get sloshed. Good times. In between that, he's telling me (in a non cheesy/creepster Italian way, if you can imagine it) that I'm beautiful, that he loves me smile, my eyes all that good shit. And meanwhile, because I like to torture these poor sods, I proceed to eat the strawberry from his drink reaaaaally slowly and watch him start to salivate. Literally couldn't finish his sentence. It was like taking candy from a baby.

So we finally kissed. Yes, this would be the same F who didn't make a move on me the first time we went out. Last night, homeboy made his move. And how. we ended up, as is the custom when I get a little pie-faced, with me sitting in his lap, drinking and being a fine example of the Best Little Whorehouse in Texas (rent it, it's a Dolly Parton movie. 'Nuff said).

So, we're talking, well, he's talking, and mostly about life and his crazy ex-girlfriend. And really, what I realized was that I was in love with their histories. Take Frenchie (poor sod) for example, what got me was the fact that he was man enough to have been in a relationship with O for ten years. And our good friend P1 (Jesus, not him again), he had been married and had a kid. And I started thinking that what I wanted was not the actual guy but the story that he had had with the woman before him. As F was talking, retelling his really quite Aaron Spelling-esque history with this girl Charlene (a REAL NAME, oh for joy!) whom he delighted in telling me had breast implants (go figure), I started thinking that and then when I thought back on it, I couldn't believe that I had never thought about that before. I mean, My God, it explains a lot about the sorts of men I've been dating, and how I basically cannot decipher between the ones that have had that crazy backstory and really don't want to do it ever again (P1, Frenchie, P2), and the ones who are recovered and ready to move on (G, T, and F).

So, basically, it was a very interesting night. I'm thinking I should open up a shelter for fucked up men, I seem to attract them like bees to honey.

And if I had had the choice, let me rephrase, if I had had my WAY last night, he would have fertilised me. Several times. But now, I think that maybe I'll make him wait. Like, until May.

Is that cruel? Hahaha!

Belle with two L's and lotsa attitude xxxx

So, it turns out planets do occassionally collide, after all.

So, I was feeling the great depression that comes with sitting in the dark, which is what I was doing. When I turned on the tv, there was this really cheesy Sheryl Crow song on the All Music channel and it gave me my hope back. It doesn’t matter if I never get married, if I never find that one person I’m looking for. Because I have my family, and if I really want to, I can adopt a baby and make my own family out of my friends and people whom I choose to be, in what my friend called, my ‘clan’. It doesn’t all depend on this ‘man’ I’m searching for. And I need to remove myself from the madness cycle that I have been in, and realise that the rest of my life has been neglected because I am freaking out that I will never find anyone to marry?!!!!

I’m 23, not 43. I need to take a big dose of ‘Chill the fuck out and get over myself. Because this isn’t healthy.

In other news, I am working on cultivating new friendships with the girls at school and moving outside the claustrophobic little bubble I had been trapped in with C and S. C, of course, I am still enamoured by, but S can go take a long walk off a short cliff.

Really.

Wow.

I just had an insane-icus thought. I seriously thought, 'maybe I should call Frenchie and see how he's doing. Let him know he's got a friend if he ever needs one, maybe even 'fess up to the fact that the jig is up and I know I'm just a warm vagina'. And then I came to my senses and I thought, fuck him.

Seriously. Fuck. Him.

I am not giving him shit from now on. I am not giving anyone in my life who is of questionable motives an inch from this point forward. I always give people wahahayyyy too much room and keep giving them chances when it is clear that they are just fucking me over (and in his case, just plain old fucking me) and I am done being Fate's arse-puppet. If you are not in my life for a good reason, and if you are not adding to my life, or making me happy that you are around, then please gather your bags because this is your stop.

I am over you.

To that end, all the shitty half friends that are sort of hanging by a thread can go, too. My barely there friendship with S, my former gay husband and all around friend in good and bad (not to be confused with Frenchie and O's friend S), is the first on the funeral pyre. I'm not going to turn into a total bitch to these people, but they will get the hint, after a while, that they are no longer a part of my tribe.

And that, babies, is the word.

It’s over. Basically.

So last night, I had Japanese food (real Japanese not this fusion Italian bullshit that they do so well over here) with S, Frenchie’s friend and O’s best friend. That’s right, we are now fraternising with the enemy. But I wouldn't really all him the enemy as I heart him muchly and he is the culmination of every gay man I wish I could be (y'know, part Freddy Mercury, part Mika, with a splash of John Galliano thrown in for shits and giggles). And get this, he basically tells me that Frenchie and O will at some point get back together, they have broken up before, and basically I am something for Frenchie to do whilst he’s waiting for her to get over her lesbian phase and get back together with him. Ouch.

Well. It was all I could do to keep from weeping, even after my incredibly large Long Island Iced (Hangover) Tea.

So basically, I have decided to do this. I will date, and I will let him know I am dating, because I don’t like playing games and...No, no, no, no, no. You know what? Scratch that. I won’t tell him. What I do with my life is absolutely none of his therapy-needing-ass’ business. But I will keep sleeping with him because the man, as I have said before, is the A-Rod of orgasms. And if I find that I like anyone else better than him, I will drop him like the hot potatao that he is and move on quite swiftly. Because he’s basically been a hugely callous arse with me, and I might have acted differently if he had been as honest with me as S. I would have accepeted that it was just sex and the occassional drunken good time, if he had just told me that that was what he wanted. I’m an easy going girl (which is NOT to be confused with an easy girl, btw’s) and I would not have taken such umbrage to it and to this situation, if I had known all of this mess from the get-go.

And so now, I am free to roam as I please. And I plan to roam far and wide. T, my beloved and slightly deranged Porsche driving Bulgarian (remember him?) is coming to Milano at the begining of next month and I fully plan to show him my inner light (take that how you will. Hehe!) because he’s the kind of man I could see myself with. Kind, big hearted, generous, sweet, intelligent and fun to be with...and he’s cute to boot. Never mind the fact that Eastern Europeans are apparently my cosmic cup of tea (Nature/Fate/the Gods keep sticking me with them for whatever reason), and they are mostly armed with large egos (always fun to topple) and large penises (always fun to...well, you get the point).

So I am basically man free for the time being and that is the way I like it. I give up on men on this continent for now. They are a little more than I am equipped to handle right now. And truth be told, I am ready to get married and have a real life, and these poor bastards are still eight years old on the inside. I am not prepared to spend the next ten years of my life playing catch up. Sorry folks, that just ain’t the way Jupiter turns, you know? And I am not willing to have my ow children, let alone finish raising the children I’m dating. So, it’s an ugly truth but that is just the way it has to be for now. A couple of weeks ago, it would have been impossible for me to be this cavalier about it, to be this detatched, to even consider taking this route, because I was so terrified of being alone in Milano, of not feeling as though I had anyone. As dysfunctional as our ralationship is, heis my lodestone, the one person I have known the longest since I have been here. And so to let him go would be letting go of my security blanket.

On the other hand, I am 23 years old. Blanky’s are for children. It’s time to grow the fuck up.

Beeeeeee xxxx

Hello my dahlings,

I am in the process of re-discovering the joys which making a list and ticking things off on it can give. I, friends, am a list-maker. And like many things in life, you either ARE a list maker, or you are NOT a list-maker. So. What am I trying to say about my life in my long winded (surprise, surprise) way? I am trying to say is that Little Miss Sunshine, which is what I call my super-organised, Tracy Flick-esque alter ego (and if you know who Tracy Flick is, you are my future baby daddy/momma), is BACK, bitches. And woe betide anyone who wants to fuck with me. I am on a mission to succeed and let not the naysayers and the backstabbers get in my way because basically, I am gunning for the finish line. (Wow. Could I cram more metaphors into that paragraph?!).

I have been thinking, internally preparing, I suppose, for this period in my life. Because I have been drifting along thus far, thinking 'oh poor me, poor me'. Like, 'Oh, I have no money, poor me. Oh, my friends don't think I'm cool enough, poor me. Oh, I am homeless, poor me'. Well, as I said to myself today, it's time to grow the fuck up, bunny rabbit. This is where they sort the boys from the men, and basically, if I don't wake up, smell the mildew and get my rear in gear, I am likely to get swept up in the fray and swept away (Ha! I rhymed!).

I am working in a world, and in a place, where anything is possible if I want it, and if I work for it enough. I came here to be the best, to do my best. I came here to make contacts and make connections, get my work out there and get somewhere with this talent that I apparently have. And not least because I owe it to my mother, who has been grinding herself down to the bone for me for the past 23 years, but because I owe it to myself. I only have one life to live, and I will be DAMNED if I'm going to let it go to waste because some kids in my class have planet sized egos that crush anyone in their path, y'know? I got some ego in my too (and yes, I hear you laughing!)

So. That's where I am today. I am achieving. I have found the apartment of my dreams in the best neighborhood in Milan, I am hopefully going to have some students soon and make SOME money at least, I may have the chance to work on a project which doesn't make me want to barf (No offense to the brilliant folks in my last group project, but it was complete bunk). And hopefully this whole mess with Frenchie will blow over, because it's giving me indigestion. I was going to say, 'and then I can be happy', but I have also come around to thinking that happiness is away of travelling, not a destination.

And THAT, honeys, is all she wrote. Well, for now.

Belle with two L's.

Well, well, well.

It seems like every time I turn my back, there is just someone waiting to stab me in it. Jeeeeeheeeeez. So basically, it has come to this. My former gay husband and homo baby daddy, S, and I have just disassociated completely. We had started to drift apart, and I thought it was cool, after all, the first friends that you make at school aren't always the people that you end up liking or being friends with at the end. So, okay, but I thought we were still capable of hanging out and having a good time together, every now and then. Apparently not. He straight up dissed me this weekend, and sparing you the really quite boring details, but suffice to say, I get the message, he doesn't want to hang out with me. And it's cool.

In other news, my friend G, whom I think is a very cool guy (the cop who's always on duty but never really working) asked me to come to the the south of Italy with him and meet his family, and stay with them at the beach in their beach house. He wants me to meet his mother.

Yes, I too, see the glaring stop light, located right next to the 'Are You Fucking Crazy?!' exit sign.

In other news, I think that Frenchie and I are going to be alright. I called him yesterday to thank him for helping me move, and for having me over at his place for a week and not killing me. A mean feat, if ever there was one. And he was perfectly sweet and he seemed happier to hear from me that he usually was, and it made me smile. He was the way I remembered him, and for a second I forgot that world was a fucked up gray place and that I was Fate's arse puppet.

In other news, I am feeling very active and pro-active today. The world is a better place. And my horoscope says that it is going to be a great day, followed by an fantastic week.

Belle Grey xxxx

So this is my ardent and painful dilemma, and before you hit the ‘I told you so’ button, just hear me out.

I think I may be falling for Frenchie. And at the same time, getting to the point where it is either all or nothing, and his half-in/ half-out bullshit isn’t going to cut it anymore. We spent the week together, which was a mistake if ever there was one, believe me. And the more entrenched I become with him, the more I keep meeting these fabulous people who make me glow and make me feel like perhaps I am missing something. I mean, I have been making all these great friends and they make me laugh, they make me feel lighter and happier, and then I spend time with him, and my heart gets heavier and I feel greedy and guilty and all sorts of horrendous things that I never used to feel whe I saw him. I used to be elated, I used to be overjoyed to see him, thinking that perhaps he felt the same way. But apparently he didn’t, I was just a temporary distraction from the real things in life that he was missing, namely O. And now, after he killed all my hope (stupid as it was) that we might have been something better, I cannot find it in myself to keep being optimistic that someday he will get past this. The man sems to be wallowing in his misery, and relishing in his pain as if it’s all he’s got left, and much as I understand what a horrendous situation he is in and how much he must have been hurting, MY GOD, he must really be a masochist the way he holds onto his wounds.

I moved out of my last apartment in a blaze of glory and drama the likes of which have never been seen before, and proceeded to spend the next week in what I can aptly describe as the 7th circle of Dante’s Inferno. Don’t get me wrong, I very much appreciate the man, and all he has done for me, in particular, the last week, but it was awkward living in his apartment (which is eseentlially still O’s flat, too) with her boyfriend, her cat, AND to add salt to my pepper, her wondeful BFF, whom I am enamoured with. And all the while trying to maintain some sense of happiness and inner calm.This girl has everything I’ve ever wanted. And it’s not fair, it’s really not. But I’ve started thinking that perhaps I really would be better off being truly single and suffering a little bit (mostly dealing with feelings of self induced stupidity) and hope that I will meet someoe someday who will make me feel happier and more complete. I could be really banal and say that at least I have my friends, I don’t even really have that many, so it’s mot and underlines my loneliness in a way that is truly heartbreking. And so as much as it really sucks to admit it, it is coming time for me to leave him. Two months, great track record, eh? Haha!

And something strange happened friday night, when I came back to his place from Milano, he was on the terrace, on the phone (which is what he does when he doesn’t want me to know what he’s talking about, or whom he is talking TO, more importantly) and after he got off the phone, he was depressed and grouchy, which spilled over into today and just kept going. And I think, that despite the fact that he told her not to call him or contact him again (and yet they’re still MSN messenger buddies, I hasten to add) that he was talking to her, or someone about her. And she once again fucked shit up, even from as far away as she is. And I just snapped. He wouldn’t talk to me about it, which is fine, he can keep all the secrets he wants, but I can’t take it anymore. So I let him chew over his madness and I went temporarily mad for the night, and this afternoon, he was more than happy to get rid of me, you have no idea.

So I am going to give this one a hiatus and call him today and thank him for all he did for me, sincerely and just chalk this ne up as a loss and move on. What else am I supposed to do? Keep pining after a man who is at a complete loss? Who barely even wants me around anymore? My self-esteem may be low, but my dignity is waving high and proud, buddy. I may not be over it now, but I am working on getting that way, and when I do get to that point, I will be gone, baby, gone.

And that’s all she wrote.