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Shit. I'm ready for my penis now...
I had random souless sex last night with a man I don't give a damn about who sort of knows my flat mate and thus crashed on our sofa on Saturday night where I found him asleep yesterday morning.
In short: We had a fun day. I fancied him. We got drunk. Bang.
Literally.
I was going to wrap this up with pretty words but I wanted to see what it looked like in black and white - stark and nasty.
I doesn't look good does it?
And all the way to work he was planning our next date, getting excited and asking which restaurant I wanted to go to and I was thinking:
'Shut up, I'm knackered and my head hurts and I never want to see you again because I was using you only it doesn't count because I didn't realise that I was doing it until now. You are good looking and everything but you lay floors for a living and I am a millionaires daughter so its not really got a hope in hell of working has it?'
But I said:
'Call me honey it sounds lovely'
And I will turn off my phone, ignore his calls and sit here hating myself for what I have become at 27 years old. A bitch and a slut...
Or in other words, I've turned into a man and I'm ready for my penis now.
Truth or Consequences, New Mexico
As a rule I have found 20six to be one of the nicest places that I have ever found. There is a real support and understanding from everyone even though often we are in very different circumstances. I have become safe and secure in this place and shared with you all my most intimate secrets because, (and I know this sounds odd) but I forget I am sharing (like big brother house members forgetting the cameras).
We are all very different people in this little community, married - single- men - women - teenagers but and this is the really nice bit we strive in the main part to understand that we are different and not to judge.
It would be easy for me to only ever blog completely politically correctly hoping to be liked and admired. But I am a seriously flawed person in many ways so what on earth would be the point? I have chosen for this blog to be a my diary and my best friend isobel will testify that it has helped me hugely to come to terms with both my good and bad points - I am a person who needs to see things in front of me and here they are. I was basically this or the therapist.
I made a throw away comment on my last entry about myself (I am actually scared of repeating it which is stupid and not what 20six is about so sod it)... I said on my last blog that I was a millionaires daughter. This is a fact about me in the same way that I am blond, I am tall, I drink too much. Fact not boast but fact. People who know me will know that this fact has caused me huge problems in my life, as well as the obvious benefits. It actually led to a very interesting non offensive discussion this morning which I was happy to have because I don't think I handle it very well sometimes and its great to know how I come across.
In the middle of the discussion though somebody was pretty mean to me - suggesting in a school-child way (and I remember those school children bullying me to death years ago) that I was boasting (when you read the contents of the entry you will laugh at that considering how rubbish I'm feeling today about my weekend antics).
I have learnt the hard way that labeling people is the easy thing to do in life, understanding the person behind the label is much harder and very few people take the time - 20six is the notable exception in this. I often fail myself - I labelled the boy from the weekend for example - I am badly flawed. FACT!
In conclusion - I mean not to offend with anything I write and will always apologise if I have, but I am who I am and I can't help that so if you don't like it BUGGER OFF my blog and don't come back, certainly don't write horrible things about something I can't change in my life.
If you do like who I am that's great and I'm so very glad that I got the opportunity to meet you so lets sit down and put the kettle on eh?
D x x
Life on my side of the fence...
Well, while we're on the subject let's talk a little more about it... If you don't want to read this please leave now.
My father came from nothing - less than nothing actually. Flea ridden bed shared with his sister and a large mongrel dog called Charlie. His mother, my Nana was a stunning Welsh Witch who wanted to be a film star. His father drank 6 pints a night and was 7 stone ringing wet because he never ate (none of them did unless the bakers had left-overs). Both my grandparents died of various cancers in their early 60's and I barely remember them. Apparently my mother says that they didn't like me much.
Anyway.... This poor past plus the death of his twin (like Elvis) gave my dad a massive desire not exactly to succeed but to be safe and to keep his family safe and the only way he knew how to do this was through money.
A naturally talented designer his story is probably from the outside at least the feel good tale of the year and by the time he retired last year he had his own business and was the most successful and well respected man in his field.
Was he right to work this hard? I don't know. I know that I never saw him when I was little and he was just a man with a suitcase full of chocolate and I would swap it for time with him in a snap.
I was still little when things started to change. One year my parents couldn't afford a tape player (true) and then suddenly the next we were all going to Disney World. I didn't know what it meant really because my mums rules meant it didn't hugely effect me.
I always had a Saturday job to pay for clothes, holidays and presents and I always went to comprehensive school. When I applied to Uni I honestly thought I would get a grant - so sheltered was I from where out family had ended up.
Now in real terms what does being a millionaires daughter mean? Well... I panic less than my friends. Even though they DON'T help I know my parents would if I were between jobs or had a crsisi. I have a safety net and I am probabaly the only 27 year old without a mortgage but with a house. Still, they do make me pay rent oddly enough.... Just to keep me real.
I don't get car's for Christmas (last year I got a bottle of perfume) and I don't have platinum cards stuffed in my Gucci purse.
What I do have though is a feeling that I have been given a chance to do so much and I am so lucky that I am in a constant state of hyper-panic that I am not taking full advantage of my lot. That is why I married in Vegas, went on reality TV and get drunk on champagne. That is why I can sometimes appear a shallow little space cadet. Fear that I am wasting something great. Which ironically makes me waste it even more.
So, does it effect me?
Yes Hugely. That is why I started blogging to try and make sense of things.
Would I give it up?
No, I haven't got the guts and I'm proud of my father, so I'm proud of his money
Where would I be without it?
I'd love to know... Either in a boring dead-end job wishing my life away or ruling the world because I couldn't bare to be ordinary....?
But most likely I'd be exactly where I am right now.
Cheers
D x x
I'll be there for you....
Last night was lovely. We had a welcome dinner for my new flatmate and it was a cosy winter night with good food, red wine, champagne and much gossip.
When I woke up this morning everything looked so much brighter even through the 2nd day of a hangover and 5 hours sleep. I have such amazing friends, I don't think I realise just how great they are sometimes. How can the world seem bleak when it has so much sparkle in it?
I looked across the table last night at the people around me. My best friend since I was 4, my new shiny flatmate, lovely sjp, two boys from uni who I met 8 long years ago (dressed as an angel - me, not them) and a random American. People from everywhere in my life....
Special and magical people who I get to spend time with. People who really care for me and people who are new friends who I can get to know over time and learn to love.
And I think I'm the luckiest girl in the world. Maybe.
D x x
He he he....
My super-glam best mate is doing a photoshoot today with...
Wait for it....
Jordan, Uri Gellar and......
Keith Harris and Orville (I hate that duck) - who, interestingly, is very heavy and takes 2 hands to operate (unlike Jordan).
I have just received this text:
'Orville with a hangover is not good'.
What a shock - I didn't know the little green bird drank!!
The joy of text....
I was going to be a grown up yesterday. I was going to take Keiths advice and when the weekend guy called, I was going to politely and carefully explain to him that I wasn’t in the right place for a relationship at the moment even though I had enjoyed his company very much and hoped to see him again (it’s not you it me standard rubbish). To be fair on myself I had said on Sunday that I couldn’t see us going anywhere but still… Grown up. Me. Yes. But Man didn’t call. Oh no – he texted me. He texted me in the morning, he texted me when I got home AND he texted me in the middle of my dinner party. Proper soppy boyfriend texts to which I did not reply (note to reader wait until person has actually replied until sending another text). When I finally crawled into bed at 1am under the influences of hair-of-the-dog red wine and champagne I have to admit that I texted him right back where it hurts. I told him all of the stuff that I was going to say on the phone – had I been given the opportunity. He replied saying something nasty (general gist that I was mean and cold and he’d thought better of me) which I deleted and promptly fell asleep. Should I have called him to tell him I never wanted to see him again? Probably. Still, at least I never had to see him again. Morale of the story is:
Right then....
Invoicing and thus bored. Ask me anything you want and I will answer truthfully.
D x x