A night with my brother and Mister Gold

Mister Gold and I had been out on a few dates during the Summer. He was really nice to me. Nothing special happened. We didn't sleep together, so I can't make any comments on his performance.

I had made plans to hang out with my brother and the girl he was dating at the moment. I told Mister Gold that my brother and I have a special relationship. We're really close and are extremely frank about each other's potential spouses. We have a right to veto. Mister Gold didn't seem that freaked out, I guess he wanted to meet the person who has such a special place in my heart.

We met on a Friday night. I had just had dinner with my brother and his "girl" and went for drinks afterwards. Mister Gold had been out with a few friends and met up with us later. He was really nice to me, but seemed sort of anxious and really stressed out - I wasn't sure what was going on... Until I realized that he did all he could to impress my brother. The way he was flaunting his stuff pissed me off, I just couldn't believe the things I was hearing. It felt like he had to tell my brother everything about his stupid boats, his ridiculously expensive hobbies and travels and whatnots. Side note: my brother is extremely wealthy, so Mister Gold's attempt in throwing his money around didn't really go as planned. The evening went so-so. Mister Gold was more interested in talking with my brother than being around me and it annoyed the hell out of me.

We shared a taxi. My brother and I went home and left Mister Gold on the way. By the time we got home it was around 5 a.m. I felt exhausted. I could have easily lived a happy life without ever having to experience that.

Afterwards my brother told me that Mister Gold had talked about me on every possible occasion. A lot. He asked my brother if I was seeing someone else, because I felt "weird and distant". He also said that he liked me a lot, but I never answered his feelings. I never witnessed these conversations, I guess they had them when I was out of hearing range.

His thoughts could be accurate. I didn't answer any of his feelings because I didn't feel that way.

I had made plans to meet Mister Gold later that week, but I sent him a text saying I will never see him again. He answered me with a "Ok then.". What the hell is that? First you tell my brother how much you like me and want to spend the rest of your life with me, and the next day you're fine with never seeing me again. Puh-lease.

But please, Mister whatsyourcolour. Don't go talking personal stuff to my brother. He's not that into hearing how much "you've fallen for me", he probably knows it already. Men tend to fall for me and my brother is used to seeing and hearing all kinds of stuff when it comes to his baby sister.

Once you go Black, you can't go back

You'd think that I was talking about skin colour, right? Well, you're wrong as hell.

Mister Black texted me on Sunday (while I was busy getting angry at Mister Yellow). He told me that he found my disc golf frisbees, and was willing to return them to me if I agreed to listen to him for a few hours. The discs felt like excuses, to be honest. He could have just left them in my mail box.

Wednesday night.
Mister Black drove 500 miles to see me. What the fuck is wrong with him? I confronted him about it. He said that he wanted to show me that he cares for me, that he can make an effort. That he still feels deeply for me, and wanted me to see that. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Speechless. Again. I hate when that happens. 

He talked for three hours. I had absolutely nothing to say to him. I just sat there, listening, crying. The sleeves of my dinosaur sweatshirt were soaked with tears. He was sincerely sorry for all the shit he put me through. He didn't ask for a second chance, he just wanted to take a walk with me some day. And if that went ok, maybe do stuff that we had planned to do.

I met him a few times, really enjoyed my time with him. We had fun together, shared many laughs and happy moments. We agreed to keep things a secret from our mutual friends, just in case things don't work out.

Something strange happened. I turned my girlfriend mode on, wanted to stop seeing my Misters. Mister Black told me that I shouldn't do it, he doesn't want to be treated any differently than all my other guys. "You sure?" I asked. He said yes, but my feelings for him are much deeper than some random Mister. I dumped every single colourful guy, every Mister, just to be with my Mister Black. I'm such an idiot.

Well, shit hit the fan. I found myself feeling the same way I did before I was miserable. I wanted to turn back time, maybe a year or so, to the happiest summer I've ever experienced. That lasted for a week.

During the week we had the most stupid fights I can imagine. He installed Tinder, just to see what all the fuss was about. He didn't tell me about it, I found out myself. Wednesday morning, I saw his phone light up with a few push messages from Tinder. I wasn't jealous, I had no reason to be. I simply said "Oh, you have Tinder? Good for you, I hope you find what you're looking for" and started World War III. He became all weird and accused me of sleeping with all kinds of guys (he was right, but he had no right to be angry at me). He left my home slamming doors - I guess my reaction wasn't exactly what he was hoping for. What was I supposed to say? Was I supposed to be the jealous girlfriend, although we weren't even dating? I didn't get it. The next few days were rough. He was seeking for attention, I didn't give it to him.

Weekend came. I made plans to be with Mister Black. He did a no-show. Twice.

That was it. I can't believe that he slipped back to being the shitty person that he is in a week. I won't give him any third chances, we all know that he's a terrible boyfriend. I woke up on Sunday morning with my mind going "what the HELL was I thinking?" 


I sent him a message saying: "Don't text me anymore. Have a great summer." That was it, at least for now.

Leaving Mister Yellow

Mister Yellow and I had been seeing each other for two months now. He made several suggestions that our relationship would advance to the next level and to be honest, I actually considered it.

Sunday.
I came home from Portugal in the morning. I actually texted Mister Yellow from Portugal, told him that I miss him (which was entirely true), asking him to meet me when I come home. Of course he was up for it, we hadn't seen each other for almost a week. We made a date, decided to have dinner and go to the movies, and I was to spend the night at his flat like we use to.

We had dinner at his place before going to the movies. He cooked, again, and it was delicious, as always. Before we left for the movies, I went to the loo and saw my toothbrush in its place, in the little beige cup next to his toothbrush. It made me smile.

Everything was really perfect. I enjoyed my time with him. I actually thought of saying something stupid, like admitting that I like him. A lot. I could have easily fallen in love with him. If only he'd ask me once more, and I would have been his girlfriend for life. He asked me about my trip to Portugal. I told him everything, the fact that I picked up a random guy at the airport, went abroad with him for four days and hugged him good-bye at the airport in the morning. He took it all really well, I guess.

We had amazing sex in the evening. Afterwards, lying in his arms (I was really sensitive), I told him that I like him. That I missed him on my trip. I still can't believe what he replied. "That's what they all say." Speechless. Ice-freaking-cold.

I was preparing to go to bed, went to the bathroom to brush my teeth when suddenly my toothbrush had disappeared from its regular spot - I mean, it spontaneously vanished from the place where I had just seen it. Puzzled, I went to the living room, asked him where my toothbrush had gone. He went to his dressing room, to the last closet in the back, dug out a distressed-looking washing bag packed with toothbrushes. He dug around the bag (filled with like, thirty toothbrushes) and asked me "which one was yours again? I get confused.". That was it. He tried to make me jealous... WHY?! I freaking liked him, why would he do such a stupid thing like that?

Manipulating me, trying to make me jealous, tricks... They don't work on me. Not at all. At that point I became cold as hell, went to bed, told him good night.
Monday morning, off to work again. He was really sweet in the morning, the way he usually is. I just couldn't get over the toothbrush business, I was still kind of furious. We had made plans for Wednesday. Shit. I wanted to get out of it.

...
Radio silence for 24 hours.
...

Text messages between me and Yellow, Tuesday morning 9 o'clock:
Me: I think we need to stop seeing each other.
Y: Honeybunny, what's wrong?
Me: I broke my rules. I like you. Shit go wrong when I like you. I can't see you anymore.
Y: Let me know if you change your mind.

And that was it.

Fuck. I really, really liked this one.

Mister Blonde, my favourite hockey player

This is a story about me and Mister Blonde.

Mister Blonde is a hockey player with a terrific ass. He's hot in every other way as well, but I just can't get over his glutes in tight jeans. Serious eye candy.
By the way, that's just what I told my girlfriends. "He's the guy with the terrific ass" - haha.

He has a great sense of humour and his beard tickles my face when he kisses me. He's smart and not afraid to show it. We even love the same books, we have the same favourite authors. Before our first kiss he asked me if I consider myself smart. I answered yes, of course, and he kissed me. I wonder what he would have done if I said no, haha.

Mister Blonde was a sort of challenge. He told me that he wasn't able to fall for anyone. Mister Blonde hadn't developed a crush in anyone in several years. No girlfriend in three years.
Challenge accepted. 
Four days later, we're lounging in his bed, he tells me that he wants to be with me. We planned a trip abroad together.

He was sort of a sweetheart. We dated for three or four weeks. I didn't exactly take notes. ;)
Somewhere along the road his roommate told me that he'd just "broken up" with someone... I wasn't quite sure how that was possible, since my Mister Blonde told me on several different occasions that he had no girlfriend, not for three or so years. Turns out he had a somewhat of an on-off-relationship with a friend, who suddenly found a boyfriend and dumped my sweetie Mister Blonde. That's when he joined Tinder and we met. He said that he wasn't ready for anything serious, which was more than OK, and he convinced me that he wanted to keep seeing me.

I took several steps back: I wouldn't send him texts; it took me a few days to add him as a friend on Facebook (he kept reminding me, whoopsie); I never began any conversations with him. I let him do all the work. A sunny Tuesday in March, he told me that we should definitely meet on Thursday. I never really understood all his girlfriend and break-up talk, until I suddenly realized that I was breaking up with him. It was apparent that he wasn't over that weird thing he refused to call a relationship.

I left him there, looking hot while lounging on his bed, put on my headphones and walked to my car. I texted Mister Yellow, told him that I had a really bad day because I just broke up with Mister Blonde, and was in dire need of a hug. He told me to come over. Fifteen minutes later he answered the door wearing nothing but boxer shorts and Ray-Bans. I couldn't stop laughing.

Sometimes things turn out OK in the end, just like that Thursday. I got my hug and Mister Yellow looked happy. Sometimes I feel like that's all I need. People looking happy.

The story of Mister Black

Do you know the feeling when you really couldn't care less for someone, yet you still hang on to them?

That's the story of my life with Mister Black. He was my band-aid, my ultimate rebound guy.

Before I get properly started on my story about my life with Mister Black, let me share a few details of myself, the pretty little kitten writing this tiny blog.

I'm a normal girl in my twenties. I have a "real" job, working mostly nine to five. In my spare time I run around the neighbourhood in my hip-hugging black tights and hot pink sneakers and entertain my silly little friends. I wouldn't consider myself especially hot, but there's some weird quality in me that guys find attractive. If you know what the heck it is, let me know.

Later on you'll see that I'm a cold-hearted b*tch, but I wasn't born that way. I used to be "the girl next door".

I used to live with a guy, we'll call him Mister Grey. I stayed with him for way too many years, if you ask me. I met him when I was seventeen, moved in with him at nineteen and separated at twenty-four. If you ask me, I was a perfect, happy little housewife. I made him dinner every night, made sure that he was happy in every possible way. I never spent a night alone after my eighteenth birthday - that is, before I found myself sitting on the couch, telling him to leave our home in the foulest words possible. Weird, isn't it?
It really wasn't my decision to end the relationship, although it may sound that way at first. Mister Grey met a cute dark-haired girl at his company's Christmas party and found himself utterly unhappy with me. He made me miserable, it felt like hurting me was his only mission in life. He broke me into a thousand tiny bits and my heart was covered in bruises. I guess he wanted to push me away, to make sure that I leave him so he doesn't have to make all the hard decisions. This behaviour went on for about six or seven weeks. I lost count at the end. Before we broke up I cried every day and night, couldn't sleep and refused to eat.
After the break-up I was happy, almost delirious. I found myself smiling all the time. Wide smiles, in a Cheshire cat kind of way. It physically hurt my face to smile continuously for days. I guess I just wasn't used to feeling joyful after months of misery.

My friends were awesome. My bf took me clubbing on the first Friday of my new single life. I had never been single in a club before. It was funny, I guess I sent out a weird vibe because I had to push guys away from me. On that Friday my 14-second rule was invented. 14 seconds is generally the time that I'm alone at a club before I'm hit on by some random tall dude in a plaid button-up shirt.
On my first single Friday I did something I'd never done before. I brought a guy home. To our home. Wow, wasn't that odd. I won't even give that random guy his own colour, since I really don't give a damn about him, I don't even remember his name. He was from another town, a few hundred miles away. He fell in love with me instantly. I felt validated, some guy actually liked me for who I was, wanted to touch me and went through all kinds of trouble to pleasure me. Sex with him was awesome. My-brain-splattered-on-the-walls-awesome. I stuck around for a good four or five weeks. It was just another regular Thursday, he called me after work and wanted to tell me something. He told me that he was in love with me, and I freaked out. I broke up with him on the phone, because I couldn't care less to meet him. I told myself that he wasn't the right guy for me, because he never trained legs and it pissed me off.

That's where Mister Black stepped in. He was my Facebook friend, I met him when I was sixteen or seventeen. At sixteen or seventeen, I dated him a few times, until I found out that he slept with tens of chicks. I wasn't that into competing for his attention, so I simply quit seeing him. Somehow he remained in the far-left corner of my mind, I wouldn't delete him from my Facebook friends although I didn't see him for years. It was a Monday night, I had the worst cold ever, and wrote a Facebook post basically saying "I'm sick. Please someone entertain me, bring me food and I'll make it worth your while" and you know who answered - Mister Black, of course. He was funny, he felt like an adventure. I Whatsapped him for a good few days before actually meeting him. When I met him my heart caught fire. I just knew it, this was the guy I should be with, like, forever, or something. I had been single for five weeks when I went for a coffee with him. I met him almost every day, spent every waking moment looking at my phone, wishing he'd send me a message. A good five or six months later I changed my Facebook relationship status from "single" to "in a relationship" - and made it official. I experienced all sorts of stuff with him, we spent four weeks together roadtripping in the summer. Hands down, happiest time of my life.
Basically he was a good friend, but a lousy boyfriend. He couldn't handle money at all. In fact, he still owes me about £1000. He promised me stuff he couldn't keep and I ran to other men, asking for help. That made him ridiculously jealous and I seriously wanted to yell at him. But I didn't, I just turned cold and ignorant. He could spend a weekend without even texting me, even though we'd made plans to do something together. Every time he promised to do be with me, I made other plans "just in case", because I couldn't trust him one bit. I still feel that way about certain guys. I just don't trust them at all.
I dated him for 13 months. Way, way too long. Turns out he cheated on me on every possible occasion. I found that out when I went to his place to collect my stuff after arguing for a few hours on the phone. I stood there, emptying my drawer and packing my bags. I gave him an iPad for Christmas and had trouble deciding whether to take it or leave it, when his roommate suggested that I read his Facebook messages... I guess he wanted me to know something I should have seen coming for a while. I'm a kind of a daredevil, I read the messages and saw how things were. It's really funny how some things don't even surprise you. That's when I learned something about myself: I didn't really care for him. I wasn't hurt that he was somewhere fucking other girls (even though he still denies it), I was stone cold inside. I shrugged, packed my bags, said bye to Mister Black's roommate and disappeared. We broke up on Whatsapp. I didn't even call him.

The good thing with Mister Black was that he helped me get over Mister Grey. Mister Grey used to call me up on the phone, whining, asking me to get together with him.. I guess life with the black-haired chick didn't work out as planned. Too bad.

Mister Grey and Mister Black are still a part of my life, although I hate it. Mister Grey still owns half of the flat I call home, and Mister Black owes me a serious amount of money. And he has my kettle. I seriously want it back. I Whatsapped him about it today, and somehow he'd "forgotten" about it. Someone, please find him and punch him in the throat.

That's the story of my former life.