A Tartan Seduction

17 Oct 2014

london lifestyle blog. uk lifestyle blog“I seduced a man by unbuttoning his nightdress,” I said in horror to a very amused Sam the night after my last sexual escapade. “I unbuttoned it, and then we slept together. I seduced him. By unbuttoning. His nightdress.”

At this point she lost it to the point of not being able to breathe, while I stared straight ahead in horror, trying to engage my hungover brain long enough to understand a) where my logic had come from, and b) why I had seen fit to persuade my rather broad, Scottish, ginger ex-whatever to put on my size 6 tartan nightie. And why he’d gone along with it.

“I told him he couldn’t sleep next to me if he didn’t put it on, what is wrong with me?”

In case you haven’t picked up on this already, my sexual prowess is unparalleled. Legendary, you might say. The stuff of many a late night story, even –the kind of late night story that, as illustrated above, will always conclude with the words “oh dear lord, what did I do?”

This latest embarrassment occurred around a month ago.

I had been covering a shift at my local pub. It was one of those unfortunate nights pre-refurb, in which the number of staff outweighed the number of customers, which says a lot, as there were only two of us working. We were bored. And when you work with alcohol – and your ex – boredom is the enemy. Boredom leads to Jagermeister shots. It leads to wine. And, in this case at least, it leads to a truly terrible 20 minutes of unbridled lust, that leaves you with the inability to ever look each other in the eye again.

"It was completely my fault," I said to Sam, "It was me that suggested we drink."

And drink we did. It was two hours, six shots, and a drunken rendition of 'Prejudice' later, that I asked that he walk me home. Cue rain soaked kissing (think The Notebook but notably less sexy) yet another pointless conversation about our feelings (everytime we're left alone together) and an invitation to join me upstairs. After a fuss with the cats that lasted far too long for my frustrated, alcohol addled brain to be happy about, he followed me up. And that was when it happened.

That was when, dressed in a Care Bear t-shirt, having just complained that I hadn’t shaved my legs, I handed him a skimpy tartan number, and demanded that he wear it.

That was when I turned on my best charms, and seduced a man by removing a tiny dress, that I'd forced him to wear.

That was when I said goodbye to my last shred of self respect.

And that was when I came to realise why I'm still single.

I think I need to be alone now.

It would be better for everyone if we never spoke of this again.

More moments I wish I could forget include: Being informed - by my half disappointed, half amused housemates - that if I'm trying to hide the fact that I'd brought home a bad man, I really shouldn't leave his coat at the bottom of our stairs. Waking up to find that I had left my bedroom door wide open throughout the entire 'event.' And leaving in the morning before he woke, which lead to the following conversation:
Me: I had to go to work, so I left him sleeping
Nicole: Did you leave money on the pillow next to his head?
Me: Why would I do that?
Nicole: Well if you're going to treat the guy like a prostitute, you have to at least thank him for his services.

Kill me now.

Seven Henrietta Street

21 Sep 2014

Whilst sitting backstage at an event I've been working this weekend, I sat and read Kate Spade's 'Things We Love' from cover to cover. I loved it. This video - which is the epitome of girl power - was mentioned, and the quotes below were written in between playlists, and colours, and mini tales about everything, tinged with exquisite nothingness. Kate Spade is now officially my favourite designer. Well, for today, anyway...

A really great word: "Ellipses" comes from the greek élleipsis, meaning "omission" or "falling short."
Something to aspire to: "But he hardly heard a word they said. Any way he looked at her she was perfect."
One to think on (Related: For those of you wondering how the outcome of my last post went down, I reciprocated. It was all very sweet in the moment. And then, a week later, whilst standing in the street looking at me like I'd gone wrong when I showed signs of affection, he took it back. Turns out you can unsay those words.): "If only, I thought, I could talk to Eugene just one more time. This was before I came to understand that you cannot make someone fall in love with you. But here's what you can do. By arguing and pleading and screaming and crying and throwing plates and phoning a lot and bringing hot food and sending flowers and buying gifts and doing unsolicited favors and remembering a birthday and being nice and declaring your abiding love and trying hard or sometimes merely by being present, you can make someone who was hitherto lukewarm really detest you."

So there we have it. Regular updating will recommence in 5,4,3,2,1...

The Game of Love

21 Aug 2014

London Photography BlogSo is anyone else experiencing emotional whiplash when it comes to men right now? The rate at which these creatures change their minds is causing me muchos confusion, and has lead me to do unspeakable things in order to distract myself. Things such as watch all of the Twilight movies whilst manically grooming the cat, do a six hour deep clean of my bedroom (something that caused Tom to remark "Erm, WTF is going on? Did you kill someone?" Not yet Tom, not yet) and stay out until 5am with complete strangers playing Ping Pong and drinking Jagermeister.

One of the lashings this week has come at the hands of someone I care deeply about, and it concerned the L word. He used said word repeatedly, and then left. This was on Monday. We haven't spoken about it since. And I have to see him tonight. And that kind of freaks me out.

But that's not what I'm here for.

I'm here to ask you, my kind, emotionally stable, sometimes a little bit insane (love you for it) readers, what a normal reaction to the words 'I'm in love with you' actually looks like. Because I don't think I've ever had one. As a play by play, here is a breakdown of all of the first times someone has told me they love me:

Boyfriend #1 (musician, love of my life, dated for 4 years between the ages of 15 and 19 - this conversation took place on the phone)
Me: (In a jokey fashion) So are you in love with me yet?
Him: Yes, I think I might be

Boyfriend #2 (snowboard instructor, possibly into men these days, though this hasn't been confirmed, dated for a year - took place whilst sitting on my bed)
Him: I love you
Me: Thank you.

Boyfriend #3 (advertising giant, best friend, cat lover, dated for just over 4 years between 20 and 25 - also took place on my bed)
Me: I have something to tell you, but I don't know how to say it
Him: Don’t worry, I love you too
Me: *Silence*
Him: … That is what you were going to say wasn’t it?
Me: Oh crap, yeah, sorry, I love you.

And, now, the latest (who I won't describe out of respect for the situation)
Him: I love you
Me: What, like as a person?
Him: No, I’m in love with you
Me: Ah.
Him: Do I need to leave? I’ll leave.
Me: Oh no, it’s fine.

... I have a problem don't I?

Please help me.

"We Want Something Real, Not Just #'s & Twitter"

15 Aug 2014

As I work in social media, I can't help but smile every time this song comes on - I feel I share a lot of views with this (beautiful, bearded) man, and yet I still sit here day after day "with hashtag's and Twitter, slowly dying in front of a f**king computer."

Have a listen, it's worth your time.

In other news: There is trouble in paradise in the CW household, with two out of four of us stuck in a never-ending argument. Due to the fallout, my Saturday night was basically this: "Vodka, anyone? Just drink the damn vodka guys, let's be friends. No? More for me then. Jager? Cool. Oh hey random stranger, my housemates are screaming at each other, can I have a hug?"
On a drink related note, I poured my first pint in around four years last week, and it was perfect. I then poured my second, and it was awful. I handed it to the bartender and ran away. You win some, you lose some.
An old man last night told me that "red wine is good for you, it keeps the rain out of your brain..."
... And I've watched so many episodes of Gossip Girl that I'm beginning to fear the unleashing of my inner Blair Waldorf. To anyone that has caused me to feel all woman scorned recently, watch yourself. It might be time for a little revenge...

XOXO, Gossip Girl

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