awkward, dating, diary, personal

Renaming Mr. Bingley

Nope. I was not “very polite” nor “clear about the fact that I want no role in this whatsoever”. Of course I wasn’t. No, instead I chose to confront him on the next night out, dressed in an elf outfit. If you have no idea how hard it is to keep your dignity whilst wearing an elf costume, let me tell you; near to impossible. Anyway, Mr. Bingley assured me of the fact that he did have a girlfriend, however broke up with a couple of months ago. This helped me getting to the conclusion that he did have a girlfriend the first time we kissed, but seeing as it was the same for me I was not in the position to judge.

So he went home with me that night. What can I say? I am ashamed and disappointed in myself, but a drunk heart does what a drunk heart wants. Nothing happened, again. We kissed briefly and passed out, which seems to be our signature move. I am not complaining however.

Now comes the most awkward part. I amused my friends till the point of tears in their eyes when telling, or rather acting out, this part of the story. So imagine me, half dressed in an elf-costume, half in PJ’s. Then on to him, wearing some weird-ass costume as well. Then back to me, awkwardly making clear that I have a lot of work to do. Back to him, understanding and possibly quite relieved to have an excuse to leave my house. Then back to me, realizing he doesn’t have money for a cab and is wearing tights, feeling sorry for him and offering him money for his cab. Back to him, feeling quite demasculinized by having to ask for money but accepting my offer anyway. Then back to me, taking a tenner out of my wallet, having a brief yet essential moment of brain failure, throwing the money onto the bed. As the money is hovering in the air, I realized what I just had done. I had thrown money at him. I had just thrown money at him after he spent the night at my place, wearing tights. What was I thinking? Did I believe that I had to act thug for living the thug life?

Thus, there you have it. Him awkwardly grabbing the note from my bed, me screaming frantically inside my head. I don’t have words for it really, apart from the fact that I am an utter and complete idiot. Nevertheless I have decided to rename Mr. Bingley for this would NEVER EVER EVER have happened in Pride and Prejudice and Jane Austen would quite possibly turn around in her grave if she found out that I used the name of her beloved Mr. Bingley for a lad that I throw my money at.

All suggestions are welcome.

Stay golden my little ponyboys and stay strong my fellow awkward-turtles out there,

Yours truly, Maple.

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diary, entry, personal

Just My Luck.

So, last Wednesday we had another social which didn’t go quite as planned. Like always there was a lot of alcohol involved and I don’t really want to get into it, but somehow I ended up flirting a lot with Mr. Bingley and eventually kissing him. Nothing very interesting apart form the fact that he somehow ended up getting back to mine. He lost his wallet and I did offer to take him home with the cab, but he clearly wanted to stay at mine, which I in turn didn’t particularly had a problem with. Some stupid cringy things were said from my part mostly because I was boozed and that’s when I say things I immediately regret. I also headbumped him 5 times and the firealarm continuously went off, so now, it wasn’t particularly romantic either. Anyhoo. Next morning, I woke up, noticed Mr. Bingley and freaked out for a moment. Luckily things didn’t get too awkward and we ended up cuddling and talking for quite a while. Not long after he got a taxi back to his house, preceded by VERY awkward goodbyes and I didn’t hear from him again.

The next day one of my friends from the team (Liz) asked me what happened with Mr. Bingley, because she had clearly saw us together so I explained to her that he stayed over but nothing had happened. As it happened, one of my other team mates was holding her phone as I was sending the message to Liz and it turned into a gossip between a couple of the girls. Quite unfortunate, but hey, nothing I could do about it.

Today I met up with Liz in town and as we were walking she casually mentioned that she overheard the girls saying that Mr. Bingley has a girlfriend. Apparently she assumed that I knew and caught me in total shock. No, I’m not devastated because I am crushing over him, because honestly I don’t really care. In that moment I just couldn’t believe that he could be so sneaky and I was very very disappointed in my own people-reading-skills. I’m not one to talk, because I did cheat on my boyfriend with HIM, however I was never sneaky about it and told my now ex-boyfriend straight away and broke up because to me that is clearly a sign that something is wrong. However, if there is nothing I hate more than liars and cheaters (in the way that they continuously do it behind their partner’s back, yes that might be hypocritical, but that is how I feel). So, long story short: I am going out tonight, forget about this whole thing and the next time I will see Mr. Bingley I will be very polite yet clear about the fact that I want no role in this whatsoever. I am disgusted. 

Stay golden my little ponyboys and stay strong my fellow awkward-turtles out there,

Yours truly, Maple.

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dating, diary, love, personal, relationships

A busy week

Okay so you guys haven’t heard from me for a while. Don’t worry, it wasn’t for any exciting reason: it was because I am buried in uni work. However, apart from that I did manage to get myself into some awkward situations. So last week I had a streak of interesting nights out. The first night of the week I went out with my housemate who recently broke up with her boyfriend (we’ll name her Lena) and because I had to stupidly joke about “the fastest way to get over someone is to get under someone else” she has taken my advise very seriously. My bad. So it didn’t take long before she had found herself a nice lad and went home with him, without me knowing it. Basically I ended up dancing by myself or with a group of strangers for the rest of the night and seeing myself home at the end of it. The next day I  went out with my housemates instead of the varsity team because it was Lena’s birthday. So once arrived at the club I did spot my team and ran over to them to great them and there he was: Mr. Bingley. However, because I recently came to the conclusion that it wasn’t particularly going anywhere I decided to ignore him. Great choice. So instead of having normal conversations I fled every time he was coming near me.

Nevertheless I had a splendid evening until I lost all of my friends and ended up alone and confused. And then I ran into one of my course mates (and I feel that I have to mention that I barely show up to uni because of various reasons so I don’t really know any of my coursemates, but I did recognize him, for he is always the one who smiles at me). He seemed concerned and asked me what was wrong so I told him that I lost all my friends. But along with losing my friends I also lost my ability to behave and talk normal (alcohol does strange things to you), so as I was trying to leave with my dignity whilst putting my sweater on inside out he offered to take me home. I was endeared, really. But I also have to much pride, so I told him that I was fine and I took a cab home myself. Once at home, I received a text from Mr. Bingley, asking me why I didn’t come out with the varsity team. As a reply I sent back a streak of unidentifiable drunk texts, followed by my location (yes, facebook has this annoying location button that won’t stop leaving me alone) after which I fell into a coma.

Although I wanted to kill myself in the morning, I felt a little better for Mr. Bingley had replied and we started an actual normal conversation, which somehow ended quite abruptly though, soon after. Another night out arrived and because my body and my soul had given up, me and Ally decided to go home early and call it a night. The next day I discovered that I was unaware of about three upcoming assignments so I spent the following part of the week hiding behind my computer and books in the library. When I ran into my coursemate from the other night but like always, I was far too awkward to actually start a conversation or to thank him for the other night, so instead I nodded in acknowledgement.

Okay that’s about it, for now. 

Stay golden my little ponyboys and stay strong my fellow awkward-turtles out there,

Yours truly, Maple.

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diary, entry, family, parents, personal, sister

Thanks, Rentals.

Don’t ask me why, but I feel like I should share a little bit more about my family. Not that I expect that it will interest anyone in particular, but this is a post I am doing for me. Perhaps it’s only logical, because together they shaped me into the awkward human being that I am today. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t all them – I take my stand in the middle in the whole nature versus nurture discussion, I believe people become who they are because there’s truth in a little bit of both. Anyway, I shall start off with my sister. I have a very odd relationship with my sister. Many a time I get a comment from my friends or surroundings which is something like “Oh! I keep forgetting you have a sister!” to which I usually reply “That’s alright, so do I.” I am aware of the bitterness in that reply and I honestly do not dislike her, I just feel like I never really got to know her. For starters, she is eleven years older than I am, which creates some sort of division. Secondly, we do not share the same father, which is fine because both of us are not really in contact with our father’s – but I will get to that another time. 

My sister was the rebellious sort of teenager, the one you imagine to star in some teen-drama movie. In all fairness I was probably quite a bit too young to remember her well at this stage, for I was around three years old, but I’ve seen enough pictures and heard enough to stories to picture it well. She had a habit of dying her hair a different colour (or set of colours, e.g. rainbow, rastafarian) every week until she decided to quit the colouring and turn her beautiful long blonde hair into dreadlocks, which in all fairness suited her very well. She refused to wear any piece of clothing that was not black, which I believe was inspired by Paint it Black from the Rolling Stones. She returned home many a time with a new piercing and at one point a very large tattoo across her back which nearly gave my mom a heart-attack. She smoked weed and basically did everything that seemed even remotely rebellious. She moved out of house when she was just sixteen, for my mom could not handle her and let me tell you, my mom is a tough one and allowed her a lot of freedom for she’s not conventional at all herself. The thing with my sister is that a lot of people go through this stage, which makes it a “stage”, however my sister sorta stuck in it and till this day is very much the rebellious “teenager” she was a little bit less than twenty years ago. Nowadays she spends her time travelling all over the world. She is a very social person so she’s helping wherever she’s needed. I used to think it was quite unfair that all these other people all over the world got to see much more of my sister than me and my mom. As a young girl growing up, my sister was my biggest example and I wanted to do everything she did. Naturally I am way less rebellious and bold than my sister so at one point I did find my own – as my sister sees it, probably “conventional” – path. With a little bit of help from my mom, as later turns out. Not long ago I discovered that the reason behind my moms heavy protesting of me wanting to go to the same high school as my older sister was purely based on the fact that she didn’t want me to start in a bad daylight for being the sister of… Which probably was a very decision indeed. 

My mom probably clashed so much with my sister because she recognized herself. My mom was born into a very wealthy and aristocratic family, but always felt like the black sheep. To piss them off she decided to become a hairdresser – a very shocking thing at the time, apparently. She often likes to brag about the fact that until she was thirty she could fit all her belongings into a suitcase and go wherever she wanted. And so she did. She lived in Paris, Spain and many more places until she met my sister’s dad and settled down for a short while. Although settling down might not be the correct term to use, for my sister’s dad was a very artistic soul who lead a very wild lifestyle. He was an artist and furniture designer, who is nowadays quite famous so I will most definitely not mention his name. After a hectic couple of years my mom moved to the quiet town where me and my sister grew up and met my dad. They managed to stay married for one whole year until they wanted to kill each other. In all fairness, I have never managed to maintain any relationship longer than two months so I am not one to judge. I then moved with my mom. I remember my upbringing as one chaotic but fascinating journey. I remember very well how every two weeks when I would come downstairs my mom would’ve changed the entire interior of our living room during the night and it would feel as if I would walk into a complete different house. I guess that is how my mom dealt with being a responsible parent and therefore not able to move around as much as she used to. I think it is fair to say that my mom is a very free-spirit and somehow having children felt like she was locked up in a cage. Unfortunately for her, I was the one to lock her up even more, as I wasn’t an easy child such as my sister. My mom would sometimes put a baby phone in my room and ask the neighbors to look after me as she left the house at night, however sly little devil I was, before I would go to bed I would search the whole room for the baby phone and if it was switched on I would wait in my bed until I heard my mom close the front door and cry my eyes out, which eventually resulted into her staying at home. She didn’t have an easy time bringing up a child alone, twice! But in my opinion she did a pretty damn great job. Although she was older than quite a few moms (she was 41 when she got me), she always felt like a best friend to me and in her ways and even looks she seemed way younger than all the other moms. My friends would also be envious of the freedom my mom allowed me and they couldn’t believe their eyes and ears when they heard my mom curse. 

And then there’s my dad. I normally do not like to talk about my dad much, because there are quite a few of unresolved issues there. But in basic terms I can describe him as a stern, stubborn and emotionally-defected man. Sometimes I wonder how he and my mom ever got together for he represented everything she had spend her entire life running away from. He was posh. At least, he tried to be. Unlike my mom he didn’t actually come from a good family and he was a self-built man. ‘New money’. Recently I discovered that he used to be quite the rebel himself, for he is known by his high school friends to be an actual drug addict in his younger years, which was quite shocking to me. Naturally, this didn’t come from him but from my mom and some others around me, for he never shares much about his past nor his present with me. I didn’t see or talk to him at all for quite a long part of my childhood (from when I was 13 till my 19th birthday). Apparently this is quite a substantial part of your life for it is sometimes painful to discover that your own dad doesn’t know anything about you. It’s the small things, like, when he suggested in a restaurant that I should order the chicken, to which I felt the need to reply that I have never liked chicken throughout my entire life. My dad is also quite the ladies man. After my mom he had about twenty other girlfriends, from which none of them I liked. Not because I was biased, just because they weren’t very nice women. He got remarried when I was eleven year’s old. She was alright, at least she didn’t try to be my new ‘mom’. However, they divorced this year, which earned him the title of Elizabeth Taylor in our family for his many (3) failed marriages. Although I believe he confirmed not long ago that he was seeing someone new, so maybe there’s a fourth one on the way. 

All in all I am not unsatisfied with my family. We are never able to choose who we are related to, plus many families merely look good on the outside. At least my family doesn’t hold up those fake pretensions. We look just as messed up on the outside as we are on the inside.

So that was a little bit about my family, whom I am sure will be mentioned more often for they are the cause of many of my awkward failures. 

Stay golden my little ponyboys and stay strong my fellow awkward-turtles out there,

Yours truly, Maple.

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diary, drunk, friends, love, madness, monday, mondays, night out, personal, relationships

Monday’s, Madness and Messy Nights

I think we can all agree on the fact that Monday’s are bad in general but some Monday’s are just a little worse than others. Especially after a wild weekend, the Monday can be a very very though day. Believe me, I speak from experience. As if my life wasn’t awkward enough, this weekend I had to push it too far to make it a little worse. I’ll start at the beginning when my best friend and housemate for two and a half years convinced me to go out with her and one of our other friends because she was supposed to meet up with a guy.

Now, this was not just any guy. If you would know my housemate you would know that she is not that quickly impressed by a guy. Throughout the two and a half years that I have known her I have perhaps seen her with a guy twice. One of those two times was last year, long story short: she hooked up with him in the club, however refused to go home with him and as we were walking home and he walked behind us I overheard him saying horrible things about my friend which resulted into me turning around, yelling horrible drunk things back at him and nearly ending up into a fight if it hadn’t been for my ex-boyfriend dragging me home (now I feel like I should mention that if you would know me you would also know that I am probably the least aggressive person you’ll ever meet, that night was an exception). Alright, so, not long ago my best friend (whom I shall name Ally, because of her obsession with Pretty Little Liars) found this lovely lad on Tindr (the dating app) and started texting back and forth with him, resulting into agreeing to meet up that particular evening.

Once we had arrived at the club and Ally had found her guy I was left by myself, seeing as my other friend had also decided to run off with someone. Technically Ally wouldn’t have mind if I had stuck around with her and her guy, however awkward as I am I didn’t feel like third-wheeling that evening. Instead I went and ran into a friend from another university varsity team (Alias: Bear, because he is massive) who was out with his team and apparently told him, quote: “Bear, what do you say to getting absolutely obliterated tonight. Let’s not leave the club until we leave crawling” and he answered with his ever short but to the point reply: “Sure.” And so it was settled. Bear and I drank. And drank. And drank some more. We drank till the point that Bear ended up leaning against the wall somewhere in the corner of the club, hiding from me because he really couldn’t drink anymore (and let me underline once again, he is a reaally big guy) and me dancing in the middle of the floor, manically fluttering my arms around. Lovely image, right?

Eventually Ally found me back, realized how smashed I was and forced me to take a cab home. During the ride home I apparently just sat in the back, staring out of the window as Ally and my other friend chatted away. I use ‘apparently’ because from this point my memory is a black, empty, gaping hole and I have put the puzzle pieces together from the stories that my friends have told about me. According to Ally I asked the driver to stop the cab halfway our ride home, got out and literally sprinted away. For some reason I am a fucking Usain Bolt when I am drunk because both Ally and the cab driver couldn’t keep up with me and lost me. This was around three o’clock at night and I arrived home at five.

Basically, what happened in between (still not entirely certain of any of the following) is that I tripped a couple of blocks away from my house, hit my head on the pavement and was knocked out. But because my friends had no idea of where I was and because it was late at night I laid there, in the middle of the street for over an hour. When I got home I apparently sent Ally some very confusing texts, explaining that someone had woken me up and then finally fell asleep, fully clothed, on my bed.

The reason why I am telling this story is because I want to point out that with that blow, I probably disconnected another wire in my head (yes, another, because medically I actually have a disconnected wire in my brain, will get back to that one day) which will explain my actions of today. So since that blow I have been acting a bit weird in general, putting my phone in the fridge, calling people the wrong name and many more things. However, also, today when I decided to get a nice Iced Chai Thea Latte at my uni Starbucks and was standing in line, my eyes locked with another person standing behind me in line: Mr. Bingley. And I am honestly blaming the disconnection in my brain for the following event: so our eyes locked, it took me about 5.6 seconds to realize who I was staring at, to subsequently panic, leave the line and literally run… and I mean run out of Starbucks.

I can’t even begin to imagine what he must think of me after this fiasco, but I have the feeling I’d rather not know at all. Well if you guys don’t mind I will spend the rest of my evening hiding underneath my blankets and regretting my life choices.

Stay golden my little ponyboys and stay strong my fellow awkward-turtles out there,

Yours truly, Maple.

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dating, diary, love, personal, relationships

Wicked Games

I’ve said it a million times, but I’ll say it once again; there is a 99% chance that I will end up alone. I know that it’s a grim thing to say, but I’m just being realistic. Maybe I am childish, or maybe I am too old-fashioned; either way –  I can’t keep up with anyone. I do not understand these games that you’re supposed to play. All these rules, while all I want to do is wear my heart on my sleeve, be bold and allow myself to fall into that big gaping hole of beautiful uncertainty. Instead I should be following this set of rules. The rules that were designed to successfully trap your “crush” or “significant other” or whatever you may call it into a relationship. Today’s meaning of hooking up mostly means that you have played your cards right, you haven’t scared them off too early.

Take the three-days rule for example, my friends tell me that I should wait three whole days before texting someone and even when you text, it should be measured, not too excited, not too many emoticons or exclamation marks or even capital letters. I have never been particularly good at hiding my feelings and when I feel that someone could actually potentially be important to me I don’t want to be following a bunch of rules. I want to discard all rules. I don’t want to play games.

Isn’t there a saying, “lucky in cards, unlucky in love.” I think love should never involve any form of games, for it is the most serious of matters. I have no fear of loosing a game, however, loosing my heart is the scariest thing. Perhaps someday I will find that one person that avoids all game-playing too. Or perhaps I will be forever surrounded by players. If so, I will refer to my earlier statement and rather be forever alone, like a ravished chess piece.

Stay golden my little ponyboys and stay strong my fellow awkward-turtles out there,

Yours truly, Maple.

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diary, love, personal, relationship

Spaghetti Limbs

So, it is fair to say that I have not been the luckiest in neither my regular nor my love life. However, naturally because I am an adolescent girl – the love life seems to be bothering me the most. Today for example; I am part of a varsity sports team, which is just girls. Every week we have a social (for non-UK readers, a social is short for a social gathering where one plays drinking games and basically aims to get absolutely fucking battered even before leaving the residence. One scores extra points for being unable to enter a club due to being of yer trolley) and (as naive as I was) I was very much looking forward to some girl-bonding time or whatever the youth calls it nowadays.

This was about three weeks ago. However, silly as I am, I obviously did not end up spending my time with my teammates, but instead found myself in the arms of the boy’s captain the very next morning. I feel like I have to mention that at this point, I was still together with my first and probably last (now ex-) boyfriend, but I will get to that another time. 

Anyway, after that fiasco I figured that I didn’t need to see the captain (let’s call him Mr. Bingley, because I am a sucker for Pride & Prejudice) ever again, for we train on completely different times than the boys. However, for fortune hates me; they decided to practice on the same field at the same time today, because – god knows why? And let me tell you, I play absolutely horrible under pressure. The feeling of being watched, even though he was probably 100% not focused on me whatsoever, made me feel weak in my limbs. Which resulted into the following incident: at the end of every training we have a specially dedicated fitness part where we basically have to lunge ourselves onto the field, do a push-up and run to the other side, do a push-up and repeat that a fucking bazillion times. Yeah… that doesn’t work out very well with spaghetti limbs. So picture this; as the rest of my team was being extremely athletic and attractive, I managed to throw myself a little too roughly onto the field, scratch my leg open and to subsequently give in to my own body weight and lie there, face down, for the remains of the fitness session. 

Anyhoo, my arms are too tired to even type right now so, 

Stay golden my little ponyboys and stay strong my fellow awkward-turtles out there,

Yours truly, Maple.

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