Playing Catch Up, Part I

My Internet connection is being a bitch today, so while I wait for this effing FTP session to finish downloading I figured I'd put up some updated info & fill in some blanks on the cast of characters.

*ahem* When we last left our heroes...

Sesso e la Città Eternà - Shithead Goes Fishing

I'd like to say that things have been rather quiet without BG around, but that would be a patent falsehood as I've been dealing with everything from

- a shower leaking into the bakery below our flat (Curly is no longer allowed to use power tools in our flat)

to
-the Noisy Doorwoman Bitch continuously commenting on the number of 'strange people' coming out of our flat.(They're our friends and SO's, bitch. Unlike you, we are young, beautiful and get laid on a semi-regular basis.)

to
- some dumbshit that BG had rented her room out to for a month of her absence turning out to be a complete pain in the ass (She now owes me close to 300€ and that's not counting this month's rent. Color me pissed.)

Plus I have a veritable assload of work to get done before I leave for Dallas the 14th and I have no fucking desire to do any of it (hence the blog post)

Quiet? No.

Thanksgiving was good. I got recognition for the divine cooking goddess I am (though I've just about run out of creative leftover turkey recipes) and mass amounts of wine were consumed; unfortunately we didn't get a chance to piss off the Noisy Doorwoman Bitch as she was out of town that day. Pity, that.

Reaping my Just Rewards

Eyebrow Boy is turning out to be rather persistent, bugger n' blast it.

I was ruminating on "Why the fuck did I kiss him?" once again this morning and the light bulb over my head lit up (for once. Pre-coffee even.).

Essendo sempre la ragazza chi provoca ma non conclude neinte diventà ogni tanto veramente due palle

In other words: Being the resident look-but-don't-touch cocktease gets really old sometimes.

(Of course I know kissing the poor guy only teased the poor bastard further but I obviously wasn't thinking along those lines at the time)

And as Shithead called this morning before he heads out of town and will be calling when he returns to Rome next week, I get to figure out exactly how to tell him about Eyebrow Boy upon said return. Ought to be fun. Wonder if he'll get jealous of this one like he did Mr. Boink Buddy.

Bets anyone?

Oh Dear.

I broke a minor rule of mine. Well, not rule per se, more like a corollary of a corollary of a rule.

Rule: Never sleep with someone you work with.
Corollary: Don't kiss friends.
Corollary of the Corollary: Don't kiss friends of friends.

So Saturday night BG & I went out for seafood and then headed back to the pub at work, intending to have a bit of a quiet one. We were both a bit tired, I had my glasses on thanks to the pink eye and neither of us felt like changing to go out. Best laid intentions and all that, around 2am Monkey Boy and Eyebrow Boy show up and persuade us to meet up with Almost Perfect Boy & his new semi-scandalous girlfriend (she's his new waitress) and go dancing at Piper. Without changing. Looking rather dorky.

Monkey Boy is so nicknamed because he climbs all over everything, especially once he starts making unsubtle disappearances to the bathroom.

Eyebrow Boy has some really wicked eyebrows, the kind that give him a rather piercing sguardo. He's been sniffing around me all summer.

In Short: Tetchy

- I have been waking up at obscenely early hours lately. (read: before noon) Between work (insane) and the work going on at the flat (never ending. dear god make it stop.), I have been awake every bloody night for the past week and a half from 7am until at least 2am.

- I almost ended up with a carmine pink room. Apparently a batch of "red" was too difficult for the two Romanian workers to mix up. I spent Sunday and Monday on a rickety ladder repainting my room. Suffice to say I ended up with red paint in really bizarre places.

- Plaster dust sucks.

- The fridge currently holds nothing but limoncello, tequila, and Sambucca to help me forget the above three events.

- Shithead texted me today asking if I knew a Mr. Foo Bar and if Mr. Bar was the same as my ex, Mr. Boink Buddy. The pissed off response he got back outlined some key points.

1) I know several people with the same first name as Mr. BB, one of whom I don't know their last name.

1a) I might know Mr. Foo Bar
1b) Mr. Foo Bar is not the same person as Mr. Boink Buddy.

2) Stop fucking calling him my ex. "Ex" implies love where there wasn't any. He was a friend with privileges (still the former but without the latter now)

3) Christ on a popscicle stick, get over it. Mr. BB is not even in Rome any more.

Yesterday was the wrong day to fuck with me

Thanks to more problems with Mr. Pervy Bear and the apartment situation (suffice to say war has been declared), when Shithead called after 3 days only to whinge about how he's stressed about moving (nevermind that I told him weeks ago to pack a box a day instead of leaving it all untill the last minute), I was less than sympathetic. He then proceeded to push the wrong button at the wrong time by saying "I'll see you when things calm down."

*Major sense of deja vu*

"And that would be when?"

"When things calm down"

*More deja vu*

"Right. Well I'm off to Capri with Mr. Boink Buddy, so I'll see you when I get back. I need to relax."

Subtext: I ain't hanging around waiting for you to straighten out your life. Been there, done that, got the emotional third degree burn scars to prove it. I do what I want, who I want, when I want. Why? Because I can. Because I don't give a fuck about anyone else but me and I enjoy playing with people. I learned from the best.

"Oh. When do you get back?"

"Maybe Sunday, I don't know. We'll see. Ciao."

Yet another episode of Sesso e La Città Eterna

Shithead seems to have a bit of a jealousy thing concerning Mr. Boink Buddy*. About a week & a half ago, I sleepily mentioned Mr. BB and how we would still be friends despite the whole "kissing some other chick in front of me" debacle. Shithead asked me why I didn't want to be friends with him, then, to which I replied "Because our story was much, much different."

A couple of days ago, post-coital daze, Shithead asks me what it was like sleeping with Mr. Boink Buddy.

Er...

I finally replied that it was more American (ie 'Did you come? Did you come?') and a bit more savage.

"So you like it savage?"

"Sometimes."

He was a bit silent for a while and then

Secondo me, con gli altri godi, ma con me, sbrodi.

Mmm? Se lo dice te...

......

Saturday night a girl friend of mine and I had a nice relaxing dinner, talking about sex the entire time and chain smoking like there was no tomorrow. In the interest of drinking cheaply and making some yobs spooge their pants just because we can, we then decided to head to the Pub Crawl that Mr. Boink Buddy runs.

How Does One List "Professional Cocktease" on One's CV?

Time: Friday Night
Place: Work Conference Welcoming Cocktail Party

Caravaning in three cars, we manage to get ourselves and all of our transportation-challenged colleagues out to the party venue with some room to spare. Mr. Boink Buddy rode with our boss, whether out of fear that I'd rip him a new asshole if he came within 2 feet of me or what, who knows.

As the Best Girlfriend & I have a reputation to maintain at these conferences, I was sporting the white pleather pants, studded belt, 4 inch stilettos, and enough cleavage in which I could feasibly lose at least a few dessert spoons.

Fine, a dessert spoon. It was enough.

Life is Weird

Deeply weird.

So I've been shockingly remiss in updates here, but I haven't really felt the urge to verbally exsanguinate on the foibles and follies of my life. Too busy trying to get my head around them, I guess. Lucky you, I have a few spare minutes to sum up recent and not so recent events while I wait for a website to finish downloading.

Flash back to December if you will, 6 months into yet another interminable period of dating the Energizer Bunny. *Does the old school Wayne's World hand wavy thing*

My ex-fiance (hereby affectionately known as the Enemy, Destroyer of Queens, Angel of Broken Hearts, Great Beast that is called Weasel, Prince of Thieving Bastards, Father of Liars, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Mindgames. Or Shithead for short) sent me yet another text message. Like clockwork, every 3-4 months the little fucker tries some way of contacting me, supposedly with the intent of "being friends." And then he acts all confused and hurt when I, in various ways, express that I don't want to be friends, fuckwit, because you dumped my ass in one of the most painful ways humanly possible three years ago.

Come to think of it, if he had pulled an Indiana Jones & the Temple of Doom and ripped my still beating heart out with his bare hands and thrown it under the passing traffic, it probably would have hurt less.

The answer is "Ohmigod I love you"

What is the most embarrassingly inappropriate thing to say to a returning Mr. Boink Buddy when you find out he's bringing you a stash of Dr Pepper.

Gah. Open mouth, insert foot. Feet. Knees too.

Lo Sguardo Assassino Vol.1

Last week me and the Best GirlFriend got up to our normal hijinks three days running.

First night we went to the last bar of the pub crawl run by our friends, getting only slightly stupid by the end of the night. Well, we two girls were only slightly stupid. Our two male friends/co-workers were bouldered. Larry and Curly* have a disconcerting yet affectionate habit of groping sundry body parts under the influence, and we retaliate with nipple twisting, ice down shirts, and the occasional entire drink poured over head. So there was that. Then we took them home and attempted to get them upstairs quietly without waking up the entire street. At which point they decided to jump on me. Imagine if you will two 6 foot-ish boys both attempting to administer a bum-rush bear hug to a 5'1" female. The bruise on my ass is turning an interesting shade of greeny-purple. Various other exercises in 4am absurdity ensued, but as they are vastly more entertaining for the parties involved, I'll spare you further details.

Second night we went to Goa, traditionally one of Rome's more snotty discos. Being two females with a male acquaintance already inside the club, it wasn't difficult getting in. We eventually found said acquaintance, not that we were looking that hard at the time.

*Squirt*

Of fuck buddies, wet spots, and the whole female ejaculation thing.

Alrighty, let's just get this out of the way. After over 11 months of excessive masturbation and subsidising the entire AA battery economy, I bit the bullet figuratively speaking and got meself a fuck buddy. He's a nice guy who has selflessly sacrificed himself on the pyre of my one year hormone build up. It's a summer thang and that's all the fucking-n-telling I'm going to do on the subject of Mr. Boink Buddy.

Buuuuuut, now that I've finally remembered how to have sex (christ I forgot I had those muscles. Never again 11 months of celibacy. I swear on the altars of Wanton Use-Em-Like-A-Kleenex Slutiness...what was I saying? oh yeah...)

Yes, now that I've remembered how to do the horizontal tango I've also remembered my talent for creating a massive wet spot.

Some girls get wet - I drip. Excessively.