And the Hits Just Keep on Coming
Tuesday last week kick started the parade of ex-girlfriends/ flings with Miranda who was waiting at the same tram stop as I was. We had met about two months ago at Will Chapman's going away party and she had no less than four other guys chasing after her that evening, buying her drinks, trying to out joke each other. Needless to say Yours Truly was Kavorka Personified and managed to get a smooch with the lovely Miranda shortly before she threw up. In my defence I would like to think the vomiting was linked to the copious amount of drinks that her other would-be suitors were buying for her all evening rather than my tongue work but it's hard to say for sure. As I am as dumb as a sack of hammers I'd forgotten to get her phone number and had tried a roundabout approach to get in contact with her via a mutual friend Ari.
Typical. Housemate Darren told me he saw her at the supermarket not too long ago where they spent time in the biscuit aisle making fun of biscuits. 'Did she mention me at all?' I ask, a little too casually. 'No,' replied Darren, eyes not moving from the keyboard as he worked on his latest computer project. Back at the tram stop Miranda was a glacier of indifference.
That night Natalya dropped into the bar so Miranda was quickly forgotten. When I caught up with Nat at Degraves cafe the very next day there was a girl I had a crush on about four years ago sitting at the next table. She was trying to track down one of her ex-boyfriends and, since I still see him on a semi-regular basis, she gives me her phone number for me to give to him.
There were a few more nights when other girls I had blew it with came in. They have boyfriends now. Then a few days ago a woman I had a one night stand with is in the newspaper (name of publication withheld on the off chance someone might try to look it up for kicks) .The piece de resistance in this carnival of 'Never Stood a Chance' however is the Lesbian Girl from Neighbours who I had been praying night and day to come into the bar. And so she chose this week to drop in. Honestly she did. With a date.
'Et tu Lesbian Girl from Neighbours?' I say, jabbing an accusing finger at the direction of the lump of flesh that was her man,' Who the hell is THAT guy? Was our love that fleeting that you would leave me for another? Is there no chance of us rekindling our passion?'
'What....what are you talking about? I've been to this bar something like a total of three times in my life. Who are you?'
It has seriously been a police lineup of lost loves, Aphrodite's macabre sense of humour being drenched on the Fatman in these last fourteen days. If revenge, like oysters or gazpacho soup, is a dish best served cold then this fortnight...er.....still f-cking sucks.
I...don't exactly know where I was going with that.
Everything but the Girl,