BEEP BEEP

In my circle of friends, or any circle of friends for that matter, there's one that seems to … disappear. They come, they're fickle, they put their left leg in, they put their right leg out, flutter round the venue acquiring new bosom buddies, littering their night with flirting, loosening their tongue and losing the ability to control their emotions.

That friend is me. I admit it.

On reflection, I can see how vexatious this standing must be for my cronies, but, call me egocentric, I cannot help it.

Take last night for example. Libation and snacks kicked off around 4pm at work, I hop on public transport around 7 to meet a dear friend of mine in a local joint. We chitter chatter for an hour til I see the girl who washes my mane, I invite her to join us, I'm just nice like that. She brings her strange chum who I can only descirbe as an annorak. The most thrilling sentence in his stream of gab included his supporting of gypsies and paying in cash rather than credit. Interminable.

My eye is caught. I see someone who I vagualy know, but names or any details escape me. Sane members of society would leave it at that, wake up the following day in a lightbulb moment and think 'AH, that's who it was'. Not I. I stroll over, interrogate him as to how I know him and after what seems a frustating exchange, my Eureka moment came. He was holidaying in the same resort as I a mere 5 years ago. Not only that, but my best-bud had a hol-romance with him, that old chesnut.

Where is my dear friend in all of this? Sat with wash and anorak, I cleverly combine both parties to make an awkward assembly. Another bottle of wine comes and the evening takes a queer turn, I'm sat surrounded by a troupe of mis-matched proportions: a Greek Othadox priest, russian waitress, insurance broker, a dentist who converted to Greek Orthadox 15 years ago (bought yours truly a drink), all who drank, smoked and were seeminly normal. 

I found myself deep in conversation* with the priest who I decide to tell all my problems to – from my absent father, to my decision whether to study for more qualifications. I'm travelling down to crazy town making like road runner. I'm offending people with my narrow minded, parsimonious opinions.

Crocodile tears fuelled by liquor ensure. Coyote got me.

If my blonde-bombshell casts her eye of this, I apologise. I may get a set of reins like I had at the height of toddler chic. Smooch central.

Note, one drink is never one drink. It's a cyclonic episode of catastropic proportions that will form yet another story for a female who already has too many unfabricated absurd incidents in her catalogue.

*incoherrant babble

Awkward the Aardvark.

'A successful man is one who can lay a firm foundation with the bricks others have thrown at him' David Brinkley (US Journalist)

Success is an integral part to ones life, agree? Examples;

You have to kiss a few (thousands) frogs to find a prince.

Your mother brought you up the 'right' way.

A member of management actually remembers your name or calls you Victoria rather than Vicky (personal irk)

The dictionary defines it as

'The accomplishment of an aim or purpose'

Relevance - I've applied for over 200 sought after jobs in the PR Industry. Gaining interviews for 5 top in-house outfits I sail through to the last three. At the crucial moment, I walk away with egg on my head & a battered/bruised ego. None the wiser as to how I could improve my chances for the next time.

At this moment in time there may not be a next time.

Still, shan't hark about that ultimate snore. Though I'm still on the same subject;

If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again. I bloody hate this phrase, not only for its smug truth, but its repetitive use of 'try'. The amount is vexing.

My dearest chum called me a serial man-catcher last night. I seem to cast my net, let all the ripe ones go, and devour the stragglers caught in the net. The lame ones. It's a talent.

Whilst purchasing a single lemon last night I came face to face with one said wet fish. Let's call him Neil.

Self service till, I'm pressing buttons, flailing my arms and calling for help, Neil walks up behind me & says 'don't you hate awkward situations'. Dear Lord, I'm out of my skin scared, no room for awkward. As the seconds drag by, I'm forced to engage in the single most stiff exchange of my life.

Perhaps I should elaborate on the relationship, pre-lemon incident.

Saturday night, traditionally known as binge-drinking bender night. I'm indulging, casting my net, reeling no-one back but acting my clumsy flirty self anyway. A terribly well-spoken man-boy speaks to me, fast forward 5 hours, we're on the bus home together (we share the same postcode, I'm not that easy). I go in for coffee (stop thinking what you're thinking) & he offers a massage (shocked you right?) and I accept. It was delightful. I fall asleep, wake up and return home.

Simple enough it would seem.

Oh contraire.

My first text from him ' '. Blank. Followed by a 'stop'. Who is this lunatic? I reply confused, then gain the response 'Thinking about me'.

It's humorous, and a novel way of engaging in conversation. I'll flirt mildly.

BAM, I'm hit with racy texts (vomit inducing), about how much he wants to X me, how I really turned him on (the mirror told otherwise) and noting a whole host of 'saucy' (loosely used) phrases.

I berate his shameful way with words and an apology ensues. For 3 days. A sample of his apology;

'I would walk barefooted through the belly of Hades over miles of crushed glass carrying a ten stone weight just to have you here next to me tonight'

'Just to let you know that a piece of me will die inside if I never feel the warmth of your touch again'

Baring in mind I'm not responding to these texts bar one to say 'please never contact me again'.

A week or two passes, I chortle at the ridiculousness of the texts and delete the number. It's like there was an alarm going off at my doing of this; I warn you, you shouldn't read the below on a full stomach;

'I know that right now its hard for anyone to recognise when they meet the person they want to share their lives with. Especially with the overload of information and male congestion in London. I think that mother nature provides food for every little bird in the world but that doesn't mean it will drop in its nest. People are the same way. WIth that in mind I cannot help but look into the future and see a young woman asking her grandmother for advice in matters of the heart'

It gets worse.

'You look at your granddaughter with love in your eyes, speaking in a kind voice, recalling moments from your youther when you weren't sure whether your heart was melting for the right man. Then you smile and tell her to trust her heart even if her mind says no. Because there was a time when a young man was desperately trying to get your attention but for reason he could not find his way into your heart. Just before you decided to put an end to his misery he wrote a compelling letter straight from his heart. And thats when you knew he was the man who deserved your love. ... ... ... (there's so much) ... ... Had he given up at first I wouldn't be talking to about matters of the heart my dear girl, for that young man was none other but your grandfather'.

I repeat, we were in eachothers company for 6 hours. I was intoxicated.

This is why I had the most awkward moment in a long time whilst purchasing a single lemon. What an apt basket I had.

Assuming his aim was to gain the title of ultimate strange-being 2012, he's succeeded. Perhaps I can take Brinkley's quote literally and throw bricks at Neil. One brick per cringe-inducing text.

God loves a trier ...