Incident Seventeen: List of people sexier than you

At one point Mr Weirdo started getting a kick out of letting me know he thought other women were more attractive than me.

Now don’t get me wrong. I know if you’re in a relationship you don’t stop seeing other people as attractive. But at the same time it’s pretty impolite to advertise, no, declare it to your partner.
He wouldn’t do it with strangers, only with my friends. He’d say things to me like, “Susan’s* a really attractive creature, don’t you think?” or sonetimes as bold as “You should grow your hair long like Lacey*”

One day he said to me, “Out of our male friends, list five of them you’d most like to sleep with”.

I didn’t particularly want to sleep with any of them so I laughed it off and tried to change the subject, but Mr Weirdo was oddly fixated on this point. He pressed the question unwaveringly until I started to feel uneasy.

I thought about my male friends and decided if I had to sleep with anyone, better the ones I trusted most. Falteringly, I named a guy I was close to (and would later almost end things with Mr Weirdo for). Mr Weirdo’s mouth fell open, appalled.

“Him?! No. No, you’d much rather sleep with Mick or Dan*” These two boys were considered good looking, popular, brash and charming. They were everything Mr Weirdo aspired to be. He would loiter near them at house parties, laughing a little too long and too loud at everything they said, looking for any excuse to be in their corner.

“Do you know who, I would sleep with?” He asked me, and without awaiting a response he listed some of the slender, quiet but attractive girls in our group. Not any I was close to, but the ones I didn’t know that well. In a way of course, this was worse, because the girls I was closest to I wouldn’t feel were a threat. I knew them. I trusted them.

It was another way of isolating me from the wider circle whilst desperately trying to get himself further in. He started drinking copious amounts on nights out, revelling in the attention ot got him. Even if they were laughing at him, better that than the idea of them talking to me.

As I mentioned before, Mr Weirdo had become involved with an ex friend of mine in the group. She was a horrible person, quick to use her female friends and run them down behind their backs. She was very easy to hate, which of course worked well for Mr Weirdo as all the blame for the affair was easily shifted onto her.

I let Mr Weirdo have his affair, like I said. I sincerely felt relief that he could sleep with someone else and I could sit unhindered in the background. I was too shy and unkind to myself to leave.

And then I met Scorned Woman #1.

* All the names in this post are fake/generic pseudonyms


Pissed at the Pope in the Philippines: Catholicism vs. Feminism

Brilliant blog on how the Catholic Church scorns all women. Calling out the pope on his views on gay marriage and contraception

Mims' Musings


Today I woke up to an excited household. My parents were watching Pope Francis’s meeting with the Jesuits in the Philippines. My Mum is from the Philippines, and my Dad studied there to become a Jesuit priest (but left the priesthood). Several of the Jesuits in the room are personal friends of theirs. I joined in watching the video, feeling happy that Pope Francis had experienced that Filipino sense of humour which I’ve grown up around.

Minutes later, this article came up, and my happiness quickly dissolved into anger:

Pope criticises Gay Marriage, backs ban on contraception

I was brought up as a Catholic, and stopped going to church regularly when I was about 15. This article has reminded me why I don’t subscribe to Catholicism anymore. I’m always respectful of other people’s faiths, but as this is the one I’ve been brought up in, it angers me.

I have…

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Incident Sixteen: The Danger of Routines

By this point in the Mr Weirdo saga, all the niceties that trick you into staying in the first place had evaporated.

Mr Weirdo wouldn’t touch me in public, if I brushed against him he would make a big show of flinching and rubbing the affected area with pantomime disgust. I had always been the more popular and I found myself pleading with the friends I had made at home whilst he lived on campus to like him. Just give him another chance, please. He doesn’t mean to be like this. I gave him every validation to treat me like dirt, and sadly once you do that it is extremely hard to go back.

He came back home after Uni and we both found ourselves unemployed in the epicentre of a huge recession. In the same breath Mr Weirdo would curse my mixed race heritage (“I can’t find a job because I’m a white priviliged male!”) and insult me all in one go (“You can’t find a job because you have no skills”). I used to do writing as a hobby. He told a group of friends I had recently met that my writing was “uninspired, all very much the same, dull” and I soon threw away much of the writing I had done at University with shame.

We started staying round his parents a lot. I suddenly found I didn’t want him around mine anymore, in hindsight it was my only refuge. He had another take on it of course (“They live in such a low class house, she prefers to stay here”). After a while, towards the last few months of the relationship, he sold the guest bed in his room for money. He turned down his mothers offer to buy a double bed. He would put a thin single sheet and a pillow on the floor. I would sleep there like a dog on the scratchy carpet whilst he slept above me in the remaining bed.

I lie. The dog had it’s own bed, so actually I was kind of worse off.

This is really hard for me to write. It’s so hard to acknowledge, even on an anonymous front.

He started cheating on me again, of course. With a girl I used to be friends with. This time he knew he didn’t need to conceal it. He would text her in front of me, giggling and hiding the phone. Sometimes he showed me her messages. “Aren’t you going to fight for me, then?” He laughed once.

I should have said no. I really wish I had.

I did start demanding he stop. It was humiliating. I would kick off in pubs and at nights out after he’d spent an hour goading me on. I’d call him every name under the sun and then burst into tears. He’d give a look to my friends, now his friends. Look what I have to put up with. Mad woman.

One time we were at a house party and he and the girl in question got drunk. They were all over each other to the point where even the other guests became uncomfortable and turned a blind eye. I sat, frosty in the corner, scowling over my drink.

“I’m going home” I hissed at him eventually. He scowled.

“What the hell is your problem? Lighten up, it’s a party” he said quietly.

I looked at the other girl and said, “You’re making a fool out of me and worse, a fool of yourself. You look like a fucking drunk idiot”

It was the first time I had really turned any proper venom on him and he looked shocked. I don’t think he knew what to do, really.

So he said, “Don’t talk to me like that” and slapped me across the face.

It wasn’t a hard slap, but it stung and made a sound enough for people to turn round. I always used to think people would rush to someones defense in such a scenario. Sad news is, they don’t. They are scared to get involved.

I had to get a lift off a person I didn’t really know, my cheek pink and my eyeliner running.

He only ever hit me again once. In our local high street when I made a joke at his expense about him taking a long time to get ready. It was more discreet, over the side of my face. Just enough to let me know I’d spoken out of turn, not enough to get in trouble with the people about town. Again, if anyone saw, they didn’t step in.

My medical records around these years show an increasing amount of urinary tact infections, anxiety, self harm, eating problems and depression. It was a phase, and my mother wished I would grow out of it and my doctors reassured her I would.

When I was a kid, I nearly drowned after getting stuck in a pool. I fought like crazy at first, but then after a while everything felt very still and calm. I stopped fighting and sort of accepted, this is it. I could see the lught coming through the top of the water and it was pretty, but I didn’t need it. Not meaning to sound melodramatic, but that’s how dating Mr Weirdo ended up. You stop fighting and accept this is how you will be shown love. Love isn’t like in the movies. And even once it’s gone and you’re back on the land and in the light, you kind of don’t believe it because you have been under there where it is dark. It takes a lot of your faith in goodness and kindness from you.

But I didn’t drown. I’m on the land. I guess it’s got to count for something.

Incident Fifteen: “Don’t you remember?”

(Apologies for the long hiatus)

There was this one time I went to visit Mr Weirdo at his Uni. He had just started the second year of his course and the student accomodation he had landed was pretty nice, as far as student places go.

I had travelled 3 hours to get there and was feeling tired. I have a medical condition which means on occassion I get very dizzy and disoriented and confused and sometimes pass out. I sometimes get so confusedI don’t recognise I am getting unwell. I felt a biy headachey and tired so I sat on his bed to read a book whilst he played games on his computer in the background. I soon drifted off and fell unconcious.

Luckily when this happens, my liver eventually floods out a back up supply of sugar into the body to bring it back round. It can sometimes take a while but it’s a good back up to have. You wake up as though you’ve been asleep but with a pounding headache and feeling very weak and ill.

On this occassion, I woke up and felt cold. Really cold. I opened my eyes and realised the window was open. And I was naked. Um. What the hell??

I sat up and pulled a blanket over me. My clothes were all over the floor and my head hurt so bad I could barely move. Not to be too graphic but there was a slightly uncomfortable sensation further down too.

Mr Weirdo was back on his computer as though nothing had happened, although his jumper was off and slung on the floor too.

“What happened?” I asked. I knew, I think, deep down I did know. But I was still so groggy and confused I couldn’t really believe it.

He turned and grinned mischevously, like a schoolboy playing a prank.

“Don’t you remember?” He said, “We had sex and then you said you were tired so I let you sleep”

“I was reading my book…” I looked around for it and saw it was on his desk, next to the computer. I was feeling really sick by now.

“I think I was having a hypo…”

He laughed. He actually laughed.

“Oh shit,” he goes, “Well, you didn’t say no”

I tried to process it, but at that time I couldn’t. Pathetic as it sounds, it took me years to come back to it. Back then, I just needed to focus on the immediate issues to cope.

“Shut the window,” I muttered, “It’s fucking freezing”

Incident Fourteen: The Online Blog

In the time Mr Weirdo and I dated, the world of social media was vastly expanding. Facebook was still in the early stages and hadn’t quite caught on yet, MySpace and Bebo were the ones people were using most. Twitter was a distant nightmare.
I was on social media quite often writing to friends and posting selfies. Mr Weirdo resisted setting an account up until I begged and pleaded. When he did, however, because he had so few friends he had nobody to interact with.
So he began writing a strange long diary on there that nobody would read except him.

The site he used has since shut down but I saved a copy of the diary just before it did.

I’m sure previous blog entries have already shown what kind of person he is, but here are some gems straight from the horses mouth:

** I have changed names of people and places for confidentiality**

“I’m a bit worried about most everything, things seem very much out of place at the moment, I need to talk to someone. Well what I need is some kind of etheral being to read my thoughts and to guide me, no-one seems to be around to guide me anymore, I am alone in the matter.”

” You know what, I went to sleep yesterday when everyone else was asleep and I swear I saw a ghost, a small spectre which was staring at me, its head shook and vibrated quickly then it changed faces and it was doing it faster and faster so I turned the lights on. After this I was haunted by another shadow glaring and again it went, thirdly it was a lady wearing nothing IO saw appear in my sheets before I slept with the light on all night. I’ve never felt so scared, well not for a while.
I feel pretty scared and very very cold, I think I will get a jumper about now”

“Well yes I’m feeling down, I think I’m gonig to struggle to make it if I don’t see Scorned Woman #2 for too long. She may not be able to see me but I think I’m going to have to beg to see her at least Sunday or something if not Saturday… That could work, she could come Sunday and go home Monday back to her university for lectures. Gah, I’m soo fucking selfish”

** I had seen him two days before, and bear in mind I was the only person following him on social media. Would it not have been easier just to message and ask to hang out?

“Hey been a while since updating, but guess what I got no friends so I got enoguh time to do as such . Actually I got a few girls who pity me in farness […] I just can’t socialise, I can make enemies and annoy people without trying”


“Yikes {bewildered and worried facial expressions from the crowd (or not)}, just come to my attention that I’m actually really not very popular . Not sure how to treat that really.”

** Might help if you stopped being such a twat?

“My mum doesn’t trust me in that she asks my sister and brother to find out how far I’m getting and if I’m stupid enough to get a Scorned Woman #2 pregnant.”

“I feel good right now, grinning like some genetically mutated Cheshire Cat… Oh phooey (as Donald Duck would say).”

“I’ve come along way, over the years. I’ve climbed out of my own essence, I’ve become something powerful I think. Yet still its not in its prime. This is a random mumble about a memory. It is a memory of what once was.”

“It’s been so long since I last prayed. Not to God but to the God, not a God, not a known God but the God I know who keeps me company. Me I guess, do I pray to myself?”

“Maybe its a more femine trait, being concerned so much about what you look like and how you approach situations, aren’t men meant to go in much more all guns blazing style? Mayhaps I am a mere coward. Or maybe even more strange I am slowly becoming a woman.”

“Trust me when I tell you this but alcohol, food and even playstation and Personal Computer is no substitute for friendships.”

There is also a worrying amount of times he just refers to me as Girl. It wasn’t a nickname, and never “The Girl” which seems a bit sweeter. But literally like, “Girl, you need to get your work done so you can see me” or “Girl is sad today”. It’s like when aliens in movies try to be human.

He kept up this strange diary up until the last year or so of the relationship. We rarely spoke about it.

Incident Thirteen: Dead Donkey Drum

Following the joy that was the Roman Holiday, we didn’t travel away together again. Mr Weirdo eventually got sick of me “holding him back” and booked one himself.

He booked a trip to Africa. I couldn’t tell you which bit. He thought it was a country rather than a continent so I never knew anything more than that. He was set to go on a safari type scheme for other tourists where they all band together and make friends over their shared travel experience.

He made no contact during the couple of weeks he was away. I didn’t even miss him as far as I remember, I was hanging out with the friends he disapproved of.

When he came home he gave me a phonecall and arranged to come over to pick me up and bring me to his (we both still lived with our parents), as he had presents for me.

He literally swaggered through the door and started bragging about his holiday in a barely concealed racist tone. He only just held back from referring to the local people he’d met as ignorant savages. My mum said to me after, “I could actually see you rolling your eyes with annoyance everytime he said anything”.

We went back to his to get my present. First he showed me a load of chocolates, watches and posh perfume he had bought all his family from the airport on the way home.

And then he goes, “Close your eyes and hold out your hands”, I’ve learned to dread this request from experience.

I felt something firm and weirdly furry. Oh jesus.

I opened my eyes and looked down. It was a small tribal drum covered in fur. I am a firm vegetarian of several decades now. I don’t buy real leather or fur anything.

“You don’t like it?” snapped Mr Weirdo, as my face didn’t really give room for interpretation, “You’re so ungrateful. It’s made of real donkey. You like animals!”

I threw it on the floor and stormed out. The tragedy is that as a cruel joke I might have at least respected it a bit. You know, buying your vegetarian girlfriend a dead donkey drum. Cruel! But genius!

Except the thing was he genuinely couldn’t see why it was a big deal. Of course I liked animals! Why wouldn’t I like a drum made of one??

So ungrateful.

I insisted I wouldn’t take it and to prevent an argument ensuing, he traded me the box of chocolates he had bought for his mum.

But she didn’t want it either. So there it sat, on his bedside table for the entire remainder of our time together.

The Dead Donkey Drum.

Mr Northerner

There are two men that I will write about on this blog that had very notable impacts on my life. Mr Northerner is one of them.

As you will know, I quite like married men. There’s no relationship pressure, you don’t have to wash their socks, you generally get the best of them and they tend to be reasonable conversationalists.

Mr N was the perfect married man. How I met him is irrelevant, but we spent a lot of time together “in the line of duty” and things came to a point after a couple of months of our meeting when we both knew we liked each other and enjoyed each other’s company. It helped that he had a northern accent and stunning blue / green eyes. Both things that I am an absolute sucker for. He was also a lot older than me and worldly wise which I still approve of.

The first time we had sex was amazing. Most men suffer from “opening night nerves” – not Mr N. The foreplay was spot on (!) and we had sex throughout the night in his hotel room. No doubt the neighbours loved it, I’m sure they enjoyed the show as much as I did…

By this point I already knew Mr N and I were going to be involved for awhile. We got jealous when we saw the other flirting with people. We often didn’t need to speak to communicate with each other in a room full of people. I used to make him baked goods as he liked sugar as much as me. He stayed round mine at least 2 nights a week as he worked away from home – his wife thought he was in accommodation with a male work colleague or something along those lines.

But it wasn’t all plain sailing – when Mr N and I rowed, did we row. People knew all about it and didn’t half hear it – the fact that no one ever actually sat us down and questioned our “relationship” was a small miracle.

So, we had a very passionate, fulfilling (on many levels) affair. It went on for about a year and a half. We were generally quite happy with each other during this time, and supported each other through some hellish situations. There are things he did for me that I never properly thanked him for and I wish I had.

However, as the saying goes, all good things come to an end. I stopped communicating with him properly because I’m prone to such things, and he put two and two together and got five – deciding I was cheating on him. Despite the fact that I hadn’t been, after accusing me of it, I promptly went off and slept with multiple people. To say things crashed and burned would be an understatement.

A few months after, I moved away from the area for a job, one of the reasons being that being so close to him in location was too difficult. I didn’t tell him I’d resigned, and when he heard it from a mutual acquaintance, the texts I got were pissed. This put further distance between us as we were as bad as each other at being stubborn – he wouldn’t tell me why it angered him so much that I hadn’t told him direct, and I wouldn’t tell him why I hadn’t told him direct. We both still liked each other but were too proud to say it. We probably both knew as well that there had been too much water under the bridge at this point – what we’d once had was shattered into a thousand pieces by harsh words and sustained periods of silence from both of us. Despite that, on the day I said goodbye to him, I nearly cried in front of him. I didn’t think he was far off it either.

I’ve never asked a married man to leave his wife for me – it’s a line I’ll never cross – but I know no one has made me think about the concept like Mr N did. I knew he loved me although I’d often throw it back at him when he said it, as it seemed pointless.

I’ve pretty much lost contact with Mr N now, although awhile ago he messaged me out of the blue to wish me happy birthday, on the day itself. It made me smile and we exchanged a pleasant few messages. I know he’s no longer with his wife, they’ve divorced and he is now seeing someone I know and I believe they are reasonably happy together, which does please me as even after the vile ending…I didn’t wish him ill.

He always used to say “why let the truth get in the way of a good story?” – maybe one day he’ll discover this blog and this true (yet good?) story will make him smile…?