Heartbreak.

14 Jul

So, just over a month ago I embarked on a very intense and all consuming relationship. I fell totally in love. It was such a wonderful month. I couldn’t think of anything else. For the first two weeks I was at it three times a day. There was so much excitement, so much passion, there would be little surprises to keep me on my toes. There were only a handful of occasions that I missed out on the opportunity to spend time together and that’s because of work. I did consider pulling a sickie once or twice. I didn’t eat regularly, I neglected friends, some days I would do my make up in only ten minutes rather than the standard minimum of twenty five. I would leap out of bed early every day to make sure I didn’t miss a minute of being together. Those first two weeks this all-encompassing affair would prevent me from doing anything else freely. I planned my time around my beau.

But then things changed. The three times a day petered out to just two, then, to my horror I had to adjust to having entire days without. My infatuation and such heavy involvement in this heart-wrenching love affair made this too much to bear. He did come back. But I only got to see him once a day… and not for very long at all. All of my spare time was spent waiting, wanting to be reunited again. Then last weekend after the buildup of emotion and my free-fall to the realm of obsession, it was all over. He left me. World Cup 2010 is over.

I am heartbroken.

Part of me feels that the emotional impact of that song is somewhat undermined by the truly bemusing series of images they flash in front of your eyes… perhaps a tactic to baffle the heartbroken out of their misery.

I know I’m just in that break up stage where you can’t believe its happened. Its all a bit surreal and you feel a bit numb. You can’t really take it all in and you feel a little dazed like waking from some kind of hideous dream. I found myself buying two-for-one Ben & Jerry’s in Sainsburys this week. Obviously this is never a bad thing, but ’tis surely the sign of a broken heart. Or someone who just has a hankering for ‘Phish Food’.

My room is now in some kind of order at least. It took a while getting round to it. I’ve got clean underwear and I combed my hair. I just let these things slide I was so blinded by all the endless, endless football. I can’t even remember the last time I clipped my toenails. In fact I was playing with them yesterday and they are really rather claw like. I nearly tore through my leggings… yes, leggings, when i misjudged the location of the leg-hole.  Something about long fingernails on men make me feel physically sick. I was sat at the back of a Magic Bus the other evening watching a tall, slight man with a long pinched face and shoulder-length grey frizzy hair…hair that was so dry it could be used for kindling… thumb a cigarette he drew from his shirt pocket. He had such long fingernails that his hands naturally rested in feminine positions. I heaved a bit. Then when he began to claw through his awful scraggly hair with them and I think my facial expressions went on socially unacceptable auto-pilot. To cut a long story short, he was one of them that looked like the caricature of a sex pest.

I'm not talking as bad as this... I don't think he would be able to get his bus fare from his pockets. I don't understand this. Nothing can ever get done surely? If we were all like you, sir, the world would fall apart. He looks part man, part tree. Part pasta.

And I’m not talking like this either…

Bit less stabby.

I’m talking like this….

I don't know why but this goes right through me. Not in the literal sense like Freddy's would, but in the hideous cringe sense.

I was considering whether nor not I would share what just happened in the locating of this picture through the simple search of ‘man with long fingernails’. But what I discovered was just too weird not to share.

There is a site called ‘Long Unpolished Fingernails on Men: This is a positive website about (men with) long, unpolished fingernails, and people liking long, unpolished nails on men.’   http://nails.hyperphp.com/

There is an ‘images’ section, where gentlemen (like ‘Hans’ pictured above) upload photographs of their nails in various poses, holding oranges, stationery, in front of a boot, maybe in fetish wear; this is all detailed in the running ‘News’ feed on the main page. But even better there is a steamy ‘Stories’ section where you have the chance to read some of the following…

The System Administrator by Matthew
I’m at work as a computer expert and have to fix a software-problem during off-hours. It looks like it’s going to be a lonely, boring night, untill the local system administrator turns out to have longer nails.

The Fight by Matthew
Someone gets killed for being gay and I am the prime suspect. I meet the long-fingernailed friend of the deceased and he swears he wants to use his nails on the killers.

The Amsterdam Man by Matthew
I’m dressed in jeans wearing my own fake long fingernails and meet someone into leather and having long fingernails too.

Matthew sure has been a busy boy. I don’t know how he would manage so much typing with his long nails. He better actually have these long nails he keeps banging on about or I will feel thoroughly cheated by the fickle veil of fiction.

Just to add the the thoroughly odd corner of the internet I had found myself in, it was exacerbated tenfold by a pop-up I hadn’t realised had appeared which automatically played a video of a German chef detailing how to make Chocolate Mountains in his native tongue with a mildly creepy translator voice-over running over the top, talking about softened gelatine, bain marie’s, shaved almonds and whipped cream. I couldn’t work out where these voices were coming from on such a strange website. Deliciousness undermined by peculiarity.

This has been the ultimate digression.

To summarise, I am a bit football-less and sad. I was going to go onto the wider scope of my heartbreak and go into the fact that I have kicked the internet dating habit. I have some stories to tell. But they can wait til next time. It might end up becoming a bit Bradshaw but I’m sorry. I’ve gone awfully embittered over matters of the heart at late, not helped with each time I see someone from my year at school has got married or is having a kid or their fourth year anniversary or something. I will try and serve up what would essentially be a horribly whiny girly topic in the most rugged way possible. Like humus made from gravel.

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