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How much does the first person you ever fall in love with affect the ones you are subsequently attracted to?

My first love was when I was nineteen, and occurred just about the same time I fell in love with ecstasty. I don’t know how to write about how I felt about that boy. Except to say that everything we said to each other, all the hours we spent together felt so significant and I kept all those times treasured in my memory. I could remember how being with him felt, not the physical touch, but the emotion between us, for ages afterwards. Even now, if I smell a certain smell of spring, some Proustian thing happens and I can feel the remenants of that emotion. 

I never had sex with him. The relationship was cut short because I was on my gap year and due to go off to ffice:smarttags" />Paris for a month. When I came back he said it didn’t feel the same. That was the end of that, and I went back to Paris to live for the next six miserable months which I spent thinking about him constantly, and replaying every moment we spent together from the vault in my memory.

But now, six years later, I still find myself looking at boys who I would probably never have found attractive it if weren’t for the fact that they have some aspect of them that reminds me of Nigel. It’s usually stuff like mannerisms – how someone smokes their cigarette, or sits, the depth of their voice, their relaxed aura or an ability to give all enveloping bear hugs.

Reason for this entry is that there’s a boy I’ve met here (English), who has some of these traits. He’s not sexy, he’s not someone who I look at and I immediately wanna get naked with, I don’t think we have much in common, but there’s something Nigel-esque in him, and I’ve been finding myself drawn to him. Which I spose wouldn’t be an issue if I didn’t live with him. If I didn’t, and I fucked up and had sex with him because of a ghost and not because I was genuinely attracted to him, it probably wouldn’t matter. But if I do end up getting down with him at some point, and inevitably have to back off because being with him is not what I actually want, living with him would be a bit tricky. I’m gonna have to try and keep this one in the hypothetical.

They’re pretty. Tiny skinny heels, sling backs, pointy, a coppery metallic colour. They cost a teensy weensy 120 euros. They’re in the designer discount shop next door to my house. They’re in my size. Only my size. There’s just the one pair. BUT – I have no dolla at the moment. Money has only gone OUT of my bank account since I last got paid in July. This, is a problem. fficeffice" />

I have a maxim with regards to shoe buying – if you’re ever debating whether or not to buy a pair of shoes, you must remember this: “ALWAYS buy the shoes”. You will only regret it later.  The number of times I have listened to girls traumatized because they’ve ended up NOT buying the shoes as they’ve been silly enough to come up with PRACTICAL reasons to leave the shoes sitting, lonely and unworn on some shop shelf is incredible. Classic examples of practical (and irrelevant) reasons girls come up with to not by the shoes, are:

1) “They won’t match anything I’ve got.” A classic, and probably the most short-sighted reason for not purchasing beautiful footwear. Dude, if the shoes are gorgeous you get ‘em, and you buy a new fucking outfit. Worry about small details like clothing at a later date.

2) “Oh my god, I’ll never be able to walk ANYWHERE in them!” So learn how to walk in a four inch heel if they really are that fabulous.

I have to admit, one of my all time pet hates is seeing girls clumping around in heels they don’t know how to walk in – there really is nothing worse. So. You practice at home and you get taxis.

3) “But I can’t afford them!” This is the most pathetic, over-used and pointless excuse for non-shoe-buying.  Not affording shoes is a nonsense. Fabulous footwear can completely change how you feel about yourself. You can go from feeling miserable and mingy to goddess in the time it takes to buckle a Manolo Mary-Jane. Surely this is more important than money? Find some pretend money from somewhere! Use a credit card or something! Beg! Steal! Borrow!

Which leads me to my problem. I, quite literally, am penniless. There is no case for choosing to afford or not because I haven’t been paid any money since July, so I don’t have any income to stretch out. I’m up to limits all over the place, and I won’t necessarily be getting any money in the near future due to some annoying Italian bureacracy which states that even though I have a European passport I’m not supposed to work in this country without a work permit. Without a work permit my employer won’t give me a contract, and without a work contract she won’t pay me. And I can’t get a work permit because for that, I need a housing contract, and I can’t get one of them cos I’m not supposed to be living in this house.  Something is gonna have to give. I NEED GUCCI!!!!

It’s time to get inventive. Beg, steal, borrow. S’gotta be done.

Ill and stuff. Not good. I'm sure there should be lots to tell, in fact I'm sure there is, I just can't remember at the moment... erm...

the ill-advised teacher-student romance I have been managing to hold off so far...  not sure how much longer i'm gonna manage tho. Although tonsilitis is a pretty good way of stopping anything happening. Squealage is occuring frequently (hurrah!), and text message chats have occurred (mainly throughout the final of fashion house on Sunday).

I'm being very dull at the moment... I'll skidaddle.

Lates.

me dad had his operation on saturday and it was all good... had a hilarious chat with him afterwards... talking about italian boys - bless me dad!

Yeh, that made me happy.

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Turn left up the street
Nothing but grey concrete and dead beats
Grab something to eat
Maccy D's or KFC
Only one choice in the city
Done voicin my pity, now lets get to the nitty gritty
Tune reminds me of my first e
unique still sixteen and feelin horny
Point to the sky feel free
A sea of people all equal smiles in front and behind me
Swim in the deep blue sea cornfields sway lazily
All smiles all easy where you from, what you on and what's your story
Mesmerizing tones risin pianos this is my zone so stop clonin
Pick paper scissors or stone
Coz me and you are same i known you all my life i don't know your name
The names European Bob sorted anyway,
Gonna have dance now see you later please to meet you
Likewise a pleasure


The night slowly fades and goes slow motion
All the commotion becomes floatin emotions
Same piano loops over
Arms wave eyes roll back and jaws fall open
I see in soft focus
Chattin to this bloke in the toilets
Dizzy new heights blinded by the lights
These people are for life its all back to his place at the end of the night
They could settle wars with this
If only they will imagine the worlds leaders on pills then imagine the mornin after
Wars causing disaster don't talk to me i don't know ya
But this aint tommorow and for now i still love ya
Hours fly over sail round diamonds and pearls never seen so many fit girls
Discover new worlds look at my watch can't focus
Last two hours i lost every move fills me with lust
All of life's problems i just shake off
Mad little events happen things map out and a few blue maddens alight the toilets
Big beefy bouncers out to reveal us geezers on e's and first timers kids on whizz darlins on
Charlie
All come together for this party
All races many faces from places you never heard of
Where you from what's your name and what you want
Sing to the words flex to the fat one
The tribal drums the sun's risin we all smile we all sing

Then the girl in the café taps me on the shoulder
I realize five years went by I'm older
Memories smoulder winters colder
But that same piano loops over and over and over
The road shines and the rain washes away
The same Chinese takeaway selling shit in a tray
It's dark all round I walk down same sight same sounds new beats though
Solid concrete under my feet
No surprises no treats the world stands still as my mind sloshes round
The washing up bowl in my crown
My life's been up and down since i walked from that crowd

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Date with the student tonight. Not sure this is a good idea. For lots of reasons, but mainly: 

1) his level of badness with regard to the chemical stuff and

2) for the fact that i have to teach him twice a week.

However, the amount i find myself staring at him in class is getting silly. If I finally get to snog him maybe I'll get over it. This boy be FITNESS itself, (or figo, as they say in these parts), and distinctly not like the normal too-tight-trewser wearing Italian. Actually has some STYLE, which is nice. Chocolate brown eyes, gorgeous skin and messy brown hair. Mmmmmmmmmmm. Treat. Ooof, seriously need to get over this.

Now, whatever shall i wear?

I hurt...

So, report back time. God, where to start. Last night was hilarious, so much misbehaving and fun like I've not had here. So, the boy. Well... true to form, I have blatently managed to find myself going out with probably the baddest boy within a 100mile radius. He is trouble, good and proper. This leads me to reflect on my boy/man issues, and whether it isn't about time i graduated from boys to men, but I reckon that's another post.

Anyway, suffice to say, that I got in about five o'clock this morning, after a night of dancing at a teensy little club, inhabited by people more like me than the usual conservative beige/black/grey-clad veronese. And today, I had to go and teach 30 naughty 12 year olds with vodka emanating from every pore in my body and a BRANDED neck. Yes, dear internet friends, I have got two big fuck off love bites on my neck. hahahahahaha! Thankfully, I have a collection of rather natty silk scarves that I've picked up in various second handshops, one of which i knotted round my neck and i don't think the reason i was wearing it was too too obvious. Ahem.

Dunno what'll happen next. I managed to not get naked with him, which i thought was rather clever of me, considering my usual way of going about these things. Not sure if I've pissed him off with a text msg convo we had earlier tho - i don't think he quite grasps the concept of my (typically british, i guess), sarcasm. Or it might just be his Italian way of finding problems when there really isn't any. I dunno. Italian courting is a bit of a mystery to me. Having said that, so's the British version. We shall see...