First of Happy New year to all you few lovely people who follow me. And to myself, who incidentally had a rather fabulously me new year. And actually before I say all that does anyone watch American Horror Story? And enjoy the uncanny connections between the seasons? This. This is real TV, where there are tiny connections that only the avid fans would notice that tie an entire four seasons worth of skin crawlingly creepy TV together. Is it a strain on your brain? (Like the apparently “real” Doctor Who fans stated in previous seasons) does it force you to do more than mindlessly watch TV for hours on end and zone out till your eye balls turn into mush in their sockets? YES AND I LOVE IT! Why do people want mindnumbing TV? Why? WHY WHY WHY? Isn’t it far more exciting to fall of your seat as you scream in realisation (or terror) as the events cave together?
Back on point.
You Gods You.
Anyway, back to my 5pm TV drama life.
I met a really swell (and yes I say swell) guy at a New Years Eve party, he smoothly added his number to my phone, snapchat and facebook, before even more smoothly stealing my midnight kiss. And what a kiss it was.
And it was a G, nothing to serious, it just sort of fell into a thing. A wonderful thing. Until I met his brother. Or rather. Until I caught his brother looking at me like I was the single most beautiful girl he’d ever laid eyes on. And then all the easy fell away. And suddenly it became a game of tug of war with me as the rope.
Boy number 1 (new years eve) doesn’t want a girlfriend, due to a long term relationship where a girl refused to let him go anywhere without him and completely ruined the fun that being 18 should be. Understandable? of course. But we work, in that uncomplicated mess of hair *swooshing* terrible dancing and cute little looks across a bar.
Boy number 2 (the older brother) wants a girlfriend, he feels a tad on the dog act side for starting to talk to me knowing full well that his brother has an interest, but on the other hand he is consistently happy to hang, chill and talk without being held back. He’s a bad boy, his airs and graces ring true to my ex, he a motorbike riding, smoking, tattooed piece of tanned muscle with a cheeky smile and fast tongue.
What is a girl to do?
They want me to choose.
Boy number 1 seems the right choice. But I would be waiting perhaps unsuccessfully for him to be ready to admit to himself that what we have behind all the teasing and laughter is something real.
Boy number 2 seems the easy choice. But no less right.
My life is like a sitcom. I feel as if every time something happens it’s just another twist in a rather long season. Already season 22 is shaping up to be a cracker.