The Crushmaster. A lust for life. And not a hoot for judgement.

Let me start with a wee disclaimer and say, those that know me, even if you’ve known me for 30 seconds, or 30 years, you’ll know that I’m a bit of a clown, and have no hesitation in just being silly and generally a bit of an entertainer, mainly by not giving a hoot about potentially embarrassing myself. If I can make someone smile just a smudge of how much I smile, then my time in this crazy fairground has been worthwhile. Also, now I confess I will contradict myself in a paragraph or two, but I am very much an open book, laid back, generally nothing phases me, or offends me (unless you assume, incorrectly, that I like being called Sammy). Let’s just brush over this, and for your sake, I hope you don’t risk a comical stab at calling me that aforementioned name. Just don’t. Don’t. I also have no filter between my mind and mouth, but maybe a bit of wall between my heart and mouth. This, this is what brings me to today’s post.

When it comes to the topic of what I feel I have failed in, or rather, opted not to settle in (good save Sambo), I close up. Become a mute. Bottle things up. That is until Mother Nature arrives, and then I become a needy teenage school nerd who just needs to be shot in the mouth. Just with rolled up socks would do. Violence is, as we know, not the answer. Resulting in a mopey bout of self pity and hoping that either the other party forgets and keeps stum, orrrrr, goes to the moon.

Looking back, at every job I’ve ever worked, I think I’ve developed a crush on a co-worker. Mostly because, I find them physically attractive. I am only human after all. Then after a bit of time (known to be just an hour or two, or up to six months down the line), I find them to be either quite the conversationalist, and/or (the real test), funny. Obviously never as funny as myself, but not offended by my endearing unplanned abuse. Abuse is my shy way of coping with not just asking if they like bread.

In Bath, this happened in two companies. Both of the ‘lucky’ crushees are still my pals. In Reading, no. Sorry Snow Day gang, but that youth we all giggled at for me liking, was purely just coz he had a hot as voice. Yes, even for a youth. I best just confirm here, before Yewtree have something else to use against me, I was 30, he was 22.

Next, the creme de la creme of office crushes, and to where the bar was welded in to place. Never to be moved. To be one true sturdy survived in the Earths demise. My final workplace in the UK before departing to new shores, and not at a request of a restraining order either. I started a new job, made a new friend instantly, during my tour of the new work pen, where she confirmed no hotties worked here. No eye candy spotted. Until, it was chairs on tables time. Hello there Shuttle Bus companion. Sorry Mickey, you thought it was you then didn’t you?! My gosh he was charmingly handsomely beautiful and my peepers loved him.

And they lived happily ever after.

NOT! This is reality after all. I don’t think we actually spoke until my tackle at the lunch time football game some six months later. I’d just spent each day melting every time I saw him walk past me, not even clocking me. It was fine, and safer that way. For both parties. However, the post match handshake had me stitching up. Wet, limp and left me with a feeling of having to wipe myself off. Some could argue that this was a bloody good handshake, but for once, I’m not being smutty. I was over it. That was until I saw him after his shower and in the lunch queue just moments later.

It wasn’t long before one or two people at work knew I had a crush. Then me being me, just openly spoke about it, and it quickly became entertainment for the entire team. I knew from Day 1 that zero would come of this beautiful being and myself, but living in a very small village with zero social life, a girl is allowed to dream. And entertain. Eeeeven, when after a colleagues leaving party I was informed I was not allowed to walk home alone, but was invited to share a bed in a hotel with this scantily clad Jamie Dornan lookalike, I knew, we were no match (you read who I said he was a lookalike of right? And you see my pic on this blog, I’m no foxy lass!). But, it’s all material to aid the daydreams. I am a Pisces. ‘HELLO’ was all that I could muster when I saw him in his boxers. And then, got in to bed and went to n’nights. Genuwen! Burrrrrn. Or, he’s gay. Whatever, I slept next to one of the most shit hot men EVER. Winning!

I worked there for a further five months, and conversation was now there, albeit minimal, but my lack of self control when around alcohol, ie. Christmas party,… Let’s just continue with the role of me as key entertainer for my colleagues.

A story I didn’t need to share. Although, he looks like Jamie Dornan, so yeah, yeah I did.

Then, my current role. Worked here nine months now, and no, I’m not writing to welcome the birth of my Induction Meeting baby, but to say, a new person started just three and a half months ago (bugger me, it feels longer ago than that) and although the same thing is happening again, it’s actually different. Same same but different.

Being dragged around the office for unmemorable introductions on his first day, I sent an instant message to two of my gal pals in the office as soon as I heard his ID card swoosh out the printer. Ding dong. Hello handsome. As his hand came in for a ‘how do you do, I’m Lancelot*’, I noticed the gleaming dumbbell on his ring finger of his left hand. Oh well, who cares, something hot as to oggle at in the office, at last.

*Real name has been altered. Or has it?! Lollage.

Day 3, in the office making a bevvie and flicking through the paper, in he waltzes, “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met…?”. Rude, we met three days ago you selfish bast… Quick Samantha reply, reply, *brushes hair behind ear*, “Oh hi, I’m Sam, how’s it going?”. Twenty mins later, cup of tea now stone cold, we are still gassing. Bluebirds are filling up the kitchen and Ed Sheeran is singing Tenerife Sea just to our left. Aaaaand, back in the room… If this is your first read of my blog, please note, I occasionally exaggerate. Just slightly.

I can’t remember when it started, but our daily afternoon teas had escalated to lunches (originally in secret, meeting out the front of the building where every other colleague was heading for their lunch, wow, major secretive), and then on the odd occasion, Friday night work drinks. Forgetting to invite work. But let me stress, for him, I believed this was some sad Billy No Mates just wanting a beer, and I’m English, so it was just an easy choice. To me, it was more; this dude is married, so nowt is EVER gunna happen, he’s hot as, and we get on. AS FRIENDS. And well, again, I’m a Pisces, I daydream, this is all fab material. And I get a beer.

Until, after 2 months of knowing each other, just two months!!, he confessed, the day after I’d had way too much drink after my first ever date I might add, so my wits were otherwise engaged, ie. dead to the world, he informed me, out the blue, actual just blurted out, “I need to stop flirting with you, because that’s what I’m doing….”. Now, this conversation, mainly one sided, went on for a little over an hour. But, that first sentence had my stomach doing somersaults. Uh, what, sorry, come again… No no, this is my crush, not yours, shush now. I won’t share any more of the conversation for a few reasons: you’re either laughing at me, happy for me, or judging me. Either way, I don’t care. Yes you are only reading these words, and you don’t actually understand it 100%. To me, I was flattered as, but later on that evening, I realise I was annoyed. He’d ruined my innocent, harmless, self indulgent dreams. Sure, he is married, and I wouldn’t like to have my other half telling another person he was in to them, but at the same time, I respect his honesty, and he didn’t act on it, physically. Then again, he could be using this script on many other smitten eejits, who knows. But from it, I’ll take the confidence boost, but equally, wish it never happened.

I/we’ve tried the avoiding tactics. Didn’t work. We now lunch with other colleagues, as a group, we don’t meet in hiding (that sounds way worse than it ever was by the way). We don’t go for drinks. We both always have plans anyway. And we don’t use compliments. However, we actually get on. As friends. Like – movies, music, humour, …all that we have in common. Yes okay, we find each other attractive, but we won’t act on it. Neither of us disrespect his wife enough to do that. Obviously if a Genie gave me three wishes, the first one would be for her to vamoosh, obvs. We are just friends. But, Mother Nature, the cunt, plays havoc with the inner me and is like “owww, remember when he gave you compliments, oh, now you’re all frumpy and pimply and alone, and now you’re just friends. Mwahahahaha….”. BOOOOOM, die bitch!

I’m on a coach, six hour journey, on my tod, just me and that aforementioned demon, Mother Nature, and I can’t think of anything else but this diddly drama. Listening to my future husband Ed Sheeran belt out some tuneage probably isn’t the best idea mind you aye…

So, to quote mine and Ed’s mate Taylor, all the haters are gunna hate hate hate, but I’ve not written this post to be upset by your judgements, I couldn’t care less, as I said, you don’t know the conversations/friendship that has occurred. But to my pals that actually know me, just to let you know, I still got it, I just choose not to act on it, and I’m happier being single, making new pals, not ruining marriages and not finding someone out there just to make you feel better, or to give your kids a play mate. Yes I’m 33, but I’m happy, a little confused right now yes, but, love is out there for me, just not in the old text book way, and I’m fine with that.

I guess I was starting to feel a tiny bit homesick, and then I remembered I come from a small town where everyone knows everything. So I just saved myself $2,000 and done that anyway. Now, headphones in, day dreaming switched to go, and weekend away at the beach, onwards and upwards.

Laters lovetards xxxx

Life is short, don’t take it too seriously aye.

One thought on “The Crushmaster. A lust for life. And not a hoot for judgement.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s