That’s right people, crack out the party poppers and punch bowls, because this little blogger just got herself a boyfriend.
I’m too excited to care about the details, but approximately two months ago I began speaking to a wonderful chap who went by the name of Bambi. Regulars at The Hell Butterfly should remember him. He was the one that challenged my writing skills, made me think harder about what I wrote and form opinions on things I’d never thought about before. He was the one that made me feel comfortable talking about so many things that I felt I couldn’t talk about with anyone else. He was the one that I may have actually passed unknowingly at London Film and Comic Con this year, the both of us having attended the Saturday convention.
He is the one who introduced me to The Voodoo Lounge bar and took me to see my first firework show in several years. He is the one I cuddled as we laughed at the small children and admired the rare red moon over The Hoe. He is the one I introduced to my Dad the evening that Plymouth won their game against Exeter. He was the one I had my first kiss with.
He is the one I just closed my Plenty of Fish account because of.
He is also the one who just helped me move into my new house. He is the one who just spent all weekend with me, rather than meeting his own friends. He is the one who just made the approval of my mum and younger sister. He is the one who stayed at my new house two nights in a row, and made me a cup of tea in the morning. He is the one who cooked us the best pasta bake I’ve ever tasted.
Bambi is the one I just became official with.
Bambi is my boyfriend. I am Bambi’s girlfriend.
It feels surreal saying it, but hell I’m going to keep saying it because it feels damn good to be able to do so without it being a lie. I am in a relationship. It took me a few years longer than some of my friends, longer than some of my family, but while I may already be 21, the reward of waiting for the right person to come along has paid off. Could I have seen myself allowing R, or T, or J, or M24 to sleep in the same bed as myself all weekend? Could I have seen myself waking up to see R, or T, or J, or M24 laying next to me as I woke up? Could I have seen myself being cooked for by R, or T, or J, or M24? Honestly, not really. I’m sitting here as I type this picturing those scenarios, and none of them fit right. Some feel awkward, some too fake, too stereotypical. Then I picture the weekend I just had with Bambi.
That fits. Bambi fits.
Now, I don’t want this to seem like I’m suddenly head over heels, and I’m going to try and control myself so as I don’t cause any problems by getting ahead of myself, but the fact I haven’t stopped smiling since my Facebook status first read “Bambi is now in a relationship with Megan” is proof enough that this is something I want. And more importantly, that it’s something I want to do right. No rushing, no assumptions, just honesty, trust and patience.
It’s going to take hard work, but aren’t the best things in life worth working hard for?
Today’s title is a little dramatic, but I don’t know what better one to use. This week was a triumph in every way.
1. Room packed down, cleaned. Keys handed back in. Moved successfully out of my second year student house.
2. Met Bambi, twice. Had a very nice time on both occasions, possibility of meeting again. Dad approves of him.
3. England wins Test Cricket 3 – 1 against India. Plymouth Argyle beat Exeter City 3 – 0. Swansea beat Manchester United 2 – 1. England wins 23 medals at the European Athletic Championships, breaking several records along the way.
It has been a good week.
Mum drives me to Plymouth. This journey was rocky for me. As I mentioned in a previous post this is the first time in over three years I was physically sick from traveling. Perhaps it was using my phone, perhaps the stress of the upcoming week, perhaps I was just unlucky. Regardless I made it to Plymouth, and the next hour was spent shuttling boxes from room, to landing, to stairs, to car: CD’s; books; Xbox; more books; printer. There were probably other things, but that’s what I remember. By 3pm, Mum was gone. From then, the next three and a half hours were spent showering, eating, getting ready and texting. At 6:45, I left the house.
7pm – I meet Bambi. I step out in front of the university library and see him, we shake hands, and head to the pub, The Voodoo Lounge. I don’t know if this is a chain, or a Plymouth specific pub, but I liked it. Well, more the interior. Perhaps it was the dull sky but it wasn’t quite to my taste on the outside, though I imagine it could be quite nice in a group. The interior was all wood panelling and red leather, pool table, subtle lighting. Nice. But it was hot, felt a little closed, so we sat outside. Two drinks and a smoke later we were off for part two: fireworks.
9.30 pm – we watch the show. One picnic blanket, several comments about the irritating children and one hour later than expected, the first display began. Until this point, conversation has been entertaining, serious, funny, cute and deep. It seems effortless, and there has never been an awkward pause. The moon this night is red, a rare occurrence, possibly in relation to the meteor shower. The fireworks happen right next to this, so we get a good view of both. We cannot help but laugh at the people who “ooh” and “ahh” and feebly applaud the display. We cuddle as the second display happens, and as the families leave, and as the final display is put on. In this one the melodramatic “ooh” from the other side of the water is heard even here. My vote goes to the first or second display, but not the last. We then went home, conversation still holding strong, and I am home by midnight. It was a very good night.
Cleaning day. This entire day is dedicated to packing down, boxing up, and cleaning. The rest of the day was spent on my computer, taking to Bambi, talking to my bestie, writing blog posts. I was also feeling very down. So was my bestie. I wrote ‘In Which the Blind Leads the Blind’ to express this. I was having a bad time of it, and I felt like a hypocrite trying to cheer him up. I hope he can get better, and I hope I can be there to help, but on this particular day, neither of us were having such a great day. Needless to say, after lots of heavy lifting and cleaning, coupled with a painfully low mood, I was ready for bed.
More cleaning. The morning and most of my afternoon was spent attempting to clean blue tack marks off my walls. I tried water. I tried water and washing up liquid. I tried plain washing up liquid. I tried a shop bought solution aptly labelled ‘Elbow Grease’. I tried a shop bought, but very strong, Sugar Soap. I moved out with my walls still sporting the scars of my rock band obsession. It must not have been a particularly interesting day, as aside from a shower, I cannot remember anything else I did that day. My Dad showed up late in the evening, we watched the last half hour of Million Pound Drop, then went to bed.
The morning is unremarkable. Honestly, it is. I cannot remember what I did. I think I probably slept in, ate half a breakfast bar and drank a cup of tea. What happened after that was much more entertaining and memorable. After this, we are off to Home Park. The FansFest to be precise. The FansFest is a fan run pre-match event offering pasties, beer, music and laughter. Rick O’Shay and Dave Banana perform a small stand-up comedy show, making fun of recent news, and whipping out the best general jokes they come up with that week. It truly is a special experience, being in a room packed with jolly football fans, full of comradery, and having a laugh without a smidge of negativity. Plymouth Argyle has one of the biggest fan bases in the League. I am proud to wear my green and whites.
Speaking of which, we spent out yet more money on the new uniform. My Dad’s shirt says “Chooch 13” and my own says “Moozle 7”. Not only is it my nickname and my favourite number, it is also the number of one of my favourite Argyle players, Lewis Alessandra. It’s an honour to wear his number on my back. Plus, it’s a child’s Small. Got to love that. The game was fantastic. We began by holding up our plastic sheets and hoisting our colours to the sky, and ended 3 – 0 up, beating our biggest rivals, Exeter City. Our defense was impeccable, our attack was on top form, and while I miss such players as Cole, Young and Berry, I must say Sheridan has done a great job on this season’s team. I foresee good things from them.
A small lunch is had and the evening’s plans are made. After the game we returned to mine, and watched television until we were ready to go out to the pub to celebrate the win. During this time, I was texting Bambi and discovered he had no plans, and invited him to join us. I had asked my Dad beforehand if this was okay, and he said yes. I hadn’t intended for it to be a movie cliche “I want you to meet my parents” scene, but I couldn’t help still wanting my Dad to approve of him. Bambi is the first person I’ve ever wanted my family to approve of. So me and my Dad went to the Caffeine Club, a particular favourite haunt of ours, and Bambi joined us shortly after. I must say, I think it went well. The two of them appeared to get on well, and as I later heard my Dad say, “[Bambi’s] a little rough around the edges but gets softer every time.” Knowing my Dad, this is a good sign. He also happened to notice a certain amount of affectionate behaviour (ie. hand-holding). I will admit at first I was unsure, but very quickly grew comfortable with it. Four hours later and we were walking back to mine. My Dad went inside and left us to our goodbyes. Bambi, if you’re reading this I hope you don’t mind my telling my readers, but I can’t help it, I like to say it. At quarter to one on Sunday morning I had my first kiss. I won’t talk much about it, but suffice to say, it was an awesome moment and I’ve been grinning like an idiot since.
52 Beaumont Road is left behind me. I’m not convinced I slept that night. One moment I was trying to convince myself it had happened, the next I was laughing to myself about it, the next I was stressing about the move, the next I was simply trying to clear my head to sleep but then I’d remember again and smile. I got out of bed at around 9am and finished packing up my room. Boxes were moved from room to car, surfaces were cleaned, the floor was hoovered and by eleven o’clock we were on the road. Before I continue, I should say that in the 48 hours prior to this journey I had consumed around 800 calories. I can’t lie, writing that number feels like a lot, but considering the time span I realise it is not. I had barely eaten on that Saturday, at first for time constraints, then later on because of my inability to eat in front of people. By the time we got home after our night at the pub it was almost 1am, I felt sick, and it was too late to eat. Fast forward to Sunday morning and, though I possibly should have, I couldn’t bring myself to eat anything. After my bout of travel sickness on the journey up, I would do nothing to risk it happening again. By the time I got home that afternoon I hadn’t eaten in 24 hours. So it is eleven o’clock, and we get to North Road. I hand my keys in, walk away, and that is it. My contact with Clever Student Lets has ceased. We were on the road to pit stop number two.
A visit to the grandparents and four hours driving. Twelve o’clock and we are at my grandparents. Not much can be said for this visit. It’s always nice seeing them, but this time was a flying visit, a quick catch up. I told them about my new position at the online magazine, we talked about my sister getting in to uni, my Dad fixed my uncle’s computer and taught my Granddad how to use Bluetooth, and we saw a picture of a man up a tree. Standard visit. I also got to see my cousin Billy again who I haven’t seen in some time. He got tall. I remember when he was just a diddy little thing, smaller than me, but despite being 4 years my junior, he is at least 7 inches taller than me now. It was nice to see he’s doing well in his football career, even if he is being a rebellious teen for his dad (my uncle). He gave me a friendly nod as he left, and ten minutes later we were gone too. The journey was pretty horrid. On the way up to Plymouth it was bad because I felt very sick. On the way back, my Dad’s driving made me feel sick. 30mph down narrow back roads, 90mph down the motorway, taking downhill bends at full throttle. I genuinely felt like we would topple over at one stage. It was horrible. Add in us getting lost near Southampton and getting stuck in traffic, I was beyond relieved to be back on solid ground. We were home, and I could sit still.
Since then, we have unpacked the car, I have helped my sister write a list for her own uni things, I have put in my second article and Bambi and I have talked almost constantly. I really do feel very lucky to have found someone like him. It already feels different to M24. With him, I was all girly and gushy over the smallest of things, but with Bambi, sure I’m girly and gushy but that’s only a small part of it. I smile every time I get a text from him. I look forward to waking up every day knowing I’ll have a text from him saying good morning. I’d happily stay up (and have done) until 4am talking to him about nonsense, or about us, or about, well, anything. I really think I’m on to something good with him. And if I can make him half as happy as he makes me I’ll be content.
So I have moved out, I have found a very sweet guy who I can’t wait to see again (and who has been kind enough to offer to help me move in to my new place next year), and it is a great time for sports. A triumph on all fronts. For once, I finally feel as though my life is going in the right direction, and I’m not completely terrified that I’ll mess it up. I actually feel like I can do this, I can make my life work, that just maybe, if I can hold it together, I have the makings of a great life. Now all I have to do is help my bestie through his rough patch, and things will be nigh on perfect.