Monday, 29 September 2008

The Morag Situation #1 :: Why Don’t You Blog About Me?

Three weeks ago...

Morag: Why don’t you blog about me?

Scat: Eh? I do.
I so do.

Morag: Not really.

Scat: Oh. Well, I guess maybe I don’t really want to.

Morag: How come?

Scat: Dunno really.
Maybe I don’t think it would be fair on you.

Morag: What am I, six? You think I can’t handle it?

Scat: It isn’t that.

Morag: What is it then?

Scat: I just don’t… it’s a bit too personal isn’t it?

Morag: What – so you’ll write about a cat sucking you off but you won't write about your life with – with whatever I am?

Scat: My special lady?

Morag: Whatever I am.

Scat: First of all, that cat didn’t ‘suck me off’, as you so charmingly put it.
Secondly, I guess some bits of my life I want to keep to myself if that’s alright.

Morag: But I want you to blog about me.

Scat: Why?

Morag: Because I’m part of your life, you fucker.

Scat: So it’s all about your ego really?

Morag: Pffft. You’re so difficult sometimes.
Why are you so difficult?

Scat: I’m just trying to understand.

Morag: I think your public want to hear about me.

Scat: I think you’re insane.

Morag: Seriously though, why don’t you want to? I don’t understand.

Scat: I don’t know. Maybe I like you too much.

Morag: Awww.
That’s crap.

Scat: Is it?

Morag: Isn’t it?

Scat: Yeah, OK. It’s crap.

Morag: You’re cold.

Scat: I am NOT cold. I am probably the warmest person you will ever meet.
I’ll blog about you when you do something interesting. How’s that?

Morag: Cold.

Scat: Mmmmwah.

Two weeks ago…

Morag: Anyway, I want to ask you something.

Scat: Ask away.

Morag: I just want to know how this is working out for you.
In your opinion.

Scat: What are we talking about?

Morag: Me. You. Us. Our “relationship”.
Are you happy with it?

Scat: How’s it working out for me? I’m happy, yeah. Thanks for asking.
What about you?

[Time passes.]

Your silence is speaking volumes. Are you not happy?

Morag: Yeah.

Scat: Yeah you’re happy or yeah you’re not happy?

Morag: Happy.

Scat: Hmm. That ‘happy’ is sitting there on my screen like an empty pill bottle on a hotel bed.

[Time passes.]


Morag: I’m thinking I might move back to London.

Scat: Really? But you love Brighton.
How come?

Morag: I know but it’s like, what am I doing here?
I need to start thinking about my career.
A career.
I need to start thinking about the rest of my life.

Scat: Shit, man. Sounds serious.

Morag: Well it should be serious shouldn’t it?

Scat: I don’t know. Should it?

Morag: Of course it fucking should!

Scat: OK, OK.
So move to London.

Morag: Well what about you?

Scat: I already live in London.

Morag: That’s not what I mean.
I mean, what are you going to do with your life?
You’re not getting any younger, you know.

Scat: You’re rather inquisitive for a fuck buddy.

Morag: Cock.
I care about you, for fuck sake!
I care about you and I hate to see you wasting your life!

Scat: I didn’t know I was wasting my life!
I thought I was having more fun than I’ve ever had before.
I thought I was having The Time Of My Life in fact.
At least I was before this conversation started.

[Time passes.]


[Time passes.]

Are you ignoring me now?

Morag: I thought you were supposed to be looking for love?

Scat: Sigh.
I am looking for love.

Morag: Oh alright then. So you’re looking for love, but you’re perfectly happy with us carrying on the way we are.
It doesn’t make sense.

Scat: But that’s like saying, OK, I really want to go to Mauritius but I can’t afford it this year, therefore I’m going to stay at home, even though I’m being offered this fantastic trip to Torremolinos. Of course I’m not – I’m going to go to Torremolinos and have myself a helluva time.

Morag: So I’m just a second-rate Spanish holiday to you, am I?

Scat: I could’ve picked Blackpool. You should think yourself lucky.
And you’re deliberately missing the point.
I have a great time with you. That’s what I was saying.
Look, I don’t know what’s going on here.
If you want to end it, you should just say so.
I don’t know why I’m suddenly in a big flap here trying to defend myself.
I don’t know what I’ve done wrong.

Morag: You're the lucky one you didn't pick Blackpool.
I think you’re the one missing the point too.
I don’t want to end it. That’s not what I’m saying.

Scat: What are you saying? Help me out here.

Morag: I’m saying that I’ve started to feel recently that our “relationship” as it stands is not really enough for me.

Scat: Well, I offered you “more” months ago.

Morag: But I didn’t want it then.

Scat: Oh well.

Morag: Oh well what?

Scat: Timing.

Morag: That’s all you’ve got to say, is it? Timing.

Scat: Well what do you want me to say?

Morag: If I have to spell it out, I’m not so sure I even want you to say it anymore.

Scat: Well, is that all you’ve got to say?
I’ve got my pride you know.

Morag: What’s that got to do with anything?

Scat: Well, I’m just saying, when we first met, I wanted to be with you, to go out with you, whatever, and you turned me down. Now you’re saying you want more – I presume you mean with me but you’re not really being explicit enough for me to be sure – and I don’t know how you expect me to feel.
I don’t know how I do feel.
You can’t just pick me up and put me down like a cat playing with a crisp bag.
It’s not fair.

Morag: Oh fair schmair. You’re like a fucking child sometimes. I tell you what, I’ll make it easy for you.
Fuck your childish pride and fuck you. OK? Done.

Morag is offline. Messages you send will be delivered when Morag comes online.

Last week...

Scat: So. I’m going to blog about you. I’ve just send you an email. Tell me what you think. Obviously I won’t post it if you feel you’ve been misrepresented.

[Time passes.]

Are you there?

Morag: I’m reading. Hold on.

Scat: OK.

Morag: I sound like a buck-toothed harpy.

Scat: GoogleChat never lies.

Morag: Shite.
You’ve censored me!

Scat: Hardly. A bit of salient editing. It’s hardly censorship.

Morag: Where’s the stuff about [CENSORED] then? If you’re including the stuff about [CENSORED] then you surely have to include the stuff about [CENSORED].

Scat: Oh, God. Really?

Morag: Fuck yeah. If something’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right. Put it back in. I insist.

Scat: OK. I'll put it in later though. I’m going to chop it up and move it around. Like Pulp Fiction.
I reckon I can get a week’s worth of stuff out of it.
This stuff writes itself...

Comment Whoring :: So, what are you wearing?

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Anonymous said...

You write better when not writing about the 'can I be arsed with him' Morag. IMHO.

I am in my birthday suit, although, it is not my birthday..

Michael said...

I'm wearing whatever Tyler Brule is wearing; it's just easier.

Luka said...

I am wearing a tinfoil hat and wellies.

That does not however take away from the validity of my opinion, which is that fuck buddies (loathsome phrase) rarely work the way it was described in the manual.

ropebunny said...

jeans, a fleece, and blue suede shoes. No, really.

As for Morag, so, male pride aside, what changed your mind about her? what made you decide you didn't want her?

Pearl said...

Seriously? What am I wearing? That's what the pervs who used to call us on the suicide line I worked on would ask. We were cheaper than the sex lines. But, for the record, and working up, blue socks, jeans, green embroidered top over brown vest, silver hair clip. I think. I can't see that bit of my head.

I really want to know what the censored bits were. Does that make me a blog comment perv?

I've spent this evening with two of my exes (with whom I currently, temporarily, and weirdly, share a house) discussing whether true love has to involve sparks and lightening bolts at the beginning. It sounds like you're after such sparkles. I'm not sure they're always necessary. Hmm.

Eloise said...

I want to offer you hugs... maybe this is weird, as I am an internet stranger who is rubbish at commenting... but *hugs*.

It's so hateful sometimes that things have to be awkward and complicated and full of compromises and we can't all just bloody well go to Mauritius. Oh god, this metaphor is in danger of slipping into "it's all about the journey"... ugh. I dunno, I grew up somehow believing there was some kind of sense in the universe, like there is in stories. So I resent the fact that you can really truly adore people yet not want to be with them forever, or at all, or that you can love people who aren't good for you, or who you aren't good for... but somehow all that variety of feeling is a little bit glorious too. I like to think that with the (or a) right person things feel wonderful and right and don't hurt all the fucking time, even if they're still complicated, but who knows...?

Ramble, ramble... but I do think, though, that someone who really cares for you doesn't read the worst into your words and actions, and pounce gleefully upon your stumbles to punish you for them. Maybe that's not what's happening here, but... kindness is important.

Anyway, I am off to put on my horrible and mismatched old pyjamas... aren't you glad you asked?

Angela-la-la said...


She loves you yeah, yeah, yeah...


Grey cotton pj bottoms and an old strappy top with pink sequins

catherine said...

Screen Actors Guild cotton tank top and sweats.

P.S. I really like your comment, Eloise. I'll come over to read your blog.

Mrs. Hall said...


I realize my thoughts are clouded by being such a fan of your blog and being a fan of you by proxy . . . .


This woman is no good.

I don't give a fuck what kind of bag of elbows you look like. She treats you like ugliness.

You are better than that BETE!

Better than fucking ugly Morag.

Seriously, grow up and realize what you have.


You and your piles are better than this!

And I am wearing pastle blue boy shorts with cherries on them.


Mrs. Hall

Anonymous said...

wearing? paint spots on my upper body. painted a wall tonight wearing just shorts because i liked my bra, and didn't want to get it speckled...

maybe if it were a color other than brown. so now i have freckles where once there were none.

sort of understand the Morag thing a bit... my ex husband would often refuse sex when we were first together. that just hurts. and it's hard to get past it once someone rejects you...

my dating now? i've grown a teeny bit tired of being abandoned by men that i was only marginally interested in from the start. that just annoys... not the "abandoned" part, but the fact that i'm annoyed by it...

good luck. maybe a 'sorting hat' would help?

Good Girl Gone Blog said...

Fear and ego are such relationship squashers ... but make enticing blog posts. ;-)
I've let my share get in the way.

Like any good blog whore commenter -- nude ... with big fuzzy pink socks (or else I'd get cold).

Zoe said...

'the moment you start rubbing your bits with someone else's bits things get very complicated indeed'

My mate Nick Hardy, drunk in The Horse & Groom, Horsham, West Sussex, Summer 1989

No truer word spoken.

Wearing? Um work polo shirt, blue hoodie, black knickers, white bra, brown trousers and brown sandals (yeah, I know it's raining, but I'm trying to prolong the summer feeling, and it rained all summer too, so it's working so far)

Anonymous said...

OK, nobody else will say it so I guess I'd better tell you that women always want to decide the time line on relationships, however much they deny it ;) Your only choice is to either go along with it or get out, which you did. Probably for the best I'd say.

Oh, and comparing her to Torremolinos was probably not such a great move ;)

Anonymous said...

If there have to be games involved, no matter what the type of relationship, then it's not worth your trouble.

And it sounds like Morag's a game player.

(and hungry for attention - "write about me on your blog!" what's that all about?)

caroline said...

Morag sounds right up herself if you ask me.Why should she dictate what or who you write about?Definitely more Blackpool than Torremolinas.

Blue cotton pyjamas, blue slippers - boring I know, but I have flu.

hey said...

I like Morag. So, she changed her mind. We don't all get fully enlightened at the same time. I think the emails/live chat read well, so I disagree with OP anonymous. Anyway, I guess you will decide what is right for you.

Anonymous said...

Black twist dress, black leggings, red vest top under dress, red sandals, red and black dot earrings, Chanel no. 5.

You can do better and will, I think.

Lauri Shaw said...

A t-shirt that says "Psychobitch" and glows in the dark.

Actually, I have an extra one of these. I'm happy to donate it to Morag. Does she prefer red or black?

Jack said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Cat said...

I'm rubbish at relationships, but to me it sounds like Morag's been a typical woman about this one and hasn't been able to have sex without emotion creeping in, and she's discovered that she has more feelings than you than she though. So, maybe it's a bit arse over tit, but surely a good thing, no? Don't let pride get in the way if that's all that's stopping you.

(And I'm wearing a knee-length black dress printed with kind of red dot things, which are actually triangles, a black cardigan, black opaque tights and flat black boots which come to just below my knees. Red lipgloss, a Tatty Devine trapeze necklace, little round black earrings, and Coco Mademoiselle.

Sadly, I dropped tuna sandwich on my skirt while I ate lunch, so it has a big stain, and I smell vaguely of catfood.)

Luka said...

Bete, I think some of your commenters have gone mental.

The abuse heaped upon the unfortunate Morag is unpleasant, unnecessary and brings down your blog. It's exactly the sort of thing I wag a metaphorical finger at over at the Boudoir.

Swineshead said...

I'm just catching up with this...

Women are mental. Yeah? You like that ladies?

You're MENTAL.

somechileanwoman said...

She bugs...sorry, she does. Still, be happy.

Wearing my work uniform for I am at pants and nasty forest green shirt that's a bit too tight on the chest area. Green socks, and sneakers to match. Cherry blossom perfume and lip gloss.