The Morag Situation #5 :: Have you ever been in love?

Seven weeks ago…

Morag: So have you ever been in love?

Scat: I’m not really sure.

Morag: If you’re not sure, then you probably haven’t.
I know it’s a bit of a cliché, but when it happens, you know.
You know?

Scat: Oh, I didn’t realize it was that simple. In that case, yes. Yes, I have.

Morag: Really?

Scat: Yes.

Morag: Who with?

Scat: Just some chick.

Morag: Stan.

Scat: Yes, babe?

Morag: Don’t be a jerk.

Scat: I’m not really, I just… OK, what do you want to know?

Morag: Well, what was her name?

Scat: Her name was Zuhal.

Morag: Zuhal?

Scat: Zuhal.

Morag: That’s an unusual name.

Scat: She was an unusual girl.

Morag: Where did you meet her?

Scat: I met her at the candy store.
No, just kidding.
I met her at Glastonbury a few summers ago. She was selling toffee apples to help disadvantaged kittens or somesuch.
I bought all of them.
50 toffee apples.
Then we went round the kiddies’ area together giving them away to little children.

Morag: Awww. That’s lovely, Stan.

Scat: Oh God, I’m sorry. Please say you didn’t believe me.

Morag: Oh you shit. Of course I believed you. Who would make up such a thing?

Scat: Oh come on, disadvantaged kittens?

Morag: I didn’t necessarily believe that bit, but the rest seemed plausible.

Scat: Sorry.
I actually met Zuhal on a film set. We were both extras on The Passion of the Christ.

Morag: Oh COCK OFF!!!
I’m never going to believe another word you say.

Scat: Our first date was entirely in Latin.

Morag: Does she even exist at all in fact?

Scat: No.
Sorry.
And I’ve never been to Glastonbury.

Morag: Unbelievable.

Scat: Sorry.

Morag: So you haven’t been in love then?

Scat: I think I have. I mean, I’ve suffered all the symptoms. I’ve vomited and wept and gone to sleep and woke up feeling completely obsessed with someone, but it’s never necessarily been reciprocated.
Basically if there’s more to love than vomiting and pain, then no, I probably haven’t.

Morag: Aww.

Scat: What about you?
Have you ever been in love?

Morag: Yeah, twice I think.

Scat: When you’ve been in love, you don’t think. You KNOW.

Morag: Oh yeah. Twice then.

Scat: Once with Ollie. And…?

Morag: A guy called Duke.

Scat: Duke? Like Mussolini? Il Duce?

Morag: I guess.

Scat: Was he like Mussolini in other ways?

Morag: I don’t know much about Mussolini to be honest.
Did Mussolini drive a Nissan Micra?

Scat: Yes.

Morag: Did he have Celtic tattoos all over his arms and neck?

Scat: I believe he did, yes.

Morag: Did Mussolini have flesh panels?

Scat: Panels of flesh?

Morag: Flesh panels are those discs that go in people’s ear lobes and stretch them out.
That's what he called them anyway. The internet doesn't seem to agree.

Scat: Oh God, so that there’s just a big hoop of skin dangling down when they take them out?

Morag: Typical.

Scat: Like a broken condom?

Morag: Yes, those.

Scat: Yeah, yeah, Mussolini had flesh panels.

Morag: Then yes. He was very like Mussolini.

Scat: What was it you loved about Mussolini then?

Morag: I think it was more what he represented. He was much older than me and – potentially at least – much wiser. I was only 17 when we started seeing each other and we were together for like, five years.

Scat: God, that’s a long time.

Morag: Then I found out he was seeing not one other person, but about half a dozen other people most of the time we were together. He didn’t treat me very well. But he was like an outlaw, you know?

Scat: In a Nissan Micra?

Morag: Yeah, he used to do graffiti. He wasn’t very good actually, but he was brave. You would see his name in some very hard to get to places.

Scat: Duke?

Morag: Yeah.

Scat: He sounds like a dick.

Morag: He was a dick. But for a while there, I loved him.
I was consumed by him.
Love is blind.

Scat: I’ve always taken solace from that.

Morag: I love your back.

Scat: I’m sorry?

Morag: Your back. I want to bite it.

Scat: Oh come on, my back is vile. It’s all flaccid skin and stretchmarks.

Morag: I like it.

Scat: You loved it a second ago. Had you forgotten about the stretchmarks?

Morag: No. I do love it. And I love your hands.

Scat: My hands are nice. I’ll give you that.

Morag: Thank you.

Scat: I’ve always thought that if Jesus was real, He’d have hands pretty much like mine.

Morag: Um…

Scat: Shall I tell you what I like about you?

Morag: OK then.

Scat: I like the way the skin on the inner walls of your thighs is like the smoothest, softest thing in the universe. Like warm mercury wrapped in the skin from angels’ wings.

Morag: Um…

Scat: Like the skin on the rice pudding of the gods.
No?
OK, I like the dark curls on the nape of your neck, I like how your skin tingles when I kiss you there.
I love the small of your back and the swell of your hips and the rise and fall of your belly when you sleep.
I love your breasts, and I love your hair, and I love your eyes and your lips and your sharp ways.

Morag: You’ve been watching me sleep?
What sharp ways?

Scat: A bit.
You know.

Morag: You mean my tongue?

Scat: Yes. I love the sharpness of your tongue.
Even if it hurts.
Maybe even because it hurts. I’m weird like that.

Morag: You’re using the L-word a lot.

Scat: No biggie. I love cats and baked potatoes and Chai Steamers too.

Morag: You didn’t know what a Chai Steamer was till last week.

Scat: I know! I’ve so much to thank you for.

Morag: You’re funny.
You make me laugh.

Scat: What am I, a clown? I’m here to amuse you?

Morag: No, you know, the way you tell the story and everything.

Scat: Awww.
Are you sure we should be chatting so much, what with us just being fuck buddies and all?

Morag: I don’t think there are any rules, are there?

Stan: I guess not.
Or at least if there are I don’t know them.

Morag: Me neither.
Are you coming down this weekend then?

Stan: Try and stop me.

Morag: I don’t want to stop you.
I want your hands in my muff.

Stan: …
There is no emoticon for what I’m feeling right now.
I can’t believe my luck.

Morag: Believe it.

Stan: OK.
~believes~

The Morag Situation #4 :: So why did we stop?

Later last week...

Scat: So when can we have our first French lesson?
Allo?
Allo?

Morag: Stan, I think we should stop being in touch for now.

Scat: Mais non!

Morag: Oui. I’m sorry.

Scat: But why? I thought we were going to be just good friends.

Morag: I don’t think it’s a good idea.
At least not for now.

Scat: You don’t think I can handle it?

Morag: I don’t think it’s particularly healthy for you. Or me for that matter.
For either of us.

Scat: But it’s not like we were going out together in the first place.

Morag: Isn’t it? I think it’s exactly like that.

Scat: So why did we stop?
I really liked it, Morag.
I don’t understand how we got from there to here.
I don’t really know what happened.

Morag: I just don’t think we were singing from the same hymn sheet, Stan.

Scat: Ugh. God. Not the hymn sheet.
Anything but the hymn sheet.

Morag: Sorry.

Scat: I think we were though, that’s the thing.
You just ran off before we could start on a new hymn.

[Time passes.]

Are you sure you know what you’re doing?

Morag: God no.

Scat: I really miss you already.

Morag: This is why I think we should stop communicating for a while.

Scat: For a while? What does that even mean?

Morag: It means let’s see how it goes.

Scat: Let’s see how singing hymns with Christ goes, you mean?
I bet Christ's great at singing hymns.

Morag: You’re just going to have to give me some time to figure out what I want. And I want to give you time to figure out what you want.

Scat: I know what I want.

Morag: Do you? Are you sure?

Scat: Absolutely.

Morag: Well, I’m not. I’m sorry.

[Time passes.]

Scat: I feel sick.

Morag: I’m going to block you on chat for a while, OK?

Scat: Oh Jesus Christ, please don’t do that.

Morag: I have to, Stan, otherwise we’re just going to carry on getting embroiled in these conversations and it’s not going to help either of us.

[Time passes.]

Morag: Stan?

Scat: OK.
OK.
OK.
Fair enough.

[Time passes.]

I’ll miss you, Morag.

Morag: I’ll miss you too.

Scat: OK. I’m ready.
Block me.

Morag: Bye, Stan.

Scat: Do it.

Morag: xxx

[Time passes.]

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

...

Comment whoring :: I'll reply to all of the comments from the last few days at the weekend, I promise. There's a little too much to take on board at the moment. I need the space of a Saturday morning... In the meantime, let me ask you :: do you know of anyone who met their partner on the internet and it's actually worked out? I know of one. Hen's teeth, innit?

The Morag Situation #3 :: Did you fuck Christ?

Last week…

Scat: So did you have a nice weekend?

Morag: Hey.
Yeah, it was OK.

Scat: Where did you go?

Morag: Just stayed here in the end.

Scat: What, you didn’t go anywhere?

Morag: Nah.

Scat: So what did you do?

Morag: My friend came to see me here.

Scat: Ah. OK.
You’re not making this very easy.

Morag: ?

Scat: OK. So be it. So this friend, was it a lady friend or a gentleman caller?

Morag: His name is Christ. I used to work with him. I’ve known him for a while.

Scat: His name is Christ?

Morag: Oops. I mean Chris. Sorry. I always put an extra ‘t’ on the end of Christ when I’m typing it.
See?
It's like a finger-tick.

Scat: So did you fuck him?
Did you fuck Christ?

Morag: You sure you want to know?

Scat: I think I already do, don’t I?

Morag: Yeah, we had sex.

Scat: Cool. I’m happy for you.

Morag: Thanks.

Scat: Was it any good?

Morag: Yeah, I enjoyed it. Thanks.

Scat: Not at all. I’m pleased for you.
That’s excellent.

Morag: How was your weekend?

Scat: Shit, thanks.
Utter shit.

Morag: I’m sorry, Stan.
How did it go with your dad?

Scat: Hey, no worries. Is he good looking, this Christ fellow?

Morag: Yeah, he‘s quite good looking.

Scat: Brilliant. Very pleased. Smiling all over my face for you now.

Morag: Oh come on. You’re not even that ugly yourself.
All this ugly stuff is such an overblown pile of shite.

Scat: I’VE BEEN SPAT ON!

Morag: AND I’VE BEEN HEAD-BUTTED! AND IT DOESN’T MEAN A FUCKING THING!!!
All it means is there are some arseholes in this world.
Get over it.

Scat: You get over it.

Morag: Oh, don't be childish.

Scat: You don't be childish.

Morag: Right OK Stan. I think I better go.

Scat: Wait wait wait don’t go.

Morag: What?

Scat: Are you going to see me again?

Morag: I’m not sure that’s such a good idea at the moment.

Scat: OK.
Cool.

Morag: Let’s just see how things pan out.

Scat: What about Christ? Will you be seeing a bit more of Christ?

Morag: I don’t know, Stan.

Scat: Look, I don’t know how this is like suddenly a big deal. It’s really not, you know. We’re just fuck buddies. We WERE just fuck buddies, whatever, I’m over it. Just be straight with me, I can take it.

Morag: Yes then. I think we’re going to give it a go. He’s been interested in me for a while.

Scat: Cunt.
Sorry sorry sorry.
That just slipped out of my fingers.

Morag: Stan.

Scat: Fucking shit.

Morag: Look, I’d better go.

Scat: Let’s still chat a bit. I promise I’ll be OK. You can still teach me French. Hm?

Morag: OK, we’ll see. I got to go.

Scat: OK. Have fun.

Morag: Seeya.

Scat: Seeya.
Bye.
Don’t become a stranger.
x

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

...

Comment whoring :: How is it possible that I - a fairly intelligent human being - can be such an incredible arsehole?

The Morag Situation #2 :: So when was that decided?

Less than two weeks ago…

Scat: Look, it’s more that I want the person I want to want me back and to know it. Oh God, I don’t know. Let’s talk about it this weekend.

Morag: No, let’s not.

Scat: And I’m the child.

Morag: Excuse me?

Scat: Cat and mouse, cat and mouse.

Morag: WTF?

Scat: Why can’t we talk about it this weekend?

Morag: Because I’m not going to see you this weekend. I’m going away with a friend.

Scat: Anyone I know?

Morag: That’s not likely is it? You don’t know any of my friends.

Scat: Anyone I know OF I mean.

Morag: You mean is it Ollie?

Scat: I suppose so, yes.

Morag: Of course it’s not.
You don’t know me at all, do you?

Scat: I suppose not, no.

Morag: Right. Any more questions?

Scat: So when was that decided?

Morag: Hold on a sec….

[Time passes.]

Here we are -
You’re rather inquisitive for a fuck buddy.

Scat: Touché. Right. OK, Morag. Well, do have a great weekend and maybe I’ll see you around.

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


Later that day...

Morag: The thing is though, your blog is supposed to be about your quest for true love, I just thought your readers should know that here you are being offered love and you’ve turned it down.

Scat: What? Really? I had no idea.
Was I being offered true love?
When did that happen?

Morag: Don’t be a smartarse, please.
I made it perfectly clear that I was offering to take our relationship onto the next level – onto a firmer footing, and you threw it back in my face.

Scat: NO no no nonono. No!
I did not throw anything anywhere. I just didn’t see why I should roll over and let you lick my face after you’d already – quite coldly – rejected me.
I didn’t think you’d give up so easily to be honest. I thought maybe you might try and persuade me, buy me Sugar Puffs, make me realize that maybe I could believe in what you were half-saying, that maybe you really did want to be with me, but instead at the first tiniest setback you’re fucking off on weekends and trying to make me jealous.

Morag: It was NOT cold.

Scat: Whatever.

Morag: Are you jealous?

Scat: Whatever.

Morag: You child.

Scat: YOU fucking child. How DARE you.

Morag: This is starting to get a little tedious now.
CAPITALS and all.
You know what I meant.

Scat: You want me to blog about you? Fine, I’ll blog about you, right down to this exchange here if that’s what you want.
I did not! Not for sure.

Morag: I’m past caring frankly. Blog it all, blog none of it. It’s entirely up to you.

Scat: I love you.

Morag: Excuse me?

Scat: Nothing. I didn’t say anything.

Morag: You’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met.

Scat: Are you sure you don’t want to spend the weekend with me? I really want to spend the weekend with you.

Morag: Oh, Stan I can’t now. I’ve promised my friend we’d do something.

Scat: OK, OK.

Morag: I’ll see you next week though, if you’re up for it. I want to see Somers Town with you.

Scat: OK, that’ll be great.

Morag: Have a good weekend then. Is Keith about?

Scat: Nah, he’s off to help his dad move. I’m looking after next door's Smudge. And I think I’m going to go and see my dad.
It’s Dad Weekend in fact. How odd.

Morag: Oh God yeah, I really hope that goes well.

Scat: Thanks.

Morag: OK, I better get going. I’ll speak to you on Monday.

Scat: OK, have fun.

Morag: I'm sorry I was such a cow earlier.

Scat: I'm sorry too.
Bye bye.
xxx

Morag: Bye Stan.
x

...

Comment Whoring :: How do you cope with jealousy?

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?
So?

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.]

Hello?

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.
Something.
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!
Jesus.

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.]

Hello?

[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.
So?

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?