Ever since my first boyfriend aged fourteen, there's been many, many evenings sat with ice cream, wine, my friends, and a box of Kleenex, sobbing, "what did I do? Why has he dumped me???". Whether I've been the one crying, or it's been a friend, we've all criticised the method of the man doing the dumping. I know people who've been dumped via Facebook, by email, and my favourite - one friend got dumped on her birthday, just after she had cut her cake. He wanted to wait til she'd blown out the candles apparently. I'd have re-lit them and wished for a meteorite to hurl from space, and hit him so hard, it delivered him straight to hell, where for eternity, he'd have to listen to Neil Sedaka singing "Breaking Up Is hard To Do" (on repeat) whilst being constantly kicked in the balls. Harsh? I think not.
Today, one of my dear friends was treated badly by this guy she's been seeing. He did the old cancelling a date a few hours before bollocks. We've all been there - we know they're going to cancel. We can feel it. First we get the "I might be a bit late, can we meet an hour later?" text. This then plants the seed of doubt in our minds. We know an excuse is forming - his Grandads sick; he needs to console his mate Dave who broke his hand saving a guy he didn't know from a hoard of Albanians at the kebab shop after too many stella's last night (and scuffed his Reebok Classics in the process); or he's just found out he has to work. At 5pm. On a Sunday. When he is a milkman. Whatever the excuse, women sense it is coming. Do we cancel first? No, he won't cancel - we give him the benefit of the doubt. We run the bath. We shave our legs. Then the phone beeps, and you realise the spineless twat hasn't even the decency to call and cancel - he's text. Now, if this is at an early stage - we should RUN. If cancelling a date means pretending a relative is sick or that Dave has broken his hand or that his boss is a ball breaker, then really, this guy will dump you in a month or so in unbelievable horrendous style.
In an attempt to find the most used lines men use when dumping their girlfriend, I found a rather scary amount of websites offering men advice on HOW to do it successfully. There must be a need for this, as I got a stupid amount of sites. Do men really google this? Although, the things men google baffles me on a regular basis. (I once used an exes computer to check my hotmail, and the list of sites visited was both pornographic and weird....he didn't last long. Any man that googles line dancing has some issues in my mind).
This was my favourite advice site:
"So how can you dump your girlfriend? Do you feel that things are not right with your relationship and you feel there is simply no solution to it? Do you feel that it's causing you more pain than pleasure staying in such a relationship? Well if this is the case than you should most probably dump your girlfriend and move on with your life as there is no point in carrying on something which is not going to last long. Read on to discover some of the best ways on how to dump your girlfriend."
Right - straight away, this is classic male advice. Your relationship is going a bit tits up, she's been a bit grumpy, and was too tired for sex. And she made you watch a chick flick, and dragged you round the shops when you wanted to be watching footie. The match is played, it was a great game, and there's no turning back. Watching Match Of The Day is not the same. Instead of talking about it, working through it, most men bail as having a conversation might mean they have to offer advice and get asked about their feelings. "Fuck - best read on" classic man is thinking....
"Cut down on communication- One of the best ways to dump your girlfriend is to cut down on all modes of communication and start cutting down on the communication time with her. Slowly and steadily she would realize that it's not what it used to be and she herself would be willing to move on."
Wowzer - this was definitely written by a man called Chad, who is most probably a real womaniser, and is the wrong side of 30. At this point he thinks he's the don, but will wake up when he's 55, and he'll be alone, with nothing to keep him warm other than his electric blanket and hair piece. But classic man will LOVE this piece of advice, because it involves just having to ignore the problem and not communicate. If any men are reading this and thinking "I do that" then please stop for the sake of the female race. We know what you're doing; it's not rocket science, and although it will probably work long term, we will seriously hate you. This may lead to revenge tactics - telling people they dumped you because you caught crabs off a hooker; you have an impotency issue; or you secretly came out to them and they couldn't live with the lie. Or for extra clout - all of the above.
"Tell her there is a problem which can't be resolved- Let her know that the reason you need to end it is that there is an issue in the relationship which is hard to resolve and breaking up is the best possible option you have right now."
KNOB JOCKEY! the problem is clear to us - its YOU. And the "hard to resolve problem" tends to be that they're shagging someone else.
"Get the timing right- Always make sure you get your timing right before you dump her. One good example can be not to dump her in a public or a social place as that can lead to a big situation which might cause a lot of embarrassment to you. Make sure when you are about to dump her you are alone with her."
Not sure from anyones point of view there's ever a "right time" to be dumped, so how a man is supposed to choose one, I'd love to know. Most men can't choose a brand of shampoo, so how the hell they'll get this one right, is a mystery. And from now on, I am going to ensure if any guy is stupid to break up with me in public, I am going to scream and shout like a lunatic just to embarrass them. I forsee wailing, crying, and clinging to their legs whilst they try and run.
"Be friends- Never dump her on a sad note. Try to remain friends and keep in constant touch so that you don't leave it on a blank sad note and have something to regret later."
I really don't see why people stay friends. And surely it's the womans choice if she'd being ditched, not the mans?! I rarely stay friends - it just leads to more hurt, especially when you have to see them with someone else. I'd much rather tell them I faked every orgasm; throw out their clothes, and Frisbee their favourite Bruce Springsteen CD out the window. (Just make sure you don't get back together. You will have to replace said CD, and have to listen to it a lot).
Men should not listen to whatever tool wrote these "tips". It will end in a lot more trouble and hurt for the dumped. There's no easy way to do it, and no right thing to say to make someone feel better, but I normally turn to a good old bottle of white for the pain, and the anthem of the dumped, Gloria Gaynor. Nothing like a good old sing to "I Will Survive" to make me feel better. Ironically, the day I was born, that song was at number 1.....possibly a bad omen for a Dangerous Lady like myself!But just like Gloria, I'm saving all my loving, for someone who's loving me....And hopefully I won't be telling him to walk out the door.
Sunday, 31 January 2010
Wednesday, 27 January 2010
The One That NEVER Gets Away (But We Wish Would)
Whether you are male of female; straight or gay; young or old - at some point in your life, you will have had one of those exes that never seems to go away. The one that pops up every now and again, as if psychically honing in on your vulnerability. They spring up, you forget everything they've done before, because although they were annoying, they weren't horrific. And so, the cycle begins again, until you tell them to bugger off for the hundredth time, and delete their number (again).
I have been subject to this nightmare over the last month. My one that won't get away, is a friend of a friend, who I met a few years back. When I met him, I was feeling very vulnerable as I had just come out of a relationship, and this happy, energetic, attentive guy, was at the time, a god send. I say at the time, I mean that night, after a few wines. We danced, had fun, and ever since it's been a roller coaster of sporadic dating.
He once gave me 100 reasons why I was amazing, but as amazing as he seems to think I am (or more importantly - I know I am) he has always consistently let me down. We all have someone we have let muck us around like this, and we have to stop for our own sanity. And so, I am stopping the cycle with a simple ploy. I am listing for you, and me, the 100 reasons for me not going there again.....
1) He calls me "babe" a lot. I find it patronising. The way he says it, makes me think of the pig for some reason.
2) Our "song" is Spider Pig sung by Homer Simpson. That's actually worse than Dermot singing "Hero" at me.
3) He calls my chest "boobies" like a 12 year old. A always get the feeling, he'd still do that thing on his calculator, where he types in the numbers that spell it upside down (2318008?) and giggle like a twat.
4) He calls me "his women". Not at all patronising. No, not at all.
5) His surname is like that of a Colombian drug dealer. If we married, I may often get searched a lot at airports.
6) He didn't actually tell me when he got a girlfriend, when we were meant to be dating. Facebook told me. He's THAT stupid that he changed his relationship status, forgetting I could see it.
7) He was my date for my 30th birthday. And failed to turn up.
8) He can't seem to hold a job down for longer than 6 months. No one can be made redundant THAT many times unless they are really not very good at the job they do.
9) He wears suit jackets with jeans and trainers. He's 10yrs off a diamante Star Wars t-shirt and velvet blazer.
10) He doesn't have a car.
11) He smokes pot...making him more stupid than he normal.
12) He did coke on our last date.
13) He seems to have a lot of nutty ex girlfriends.
14) He claims to have sent me a Christmas card. Its over a month on. Did he send it by carrier pigeon? And is said pigeon on a jolly to Tenerife?
15) His last excuse for failing to turn up to a date was that he left his mobile in his mates car all weekend.
16) And his computer blew up.
17) And he broke his hand (not finger or fingers - hand) saving a man he didn't even know, from an incident. Good job Super Tool was there.
18) His excuses are always shite - see above.
19) He does a really good, but very irritating Phone Jacker impersonation that he HAS to do for the first 5 mins of every conversation.
20) He always says "I'll bell you straight back". And doesn't. I once waited 9 months.
21) He has never once remembered my birthday on time.
22) He sulks like a child when I get a date.
23) Yet cancels all of our dates.
24) He will chat "street" style if he is with friends and he's on the phone to me. He's a 30 year old half Spanish guy - not a Yardie from the hood.
25) He also calls friends "bro". Again, see above.
26) When he has done wrong, instead of saying sorry, he goes into hiding.
27) He goes to festivals and acts like a twat every year. If you can't plug in my straighteners, I'm not involved.
28) He calls me at work when I tell him I'm busy, and pretends to be a customer, or insists he has to talk to me. Then sulks when I say I have to go. Then calls back 10mins later.
29) He's blond.
30) He's quite short.
31) He's always getting great job offers, that never come off. Hmmmm, probably, maybe, because THEY DON'T EXSIST.
32) I have a feeling that despite being a quite good kisser, he's not going to float my boat in bed.
33) The thought of actually getting physical doesn't do it for me.
34) He's promised to take me to the zoo 4 times. I still haven't seen the penguins.
35)He actually text me once to say his friend kept farting. Are you 30 or 8? And why the fuckety fuck would i give a rats arse?
36) He acts like an only child, despite not being one - needy is not even touching the edges.
37) He gets credit instead of getting a contract phone. I can only assume this is because he is shit with money. As well as being shit with everything else.
38)He thinks that speaking in a stupid soppy voice makes me want him. Want him to fuck the fuck off.
39)I'm pretty sure that on our last date, he did something, be it a kiss or number swap, with another girl.
40)He has far too many female friends that call him "honey", "gorgeous" and "sexy bro" - she maybe his perfect women?
41) He once invited me to his Christmas party, to then cancel on me.
42) He told me it was because no partners were allowed.
43) He then posted pics on Facebook of him and his date and deleted my comments when I asked how come all his colleagues were photographed with their husbands / wives.
44) He reckons his last nutty ex deleted me off facebook.
45) He wears sunglasses in the dark.
46) He gets smasho every weekend, but always reckons he's sick, and didn't go out.
47) He won't read this blog, as he thinks its a silly hobby, and he's scared I'll discuss him (oops).
48)He's a real Mummy's boy.
49)He generally is a nightmare to get hold of anytime you want him.
50)He doesn't deserve Lady Danger's time or effort.
Or another 50 reasons.
Now, that was really therapeutic! My advice to anyone that also has an annoying little knob jockey, like the above - write a similar list. And when they next spring up like a bad penny, you read the list, and delete them out of your life. Let's get rid of the rubbish ladies and gentlemen! And if this particular KJ actually does ever read my blog, I hope he finally realises that he has let me down hundreds of times, and Lady Danger is not a person to be trifled with anymore! LETS GET TOUGH PEOPLE, AND TELL THEM TO JOG ON! See if you can beat my 50......you'll feel a lot better!
(FYI - the only man I would let do this is obviously GB. He can use and abuse me all he likes.Fact.)
I have been subject to this nightmare over the last month. My one that won't get away, is a friend of a friend, who I met a few years back. When I met him, I was feeling very vulnerable as I had just come out of a relationship, and this happy, energetic, attentive guy, was at the time, a god send. I say at the time, I mean that night, after a few wines. We danced, had fun, and ever since it's been a roller coaster of sporadic dating.
He once gave me 100 reasons why I was amazing, but as amazing as he seems to think I am (or more importantly - I know I am) he has always consistently let me down. We all have someone we have let muck us around like this, and we have to stop for our own sanity. And so, I am stopping the cycle with a simple ploy. I am listing for you, and me, the 100 reasons for me not going there again.....
1) He calls me "babe" a lot. I find it patronising. The way he says it, makes me think of the pig for some reason.
2) Our "song" is Spider Pig sung by Homer Simpson. That's actually worse than Dermot singing "Hero" at me.
3) He calls my chest "boobies" like a 12 year old. A always get the feeling, he'd still do that thing on his calculator, where he types in the numbers that spell it upside down (2318008?) and giggle like a twat.
4) He calls me "his women". Not at all patronising. No, not at all.
5) His surname is like that of a Colombian drug dealer. If we married, I may often get searched a lot at airports.
6) He didn't actually tell me when he got a girlfriend, when we were meant to be dating. Facebook told me. He's THAT stupid that he changed his relationship status, forgetting I could see it.
7) He was my date for my 30th birthday. And failed to turn up.
8) He can't seem to hold a job down for longer than 6 months. No one can be made redundant THAT many times unless they are really not very good at the job they do.
9) He wears suit jackets with jeans and trainers. He's 10yrs off a diamante Star Wars t-shirt and velvet blazer.
10) He doesn't have a car.
11) He smokes pot...making him more stupid than he normal.
12) He did coke on our last date.
13) He seems to have a lot of nutty ex girlfriends.
14) He claims to have sent me a Christmas card. Its over a month on. Did he send it by carrier pigeon? And is said pigeon on a jolly to Tenerife?
15) His last excuse for failing to turn up to a date was that he left his mobile in his mates car all weekend.
16) And his computer blew up.
17) And he broke his hand (not finger or fingers - hand) saving a man he didn't even know, from an incident. Good job Super Tool was there.
18) His excuses are always shite - see above.
19) He does a really good, but very irritating Phone Jacker impersonation that he HAS to do for the first 5 mins of every conversation.
20) He always says "I'll bell you straight back". And doesn't. I once waited 9 months.
21) He has never once remembered my birthday on time.
22) He sulks like a child when I get a date.
23) Yet cancels all of our dates.
24) He will chat "street" style if he is with friends and he's on the phone to me. He's a 30 year old half Spanish guy - not a Yardie from the hood.
25) He also calls friends "bro". Again, see above.
26) When he has done wrong, instead of saying sorry, he goes into hiding.
27) He goes to festivals and acts like a twat every year. If you can't plug in my straighteners, I'm not involved.
28) He calls me at work when I tell him I'm busy, and pretends to be a customer, or insists he has to talk to me. Then sulks when I say I have to go. Then calls back 10mins later.
29) He's blond.
30) He's quite short.
31) He's always getting great job offers, that never come off. Hmmmm, probably, maybe, because THEY DON'T EXSIST.
32) I have a feeling that despite being a quite good kisser, he's not going to float my boat in bed.
33) The thought of actually getting physical doesn't do it for me.
34) He's promised to take me to the zoo 4 times. I still haven't seen the penguins.
35)He actually text me once to say his friend kept farting. Are you 30 or 8? And why the fuckety fuck would i give a rats arse?
36) He acts like an only child, despite not being one - needy is not even touching the edges.
37) He gets credit instead of getting a contract phone. I can only assume this is because he is shit with money. As well as being shit with everything else.
38)He thinks that speaking in a stupid soppy voice makes me want him. Want him to fuck the fuck off.
39)I'm pretty sure that on our last date, he did something, be it a kiss or number swap, with another girl.
40)He has far too many female friends that call him "honey", "gorgeous" and "sexy bro" - she maybe his perfect women?
41) He once invited me to his Christmas party, to then cancel on me.
42) He told me it was because no partners were allowed.
43) He then posted pics on Facebook of him and his date and deleted my comments when I asked how come all his colleagues were photographed with their husbands / wives.
44) He reckons his last nutty ex deleted me off facebook.
45) He wears sunglasses in the dark.
46) He gets smasho every weekend, but always reckons he's sick, and didn't go out.
47) He won't read this blog, as he thinks its a silly hobby, and he's scared I'll discuss him (oops).
48)He's a real Mummy's boy.
49)He generally is a nightmare to get hold of anytime you want him.
50)He doesn't deserve Lady Danger's time or effort.
Or another 50 reasons.
Now, that was really therapeutic! My advice to anyone that also has an annoying little knob jockey, like the above - write a similar list. And when they next spring up like a bad penny, you read the list, and delete them out of your life. Let's get rid of the rubbish ladies and gentlemen! And if this particular KJ actually does ever read my blog, I hope he finally realises that he has let me down hundreds of times, and Lady Danger is not a person to be trifled with anymore! LETS GET TOUGH PEOPLE, AND TELL THEM TO JOG ON! See if you can beat my 50......you'll feel a lot better!
(FYI - the only man I would let do this is obviously GB. He can use and abuse me all he likes.Fact.)
Sunday, 24 January 2010
Advice On Courting Old Style.... Mummy Danger Not Included
In Victorian times, women, could marry as young as twelve, and the average age to get married was between eighteen and twenty-three. Parents were the instigators of most marriages, and oversaw the strict "courting" process. My single friends and I are all without a doubt, the wrong side of 23, and I would die on the spot if Mummy Danger had any input into my love life....it would not be pretty. (If they like sport, and support her footie team, Mummy Danger is a happy women. She dislikes tattoos, the French and motorbikes. She'd have me married off to a plimsoll wearer called Stu if I wasn't careful).
In this century, courting rituals are a world away from that of the Victorian era. These days, we can "wink" at a potential mate via internet sites, or interview them in three minutes, then tell them to jog on when the bell rings and the next chap takes the seat. But is there some logic in the Victorian ways? I googled some courting rules, lets see how the modern Dangerous Lady would do:
"She never approached people of higher rank, unless being introduced by a mutual friend." - Well, this would depend on the amount of wine consumed. I'm not amazingly good at approaching men, as I normally do something hideously stupid (I once actually fell at a mans feet when being introduced to him) but I'm pretty sure, that if a fit, single, higher rank man (thinking Italian brogues) were to know one of my friends, it'd be because she was dating him. Bugger. And if I had got the guts to approach him, I'd be smasho, thinking I looked seductive, whilst really having smudged lippy, and be squinting out of one eye.
"People of lesser rank were always introduced to people of higher rank, and then only if the higher-ranking person had given his/her permission." - So a man that is classed as lesser rank (Stella / alcho pop drinkers maybe?) can't approach me....I have to approach them? Bloody love it - this would save me having to death stare the beer bellied tool wearing the footie shirt, slurring that I've got "nice tits". FYI, I do.
"Even after being introduced, the person of higher rank did not have to maintain the acquaintance. They could ignore, or 'cut' the person of lower rank." - Again, a harsh but good rule. How many times, has some knob jockey approached you, and you've been stuck with him? Can you imagine the saved time if you could just say "excuse me, Mr Knob Jockey, but you are obviously a boring tool, and so I am cutting you. Thank you so much, now please jog on." I want this to be a new dating law. I am marching to Parliament first thing.
"A single woman never addressed a gentleman without an introduction." - God almighty. Bars would be full of gibbering wrecks. Men, unless cocky-go-lightys, are not known as being great at "addressing" ladies. We'd never get anywhere, and certainly, we'd never get any.
"A single woman never walked out alone. Her chaperone had to be older and preferably married." - WTF? We would have angry wives calling us and threatening murder for being seen out with their husbands, and never pull a guy again if the older man turned out to be his Dad. This just would not work. "Sorry Mrs Cruise, Mr Cruise was just escorting me past Mr Butler's house, so could try and sneak a peak at him showering". Nope, I think I'd be in ER with a a Jimmy Choo stuck in my head.
"If she had progressed to the stage of courtship in which she walked out with a gentleman, they always walked apart. A gentleman could offer his hand over rough spots, the only contact he was allowed with a woman who was not his fiancee." - Blimey, you'd never speak! You're not allowed to be alone inside, and you have to walk apart? Although with some of the horrific dates I've had this past year, walking apart would have been a pleasure. The failed game show host was certainly a visual nightmare, the velvet jacket and diamante t-shirt alone made him an embarrassment to walk with. I only hope people thought he was my older chaperone and not my date. (Him dressed as a chimney sweep, whilst doing a dreadful impression of Dick Van Dyke was on TV the other day.This only cemented my rule that at least 2 pictures have to be seen before I agree to a date, and a google search administerd).
"Proper women never rode alone in a closed carriage with a man who wasn't a relative." - No nookie in a lay by then? That's just no fun is it? I'd only be dating men with convertibles, and they'd always have to have the roof down when I'm in it. I like the convertible theory, but my hair would be a right state.
"She would never call upon an unmarried gentleman at his place of residence." - I don't mind this one. I prefer not to have to call on men, they should call on me. But I am again seeing that it is ok to call on married men? Did the Victorians just want us all to have affairs? I know a few married men who've been trying to bed me for a few years, that would love this rule. And I see a fab loop hole - just meet them mid afternoon, at a hotel. Keeps the spark alive, and saves having to bump into their flat mate on route to the bathroom. When you're wearing their dressing gown. And didn't realise they were in. And were just quite loud. Bugger.
"She couldn't receive a man at home if she was alone. Another family member had to be present in the room." - I'd be on the phone - "Mummy Danger? Can you please come round? David Tenants popped over, and fancies a quick one, but the rules say you have to be here." It's wrong on SO many levels. Mummy Danger doesn't even want to admit I've had sex. On my 16th birthday, her exact words were, and I quote, "just because it's legal, doesn't mean you have to do it". Having the worlds greatest Time Lord present, would not make the sex issue any better in her eyes. (Plus he's Scottish - she doesn't like them that much either).
"A gentlewoman never looked back after anyone in the street, or turned to stare at others at church, the opera, etc." - Ok, I'm rarely seen at Church (I worship at the altar of Hollyoaks omnibus on a Sunday). Unless it's a wedding, and then the head turning is normally because I'm looking for the fire exit as I am hungover from the night before, and might need to leave quickly to be sick. But, I am known for the "meer cat". This involves me raising up my top half, and acting like my favourite cat, when checking out the opposite sex. (Simples). You have to shark! It's the fun part of dating! No way can a Dangerous Lady keep to that rule, unless I'm allowed to check out arses and instead of their face? No? Then I politely decline to follow this rule.
"No impure conversations were held in front of single women." - I am normally the instigator of impure conversations. Fact. Want to be embarrassed really quickly and easily? Ask me what I'd do to GB if we were stuck in a lift. Ask me after a bottle of wine and I'll do the actions as well.
"No sexual contact was allowed before marriage. Innocence was demanded by men from girls in his class, and most especially from his future wife." - You notice this one says men demanded innocence, but nothing about men being innocent? Sorry, but you have to try the goods before the sale is made. Had I married the first man that asked, I'd be in a marriage where sex only occurred if there was nothing on TV. I'd be writing letters of thanks to the inventors of Freeview.
"Intelligence was not encouraged, nor was any interest in politics." - That describes half the men I dated last year! We all like a pretty boy, but all the single ladies I know have more brains than the single men I know (sorry lads). My dear friend dated a guy the other week who thought tapas was food in a creamy sauce. Her words were "he's pretty but so, so dumb". If that poor lad had to date someone with less intelligence, he'd be hooked up with Kerry Katona. Actually that's harsh, he was a nice guy according to said friend - no one should have to live with Kerry Katona. They'd die from a heart attack. All those kebabs cannot be good for a person.
I don't think I could live with these harsh Victorian rules, I'd be outcast and found slumped clutching a bottle of gin on the street. What they were telling women, was to be dumb; and be seen out only with old and married men. Christ, they're telling us to be Catherine Zeta Jones. For now, I will carry on being an occasional lush, and involving the rather lovely Mummy Danger in as little of my love life as humanly possible. I don't want to end up married to a loafer wearing estate agent, just because he supports Arsenal and can make a good gravy. Mummy Danger does not understand shoes.
In this century, courting rituals are a world away from that of the Victorian era. These days, we can "wink" at a potential mate via internet sites, or interview them in three minutes, then tell them to jog on when the bell rings and the next chap takes the seat. But is there some logic in the Victorian ways? I googled some courting rules, lets see how the modern Dangerous Lady would do:
"She never approached people of higher rank, unless being introduced by a mutual friend." - Well, this would depend on the amount of wine consumed. I'm not amazingly good at approaching men, as I normally do something hideously stupid (I once actually fell at a mans feet when being introduced to him) but I'm pretty sure, that if a fit, single, higher rank man (thinking Italian brogues) were to know one of my friends, it'd be because she was dating him. Bugger. And if I had got the guts to approach him, I'd be smasho, thinking I looked seductive, whilst really having smudged lippy, and be squinting out of one eye.
"People of lesser rank were always introduced to people of higher rank, and then only if the higher-ranking person had given his/her permission." - So a man that is classed as lesser rank (Stella / alcho pop drinkers maybe?) can't approach me....I have to approach them? Bloody love it - this would save me having to death stare the beer bellied tool wearing the footie shirt, slurring that I've got "nice tits". FYI, I do.
"Even after being introduced, the person of higher rank did not have to maintain the acquaintance. They could ignore, or 'cut' the person of lower rank." - Again, a harsh but good rule. How many times, has some knob jockey approached you, and you've been stuck with him? Can you imagine the saved time if you could just say "excuse me, Mr Knob Jockey, but you are obviously a boring tool, and so I am cutting you. Thank you so much, now please jog on." I want this to be a new dating law. I am marching to Parliament first thing.
"A single woman never addressed a gentleman without an introduction." - God almighty. Bars would be full of gibbering wrecks. Men, unless cocky-go-lightys, are not known as being great at "addressing" ladies. We'd never get anywhere, and certainly, we'd never get any.
"A single woman never walked out alone. Her chaperone had to be older and preferably married." - WTF? We would have angry wives calling us and threatening murder for being seen out with their husbands, and never pull a guy again if the older man turned out to be his Dad. This just would not work. "Sorry Mrs Cruise, Mr Cruise was just escorting me past Mr Butler's house, so could try and sneak a peak at him showering". Nope, I think I'd be in ER with a a Jimmy Choo stuck in my head.
"If she had progressed to the stage of courtship in which she walked out with a gentleman, they always walked apart. A gentleman could offer his hand over rough spots, the only contact he was allowed with a woman who was not his fiancee." - Blimey, you'd never speak! You're not allowed to be alone inside, and you have to walk apart? Although with some of the horrific dates I've had this past year, walking apart would have been a pleasure. The failed game show host was certainly a visual nightmare, the velvet jacket and diamante t-shirt alone made him an embarrassment to walk with. I only hope people thought he was my older chaperone and not my date. (Him dressed as a chimney sweep, whilst doing a dreadful impression of Dick Van Dyke was on TV the other day.This only cemented my rule that at least 2 pictures have to be seen before I agree to a date, and a google search administerd).
"Proper women never rode alone in a closed carriage with a man who wasn't a relative." - No nookie in a lay by then? That's just no fun is it? I'd only be dating men with convertibles, and they'd always have to have the roof down when I'm in it. I like the convertible theory, but my hair would be a right state.
"She would never call upon an unmarried gentleman at his place of residence." - I don't mind this one. I prefer not to have to call on men, they should call on me. But I am again seeing that it is ok to call on married men? Did the Victorians just want us all to have affairs? I know a few married men who've been trying to bed me for a few years, that would love this rule. And I see a fab loop hole - just meet them mid afternoon, at a hotel. Keeps the spark alive, and saves having to bump into their flat mate on route to the bathroom. When you're wearing their dressing gown. And didn't realise they were in. And were just quite loud. Bugger.
"She couldn't receive a man at home if she was alone. Another family member had to be present in the room." - I'd be on the phone - "Mummy Danger? Can you please come round? David Tenants popped over, and fancies a quick one, but the rules say you have to be here." It's wrong on SO many levels. Mummy Danger doesn't even want to admit I've had sex. On my 16th birthday, her exact words were, and I quote, "just because it's legal, doesn't mean you have to do it". Having the worlds greatest Time Lord present, would not make the sex issue any better in her eyes. (Plus he's Scottish - she doesn't like them that much either).
"A gentlewoman never looked back after anyone in the street, or turned to stare at others at church, the opera, etc." - Ok, I'm rarely seen at Church (I worship at the altar of Hollyoaks omnibus on a Sunday). Unless it's a wedding, and then the head turning is normally because I'm looking for the fire exit as I am hungover from the night before, and might need to leave quickly to be sick. But, I am known for the "meer cat". This involves me raising up my top half, and acting like my favourite cat, when checking out the opposite sex. (Simples). You have to shark! It's the fun part of dating! No way can a Dangerous Lady keep to that rule, unless I'm allowed to check out arses and instead of their face? No? Then I politely decline to follow this rule.
"No impure conversations were held in front of single women." - I am normally the instigator of impure conversations. Fact. Want to be embarrassed really quickly and easily? Ask me what I'd do to GB if we were stuck in a lift. Ask me after a bottle of wine and I'll do the actions as well.
"No sexual contact was allowed before marriage. Innocence was demanded by men from girls in his class, and most especially from his future wife." - You notice this one says men demanded innocence, but nothing about men being innocent? Sorry, but you have to try the goods before the sale is made. Had I married the first man that asked, I'd be in a marriage where sex only occurred if there was nothing on TV. I'd be writing letters of thanks to the inventors of Freeview.
"Intelligence was not encouraged, nor was any interest in politics." - That describes half the men I dated last year! We all like a pretty boy, but all the single ladies I know have more brains than the single men I know (sorry lads). My dear friend dated a guy the other week who thought tapas was food in a creamy sauce. Her words were "he's pretty but so, so dumb". If that poor lad had to date someone with less intelligence, he'd be hooked up with Kerry Katona. Actually that's harsh, he was a nice guy according to said friend - no one should have to live with Kerry Katona. They'd die from a heart attack. All those kebabs cannot be good for a person.
I don't think I could live with these harsh Victorian rules, I'd be outcast and found slumped clutching a bottle of gin on the street. What they were telling women, was to be dumb; and be seen out only with old and married men. Christ, they're telling us to be Catherine Zeta Jones. For now, I will carry on being an occasional lush, and involving the rather lovely Mummy Danger in as little of my love life as humanly possible. I don't want to end up married to a loafer wearing estate agent, just because he supports Arsenal and can make a good gravy. Mummy Danger does not understand shoes.
Friday, 22 January 2010
Click Your Cuban Heels Together, And Jog On Honey
For centuries, shoes have been the pinnacle of our society. Practical, and a necessary part of daily clothing, we have been inspired by designs, crippled ourselves with 4 inch heels, and at least once (more in my case) chosen a gorgeous, must have pair, over eating for the next few weeks. Imelda Marcos is estimated at having somewhere in the region of 3000 pairs of shoes, and flew all over the world to buy them, whilst the country her husband run was mostly poverty stricken. The Wicked Witch died in her attempt to gain her sisters ruby slippers, which are now one of the most well known and popular items on display on the National Museum Of American History. As children, we all read and dreamed about Cinderella and her glass slippers. I myself, had the debt of a third world country a few years back, but a shoe collection to rival no other - apart from Mrs Marcos.
A women can set her mood by the shoes she is wearing; the choice tends to be extensive. No man can tell a women by her shoes, because we change them dependent on mood. Men on the other hand, tend to be a little bit more transparent, and for many years, I have used the shoe choice a man wears to determine who he is, and what he's like. Lets face it, most men have a limited shoe collection, normally comprising of trainers, smart shoes and a a boot of some variety. Although it's not fool proof,my theory has helped me over the years...
1) Trainers. the most popular choice of a man. These can be sub categorised...
* Running trainers - this man likes to keep fit. He will run rain or shine, and may try and drag you along for good measure. If not, you may have to go and cheer him on, on cold days whilst he runs a half marathon. He will have a good job, and be nice to his Mother. He might be a pain in the arse though and expect you do join him on these charity runs. Names like James, Matthew, and William spring to mind. Public school. May have a stupid nickname from these days. Warning - he may also play sport, rugby, not football, and make you watch.
* Reebok Classics - this man is the opposite of Running Man. He will only run if it involves a challenge after too many Stellas, as to who can reach the kebab van first. He will work in a job that involves a white van and reading the Daily Star. Weekends will see him possibly attempt to play football with the lads, but he'll only play half a game as he'll be too hungover. Names like Darren (sorry Kaz) and Dave (again sorry Kaz) will be popular, as will just being called by his surname. He will be likely to be very good at putting up shelves and fixing your car. Warning - he will most probably leave his socks on during sex, and dependent on age, have once had a pierced ear.
2) Plimsolls - a recent trend has seen the more creative man, start donning a white plimsoll. You know the ones - we all used to wear them to gym class as a child. Now these indicate a man who is creative - arty, a designer, or maybe media based. He will be a fan of gastro pubs, and like football, but not playing it. He will like trendy, up and coming places, and wear glasses instead of contacts. He will watch Come Dine With Me and have dinner a lot with male friends. He will love cooking and think he is a bit of a Jamie Oliver. Moped optional.Names like Owen, and Marc (C not a K). Warning - he will be a little bit too into feelings - a possible wet blanket. Sex could be over quickly - you have a pussy cat not a tiger here.
3) Loafers - oh dear god. Houston, we have a problem. A loafer? Loafers are easy to translate. They will work in lower end sales, or they will be an estate agent (not a very good one). They may once have been a Reebok Classic, but are trying to move up in the world. They will still however drink Stella, and play football. They maybe a tad arrogant, and when they do a "deal" expect you to treat them like a god. Names - Gary (Gazzer) and Steve (Steveo). Warning - they will boast to their mates that they "did ya" in their Subaru.
4) A pointed leather shoe - an upgrade on the loafer. This man is successful in his job, and will wear the pointed shoe with tight, faded jeans, and a black shirt.A suit jacket is optional. A tan isn't. He will be very metro sexual and spend more time in the bathroom than you. They will trim areas of body hair to make their little fella look bigger. They will think they are gods gift, but will be very dull, and other than a few free drinks, pretty useless. Names - Mikey and Wayne. Warning - he will blunt your razor shaving his bits, and wear a thong on the sunbed.
5) Climbing boot / chunky walking shoe - my kind of man! He will be outdoorsy, and be able to fix your fridge. He will love mountain biking, skiing, and hiking. He won't openly mock your love of celeb mags and soaps, but he will secretly think your stupid for doing so. He will be well read and travelled. His job will be different and he won't put up with mood swings or irrational female behaviour. Names - Jake, and Ben. Warning - you may get bored and tired of loosing your Sundays to hiking in the Lake District. The rather good sex may out way this. He won't care about fashion, but the tight arse from all the cycling will make you forget that he only owns two decent shirts.
6) A heeled boot - is that a siren I can hear? Yes, its the fashion police. This man could be one of many things, but worth a date? No. He will love himself, and pretend to be Spanish. He will think he can dance and use his snake hips. He will tell you his name's Andre or Miguel. He will actually be called Andy or Mick and be from Staines. He will teach dance, and leave an orange outline around your bath from the fake tan. He may also be short. Warning - he will smell like he bathes in cheap aftershave. He will also lie about his age. He may have chlamydia. He will also know Derek the greengrocer and try and tempt you into swinging.
There are obviously many more shoes out there - a brogue indicates a man of education and a boring job - think Mark Darcy. A boat shoe would make me believe that he shops in Topman and wants me to think he's rich. He might have once gone on a pedalo in Torquay, but there's no yacht moored in Marbella.
Whatever the shoe, we can all gain an insight into the man. So next time you get chatted up, sneak a look at the chosen footwear, and at the first sign of a Cuban, run as quick as those heels will carry you. Hopefully straight into the path of a pair of hand made Italian shoes, in a size ten....
A women can set her mood by the shoes she is wearing; the choice tends to be extensive. No man can tell a women by her shoes, because we change them dependent on mood. Men on the other hand, tend to be a little bit more transparent, and for many years, I have used the shoe choice a man wears to determine who he is, and what he's like. Lets face it, most men have a limited shoe collection, normally comprising of trainers, smart shoes and a a boot of some variety. Although it's not fool proof,my theory has helped me over the years...
1) Trainers. the most popular choice of a man. These can be sub categorised...
* Running trainers - this man likes to keep fit. He will run rain or shine, and may try and drag you along for good measure. If not, you may have to go and cheer him on, on cold days whilst he runs a half marathon. He will have a good job, and be nice to his Mother. He might be a pain in the arse though and expect you do join him on these charity runs. Names like James, Matthew, and William spring to mind. Public school. May have a stupid nickname from these days. Warning - he may also play sport, rugby, not football, and make you watch.
* Reebok Classics - this man is the opposite of Running Man. He will only run if it involves a challenge after too many Stellas, as to who can reach the kebab van first. He will work in a job that involves a white van and reading the Daily Star. Weekends will see him possibly attempt to play football with the lads, but he'll only play half a game as he'll be too hungover. Names like Darren (sorry Kaz) and Dave (again sorry Kaz) will be popular, as will just being called by his surname. He will be likely to be very good at putting up shelves and fixing your car. Warning - he will most probably leave his socks on during sex, and dependent on age, have once had a pierced ear.
2) Plimsolls - a recent trend has seen the more creative man, start donning a white plimsoll. You know the ones - we all used to wear them to gym class as a child. Now these indicate a man who is creative - arty, a designer, or maybe media based. He will be a fan of gastro pubs, and like football, but not playing it. He will like trendy, up and coming places, and wear glasses instead of contacts. He will watch Come Dine With Me and have dinner a lot with male friends. He will love cooking and think he is a bit of a Jamie Oliver. Moped optional.Names like Owen, and Marc (C not a K). Warning - he will be a little bit too into feelings - a possible wet blanket. Sex could be over quickly - you have a pussy cat not a tiger here.
3) Loafers - oh dear god. Houston, we have a problem. A loafer? Loafers are easy to translate. They will work in lower end sales, or they will be an estate agent (not a very good one). They may once have been a Reebok Classic, but are trying to move up in the world. They will still however drink Stella, and play football. They maybe a tad arrogant, and when they do a "deal" expect you to treat them like a god. Names - Gary (Gazzer) and Steve (Steveo). Warning - they will boast to their mates that they "did ya" in their Subaru.
4) A pointed leather shoe - an upgrade on the loafer. This man is successful in his job, and will wear the pointed shoe with tight, faded jeans, and a black shirt.A suit jacket is optional. A tan isn't. He will be very metro sexual and spend more time in the bathroom than you. They will trim areas of body hair to make their little fella look bigger. They will think they are gods gift, but will be very dull, and other than a few free drinks, pretty useless. Names - Mikey and Wayne. Warning - he will blunt your razor shaving his bits, and wear a thong on the sunbed.
5) Climbing boot / chunky walking shoe - my kind of man! He will be outdoorsy, and be able to fix your fridge. He will love mountain biking, skiing, and hiking. He won't openly mock your love of celeb mags and soaps, but he will secretly think your stupid for doing so. He will be well read and travelled. His job will be different and he won't put up with mood swings or irrational female behaviour. Names - Jake, and Ben. Warning - you may get bored and tired of loosing your Sundays to hiking in the Lake District. The rather good sex may out way this. He won't care about fashion, but the tight arse from all the cycling will make you forget that he only owns two decent shirts.
6) A heeled boot - is that a siren I can hear? Yes, its the fashion police. This man could be one of many things, but worth a date? No. He will love himself, and pretend to be Spanish. He will think he can dance and use his snake hips. He will tell you his name's Andre or Miguel. He will actually be called Andy or Mick and be from Staines. He will teach dance, and leave an orange outline around your bath from the fake tan. He may also be short. Warning - he will smell like he bathes in cheap aftershave. He will also lie about his age. He may have chlamydia. He will also know Derek the greengrocer and try and tempt you into swinging.
There are obviously many more shoes out there - a brogue indicates a man of education and a boring job - think Mark Darcy. A boat shoe would make me believe that he shops in Topman and wants me to think he's rich. He might have once gone on a pedalo in Torquay, but there's no yacht moored in Marbella.
Whatever the shoe, we can all gain an insight into the man. So next time you get chatted up, sneak a look at the chosen footwear, and at the first sign of a Cuban, run as quick as those heels will carry you. Hopefully straight into the path of a pair of hand made Italian shoes, in a size ten....
Tuesday, 19 January 2010
I've Got The Power!
Yin and yang. Ebony and ivory. Some things do live together in perfect harmony, but men are women aren't two of these things. Yes, we can co-habit successfully, and learn to live with the faults ("another pair of shoes?" , "can i have the remote tonight?" "can you stop shagging my boss, Gerard Butler, please darling?"), but there is always the unspoken struggle for The Power.
Ahhh, The Power. A dating truth brought to my attention by a good friend a few years ago. She is a wise little lady, and has come out with some classic theories in her time - another favourite of mine is the one that all single, gorgeous, nice men, are living on a remote island somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle. Anyway, her theory of The Power (it's so pinnacle in my dating life, I feel the need to use capitals), is the sanest thing to come out of her mouth in years.
The Power was explained to me one sunny day a few years back. I had just started dating the Moaner (the one who moaned in his sleep), and was having a few issues. He'd got back from holiday and told me he didn't want a relationship. I was a little put out as we'd had a fabulous date and he was just my type (oh how silly and foolish I was - we live and learn). I was sat down and had it explained to me that Moaner had The Power, and I needed to regain it. How? Simples. I told him I too wasn't up for a relationship, and was in fact dating two other guys. Quicker than you could sing "I've got the power" he'd changed his tune, and had a romantic weekend in Oxford booked for us. I'd regained The Power, and for a while it worked. (He was in fact a prize knob jockey, and ditched me before we could have said weekend in Oxford, for a slutty Swede he'd met during the World Cup. She agreed to do things between the sheets that I wouldn't. I am a Lady you know).
But the principle stayed with me, and I now try (I don't always succeed) in following a few Power rules...
1) Never answer a call or text for a few hours. Makes them wonder what you're up to. Especially if they're being stupid and trying to manipulate you. Play hard to get. The only flaw is when both parties follow this rule, neither texts and 2 years later you bump into him in Tesco, where you both ignore each other as you STILL don't want to give one another The Power. You'll end up single, lonely, apart from all your rescue cats, and will collect the local kids footballs when they come flying over your hedge, whilst still muttering "I've got the power". Too far people. Too far.
2) Initially never let them know how interested you are. This goes both ways. Unless I'm head over heels, nothing makes me cringe more than a guy sending me lovey dovey texts where he calls me babe, or worse, pet names. I have run for the hills many a time in this situation - "Muffin" after one date was pretty horrific, but the all time low was the guy who put on a soppy voice and said "ahh, bunny-wunny, do you have to go?". There was a Lady Danger hole in the wall. By letting them know how interested you are, you loose The Power. Any chance of you getting The Power back after a soppy slip, is slim to none. Only a few have done so, and even then its a friend of a friend's niece's auntie's gran's neighbour. Unless, of course, you both feel the same. In this case, you're onto a winner, and Power is pretty much void. You are also very lucky and should start thinking of who you want as your best man / bridemaids.
3) If you are in the dating scenario where other people are initially involved (other dates - I'm not talking about swinging and Derek the greengrocer again), then act cool and aloof. Do not always be available, cancel a date ("A" date - do not do it more than once - that's Power suicide) and under no circumstances should you sleep with them at this point. Sex IS Power. (Any sexual occurences other than kissing are OUT; off the list and are not to be partaken in).
Three simple rules to gain Power. But do not abuse The Power. Abusing The Power can lead to very bad karmic consequences. You will be classed as a game player, and will be tarnished within your dating community. You may also be run out of town by a mad bunch of locals brandishing pitch forks....or maybe I'm just letting my imagination run away with me?
The Power is fun, and is has been a part of dating from the days when cave men clubbed their women over the head (a slightly primitive form, but successful all the same). The Power struggle between the sexes will go on forever, and we enjoy it, as when all is said and done, wouldn't life be really dull without the thrill of the date, and the fight for relationship equality?
Ahhh, The Power. A dating truth brought to my attention by a good friend a few years ago. She is a wise little lady, and has come out with some classic theories in her time - another favourite of mine is the one that all single, gorgeous, nice men, are living on a remote island somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle. Anyway, her theory of The Power (it's so pinnacle in my dating life, I feel the need to use capitals), is the sanest thing to come out of her mouth in years.
The Power was explained to me one sunny day a few years back. I had just started dating the Moaner (the one who moaned in his sleep), and was having a few issues. He'd got back from holiday and told me he didn't want a relationship. I was a little put out as we'd had a fabulous date and he was just my type (oh how silly and foolish I was - we live and learn). I was sat down and had it explained to me that Moaner had The Power, and I needed to regain it. How? Simples. I told him I too wasn't up for a relationship, and was in fact dating two other guys. Quicker than you could sing "I've got the power" he'd changed his tune, and had a romantic weekend in Oxford booked for us. I'd regained The Power, and for a while it worked. (He was in fact a prize knob jockey, and ditched me before we could have said weekend in Oxford, for a slutty Swede he'd met during the World Cup. She agreed to do things between the sheets that I wouldn't. I am a Lady you know).
But the principle stayed with me, and I now try (I don't always succeed) in following a few Power rules...
1) Never answer a call or text for a few hours. Makes them wonder what you're up to. Especially if they're being stupid and trying to manipulate you. Play hard to get. The only flaw is when both parties follow this rule, neither texts and 2 years later you bump into him in Tesco, where you both ignore each other as you STILL don't want to give one another The Power. You'll end up single, lonely, apart from all your rescue cats, and will collect the local kids footballs when they come flying over your hedge, whilst still muttering "I've got the power". Too far people. Too far.
2) Initially never let them know how interested you are. This goes both ways. Unless I'm head over heels, nothing makes me cringe more than a guy sending me lovey dovey texts where he calls me babe, or worse, pet names. I have run for the hills many a time in this situation - "Muffin" after one date was pretty horrific, but the all time low was the guy who put on a soppy voice and said "ahh, bunny-wunny, do you have to go?". There was a Lady Danger hole in the wall. By letting them know how interested you are, you loose The Power. Any chance of you getting The Power back after a soppy slip, is slim to none. Only a few have done so, and even then its a friend of a friend's niece's auntie's gran's neighbour. Unless, of course, you both feel the same. In this case, you're onto a winner, and Power is pretty much void. You are also very lucky and should start thinking of who you want as your best man / bridemaids.
3) If you are in the dating scenario where other people are initially involved (other dates - I'm not talking about swinging and Derek the greengrocer again), then act cool and aloof. Do not always be available, cancel a date ("A" date - do not do it more than once - that's Power suicide) and under no circumstances should you sleep with them at this point. Sex IS Power. (Any sexual occurences other than kissing are OUT; off the list and are not to be partaken in).
Three simple rules to gain Power. But do not abuse The Power. Abusing The Power can lead to very bad karmic consequences. You will be classed as a game player, and will be tarnished within your dating community. You may also be run out of town by a mad bunch of locals brandishing pitch forks....or maybe I'm just letting my imagination run away with me?
The Power is fun, and is has been a part of dating from the days when cave men clubbed their women over the head (a slightly primitive form, but successful all the same). The Power struggle between the sexes will go on forever, and we enjoy it, as when all is said and done, wouldn't life be really dull without the thrill of the date, and the fight for relationship equality?
Monday, 18 January 2010
And They All Lived Happily Ever After....
Romantic novels. I challenge a household in the UK not to have one gathering dust on the shelves. From Jane Austen to Helen Fielding, centuries of women have read about the plight of the heroine in finding the love of her life. But are these books lulling us into a false sense of security? Are we doomed to fail because we believe that regardless of our behaviour, a man will look past that and sweep us off our feet?
Now, despite my sometimes cynical demeanour, I am actually one of lifes romantics. From an early age I was engrossed in the fairytale Cinderella, playing it on my own for hours (big ahhhh). This is where it starts - as children we are programmed to believe that our Prince Charming is out there, and it gets worse as we get older. I'm now aware that if I'm working hard, unable to go to a party, the chance of someone appearing out of thin air, to kit me out in a knock out outfit, is about as likely as waking up and finding I've dropped 14 pounds, and I'm married to Gerard Butler. And what were they on when they wrote about mice turning into foot men?! What type of crazy shit were they smoking?
But rom coms, albeit film or book, do teach us that if we live the following way, we will succeed:
1) You firstly need to have a personal tragedy. Loosing your dead end job, whilst being dumped, and being kicked out of your flat is normally the start. Don't worry, you won't end up in the dole queue, wearing a Primark tracksuit and shopping at Aldi where you will fight over a pallet of cabbages. In a few months, it will all be fine. Read on.
2) You then have to travel to your best friends. She will have a rather perfect set up - normally you need one with a spare room, who lives either in a cute remote village (where the locals will laugh at your high heels, when they all wear wellies) or LA. Don't ask me why, it always seems to be one or the other. In my case I'd be living 2 mins from where I do now, or New Zealand... a long way to go with no visa, but I do love an Antipodean.
3) You will then accidentally land a job you're not qualified for, that will lead you to meeting an irritating, but good looking, moody, brooding guy. You will dislike him, and embarrass yourself in front of him the first time you meet. This may involve flashing your knickers, falling over, getting mistaken for a stripper, or you have one eyebrow, a Celine Dion tattoo, and he's steering the boat you've just woken up on. The more bizarre the meeting the better. (Get in - in my case this is the best bit - I am a master of dick head behaviour). He will also be known as the local stud, and the one all women want, but no one ever gets.
4)There may also be another man - he will be either a reliable Robin with a Labrador and serious nature, or a complete tool who woes you with wine and a 007 type seduction, leading to him then ignoring you after sex. This man is a mere hurdle to get with brooding fit man....
5) ....who by now you will have shared a few smiles with, whilst reminding yourself he is mean and laughed at your tattoo. You'll get stuck together or he will save you - normally in the rain, and you'll nearly kiss. You'll have done something stupid again to get stuck...you are a fool after all. You won't get a cold or flu, but will look fucking minging. He will loan you a jumper. You'll have a cup of tea in his condo / cottage (depending on initial best friend location). You may at this point accidentally have sex.
6) But then, you're ex, or one of the other men (lab man or 007) will spring up and confuse things....a secret will come out....you're past as a financially inept, line dancing champ, with a penchant for Danish midgets, all comes out. Oh the shame. You run, but to where? You've already run to the mate with the spare room. You're fooked. Aldi here you come.
7) But, what it is this on the horizon? Do I see Mr brooding man? Yes! He is on a horse (well, normally driving a vintage car - we live in modern times) and is coming to tell you that despite the line dancing; midget obsession; the fact you've accidentally nearly bankrupted his business (his clients will actually think you're sweet), and that whenever you turn your back on him, Celine stares rather scarily at him, he loves you. As Coldplay once sung, "I will love you for your mistakes". You kiss, you say something witty. You all live happily ever after.
So what do we learn from this? Fuck up your life, which you won't like much anyway, bugger off to impose on a mate with a spare room, and piss off the local women by snapping up the only single man for miles. Oh, and to do so, you have to act like a stupid child, and make loads of mistakes that on a normal day, would make you want to smack a person if they did the same.
And volia! You have your man.
Am I the only one, who thinks maybe, just maybe, we need to snap out of this?! I've been acting like a dick head for years now, and I am sat here, single, with my cat, watching Coronation Street. I'm not saying it will never happen, but false hope is no friend of the single girl. We need to make our own life, and luck, and let a man fit into that when we are ready, and not when our book tells us.
I'll leave you with this fact. Barbara Cartland (RIP), the greatest romantic novelist of our time. 723 books. She lived to 98. She was married for only 5 of those 98 years, and despite the odd rumour, had no life partner. We all believe in our happily ever after, we should all have hope, but we should all write our own future.
(Mine will be dropping 14 pounds, and obviously marrying Gerard Butler....I just have to get pissed in front of him, fall over and flash my pants first. Anyone got a best friend who lives in LA with a spare room?).
Now, despite my sometimes cynical demeanour, I am actually one of lifes romantics. From an early age I was engrossed in the fairytale Cinderella, playing it on my own for hours (big ahhhh). This is where it starts - as children we are programmed to believe that our Prince Charming is out there, and it gets worse as we get older. I'm now aware that if I'm working hard, unable to go to a party, the chance of someone appearing out of thin air, to kit me out in a knock out outfit, is about as likely as waking up and finding I've dropped 14 pounds, and I'm married to Gerard Butler. And what were they on when they wrote about mice turning into foot men?! What type of crazy shit were they smoking?
But rom coms, albeit film or book, do teach us that if we live the following way, we will succeed:
1) You firstly need to have a personal tragedy. Loosing your dead end job, whilst being dumped, and being kicked out of your flat is normally the start. Don't worry, you won't end up in the dole queue, wearing a Primark tracksuit and shopping at Aldi where you will fight over a pallet of cabbages. In a few months, it will all be fine. Read on.
2) You then have to travel to your best friends. She will have a rather perfect set up - normally you need one with a spare room, who lives either in a cute remote village (where the locals will laugh at your high heels, when they all wear wellies) or LA. Don't ask me why, it always seems to be one or the other. In my case I'd be living 2 mins from where I do now, or New Zealand... a long way to go with no visa, but I do love an Antipodean.
3) You will then accidentally land a job you're not qualified for, that will lead you to meeting an irritating, but good looking, moody, brooding guy. You will dislike him, and embarrass yourself in front of him the first time you meet. This may involve flashing your knickers, falling over, getting mistaken for a stripper, or you have one eyebrow, a Celine Dion tattoo, and he's steering the boat you've just woken up on. The more bizarre the meeting the better. (Get in - in my case this is the best bit - I am a master of dick head behaviour). He will also be known as the local stud, and the one all women want, but no one ever gets.
4)There may also be another man - he will be either a reliable Robin with a Labrador and serious nature, or a complete tool who woes you with wine and a 007 type seduction, leading to him then ignoring you after sex. This man is a mere hurdle to get with brooding fit man....
5) ....who by now you will have shared a few smiles with, whilst reminding yourself he is mean and laughed at your tattoo. You'll get stuck together or he will save you - normally in the rain, and you'll nearly kiss. You'll have done something stupid again to get stuck...you are a fool after all. You won't get a cold or flu, but will look fucking minging. He will loan you a jumper. You'll have a cup of tea in his condo / cottage (depending on initial best friend location). You may at this point accidentally have sex.
6) But then, you're ex, or one of the other men (lab man or 007) will spring up and confuse things....a secret will come out....you're past as a financially inept, line dancing champ, with a penchant for Danish midgets, all comes out. Oh the shame. You run, but to where? You've already run to the mate with the spare room. You're fooked. Aldi here you come.
7) But, what it is this on the horizon? Do I see Mr brooding man? Yes! He is on a horse (well, normally driving a vintage car - we live in modern times) and is coming to tell you that despite the line dancing; midget obsession; the fact you've accidentally nearly bankrupted his business (his clients will actually think you're sweet), and that whenever you turn your back on him, Celine stares rather scarily at him, he loves you. As Coldplay once sung, "I will love you for your mistakes". You kiss, you say something witty. You all live happily ever after.
So what do we learn from this? Fuck up your life, which you won't like much anyway, bugger off to impose on a mate with a spare room, and piss off the local women by snapping up the only single man for miles. Oh, and to do so, you have to act like a stupid child, and make loads of mistakes that on a normal day, would make you want to smack a person if they did the same.
And volia! You have your man.
Am I the only one, who thinks maybe, just maybe, we need to snap out of this?! I've been acting like a dick head for years now, and I am sat here, single, with my cat, watching Coronation Street. I'm not saying it will never happen, but false hope is no friend of the single girl. We need to make our own life, and luck, and let a man fit into that when we are ready, and not when our book tells us.
I'll leave you with this fact. Barbara Cartland (RIP), the greatest romantic novelist of our time. 723 books. She lived to 98. She was married for only 5 of those 98 years, and despite the odd rumour, had no life partner. We all believe in our happily ever after, we should all have hope, but we should all write our own future.
(Mine will be dropping 14 pounds, and obviously marrying Gerard Butler....I just have to get pissed in front of him, fall over and flash my pants first. Anyone got a best friend who lives in LA with a spare room?).
Saturday, 16 January 2010
Table For One Please
I get asked quite a lot if I'm happy single. More by married couples, especially women, who seem to look at me as if I have a disease, and might infect them. Of course I am a weird alien being, because despite my ever searching quest for the one, I am happily single. I love it. I get to do what (or who) I want, when I want, and answer to no one. Jog on coupled up peeps with your disapproving eyes - this girl is a spinster and proud!
So why do I think this? What are the reasons to be cheerful at your single status? Well read on, and scream a big "hell ya" if you hear me....
1) Doing what you want. Simple. If you have a partner, there are certain behaviours that are deemed unacceptable. For example, if you pop out for milk, and bump into a friend, I wouldn't suggest going on a two day bender, where you wake up on a boat on route to Calais with a tattoo of Celine Dion and an eyebrow missing. The other half, who's waiting for the milk for his tea, maybe a little pissed....more so if the tattoo is on your face.
2) The daily conversation. "Hi honey, how was your day?" - "Well darling, today Boris at work cut our stationary budget, and Angela bought semi skimmed milk instead of full fat, AND someone used my mug". WHO CARES? Sorry, but even when I've been in love, the daily synopsis of your partners day tends to always be the most stupidly dull conversation. Unless my partner is a top level spy or PA to Gerard Butler, I don't care. The things I know about car insurance; killing moles (don't ask) and the politics of European marketing in sticky labels, is ridiculous. These conversations would invariably lead to them not getting any action, as I would be pissed off, or fast asleep. Jog on. Either get an interesting job or keep it to yourself.
3) On the subject of sex.....Now, I'm sure you want to know how not having a partner, means sex is a benefit. Let me explain. Sex can get dull after a few years. There are only so many headaches you can fake, and orgasms for that matter. I've put in some Oscar nomination performances in my time, just because Eastenders is on, and I want to know "who dunnit". But if single, you can go forth and safely experience some fun and games! Ok, there's the benefit a partner knows his or her way round the love stations (where did that come from!?), but the thrill and fun of finding out a new partners turn ons can be just as good, if not more. (FYI - unless the person in question has weird fetishes - dressing like a baby; getting you to play mummy and change their nappy, or going to a swingers party with the local PTA and wanting you to shag Derek the local green grocer - they're not so fun - unless you like that kind of thing. I don't, if any future partners are reading).
4) Bed sharing - you get the WHOLE bed to yourself AND the duvet, AND don't have to put up with snoring. The most unattractive thing in the world, is a snoring, drooling, man, with an arm flung over your head. I dated one guy that MOANED in his sleep. Not snored. MOANED. He said it was because he was so relaxed with me. Whatever Trevor (he wasn't called that - I'm namest remember). You also don't have to wear sexy lingerie or sleep in the nud in the middle of winter. Or fall asleep "snuggling" - fuck off mate - this is my sleep space! Cuddling is for a limited time only - for 15 mins after sex and before sleep. Non negotiable.
5) Wearing what you like round the house. I am writing this from the safety of my checked PJS, fleece, hooded dressing gown, and penguin socks. Its a look unappreciated by many, especially men. I like it - I'm warm and comfy. If a man was here, I'd be dressed in a much more suitable attire, and would have to run a hedge trimmer over my legs.....leading to point six...
6)When you are single, you can generally get away with hair growth that would only turn on a gorilla (and even then he'd have to be in the mist, and squinting). Let it grow - who cares! I'm quite happy waxing for special occasions only thanks, although in the summer I do think its slightly wrong to have a Julia Roberts look going on. No one likes a hairy Mary.
7) The remote. Why do men HAVE to control the remote, and insist on flipping through the channels as soon as theres an advert? After 3 mins of channel hopping, they forget what you were watching in the first place, and you end up stuck half way through Silent Witness trying to work out who's been killed, let alone who the murderer is. And I like watching my soaps, If you don't, I will not judge you. But do not judge me if I worship at the altar of Emmerdale or Eastenders.I've rushed sex for it, I'm not giving it up because you think its "silly, unrealistic and dull". So get over it, and I'll allow you limited work moaning time. (But only if you pretend that Gerard Butler is your boss, and has told you that to keep your job, you have to lend me out for a night of passion. That'd be a good moan. And I'd take one for the team to save your job. I'm giving like that). Single? None of the above matters. You can happily watch Hollyoaks, followed by the next day's episode on E4, with no one to tell you its wrong. (It is if you then procede to watch the same one the next day. Get out).
8) Money. You tend to have a hell of a lot more when you're single! This Christmas, friends had the usual nightmare of "what do I buy??" for their significant others. Presents will have been exchanged, and I'm guessing by now, most of them have made it to the wardrobe or car boot pile. You spend a fortune and get a pile of shite back - I once got a CD of Barry White greatest hits, a work out DVD (I lost weight chasing him round the flat trying to batter him with said DVD), and a lighter for the hob. I bought him a playstaion and 3 games. A fair financial exchange? Last year I spent the money on me and I did very well thank you. And on the flip side, there's no hiding the shopping bags as well when your single. No pretending you've had the shoes for years - I always find that blaming them for never noticing things is a good come back and flips it on to them being useless. I work hard, who gives a monkeys if I spend £300 on a dress that looks like it would only be at home at the Oscars? I'm shagging your boss, Gerard Butler, and he said he'd take me, so there.
9)Sundays to yourself. No visiting the in laws and pretending to care about cousin Jimmy who's about to become cousin Julie. Or Dennis, the next door neighbour, who's just had a heart bypass. My Sundays are whatever I like - popping out to see friends and having a spot of brunch,catching a movie and a coffee or dying on the sofa, wondering why I have a Celine Dion tattoo and one eyebrow. (Ok, its more often the latter in my case). In laws are rarely cool (it does happen) but my Sundays are sacred.
10)Being able to get smasho, fall over, have a male friend paint your toenails, and staying up until 4am talking crap. Popping out for a pizza and ending up in a strip club. And having a lap dance. meeting a hot man and having a wild night of (safe) sex. Going off on random road trips at the drop of a hat. Flirting. Running your own life and making your own decisions. Try doing that with a man in toe.
I'm not saying that I always want to be single. I'm sure when I find the future Mr Danger, then all the above points will become null and void, but single is not a disease. Single is not a curse. Single is a pleasure, to be savoured and enjoyed. Go forth and embrace your inner Spinster. Then embrace Gerard Butler. (Actually, hands off, he's mine).
So why do I think this? What are the reasons to be cheerful at your single status? Well read on, and scream a big "hell ya" if you hear me....
1) Doing what you want. Simple. If you have a partner, there are certain behaviours that are deemed unacceptable. For example, if you pop out for milk, and bump into a friend, I wouldn't suggest going on a two day bender, where you wake up on a boat on route to Calais with a tattoo of Celine Dion and an eyebrow missing. The other half, who's waiting for the milk for his tea, maybe a little pissed....more so if the tattoo is on your face.
2) The daily conversation. "Hi honey, how was your day?" - "Well darling, today Boris at work cut our stationary budget, and Angela bought semi skimmed milk instead of full fat, AND someone used my mug". WHO CARES? Sorry, but even when I've been in love, the daily synopsis of your partners day tends to always be the most stupidly dull conversation. Unless my partner is a top level spy or PA to Gerard Butler, I don't care. The things I know about car insurance; killing moles (don't ask) and the politics of European marketing in sticky labels, is ridiculous. These conversations would invariably lead to them not getting any action, as I would be pissed off, or fast asleep. Jog on. Either get an interesting job or keep it to yourself.
3) On the subject of sex.....Now, I'm sure you want to know how not having a partner, means sex is a benefit. Let me explain. Sex can get dull after a few years. There are only so many headaches you can fake, and orgasms for that matter. I've put in some Oscar nomination performances in my time, just because Eastenders is on, and I want to know "who dunnit". But if single, you can go forth and safely experience some fun and games! Ok, there's the benefit a partner knows his or her way round the love stations (where did that come from!?), but the thrill and fun of finding out a new partners turn ons can be just as good, if not more. (FYI - unless the person in question has weird fetishes - dressing like a baby; getting you to play mummy and change their nappy, or going to a swingers party with the local PTA and wanting you to shag Derek the local green grocer - they're not so fun - unless you like that kind of thing. I don't, if any future partners are reading).
4) Bed sharing - you get the WHOLE bed to yourself AND the duvet, AND don't have to put up with snoring. The most unattractive thing in the world, is a snoring, drooling, man, with an arm flung over your head. I dated one guy that MOANED in his sleep. Not snored. MOANED. He said it was because he was so relaxed with me. Whatever Trevor (he wasn't called that - I'm namest remember). You also don't have to wear sexy lingerie or sleep in the nud in the middle of winter. Or fall asleep "snuggling" - fuck off mate - this is my sleep space! Cuddling is for a limited time only - for 15 mins after sex and before sleep. Non negotiable.
5) Wearing what you like round the house. I am writing this from the safety of my checked PJS, fleece, hooded dressing gown, and penguin socks. Its a look unappreciated by many, especially men. I like it - I'm warm and comfy. If a man was here, I'd be dressed in a much more suitable attire, and would have to run a hedge trimmer over my legs.....leading to point six...
6)When you are single, you can generally get away with hair growth that would only turn on a gorilla (and even then he'd have to be in the mist, and squinting). Let it grow - who cares! I'm quite happy waxing for special occasions only thanks, although in the summer I do think its slightly wrong to have a Julia Roberts look going on. No one likes a hairy Mary.
7) The remote. Why do men HAVE to control the remote, and insist on flipping through the channels as soon as theres an advert? After 3 mins of channel hopping, they forget what you were watching in the first place, and you end up stuck half way through Silent Witness trying to work out who's been killed, let alone who the murderer is. And I like watching my soaps, If you don't, I will not judge you. But do not judge me if I worship at the altar of Emmerdale or Eastenders.I've rushed sex for it, I'm not giving it up because you think its "silly, unrealistic and dull". So get over it, and I'll allow you limited work moaning time. (But only if you pretend that Gerard Butler is your boss, and has told you that to keep your job, you have to lend me out for a night of passion. That'd be a good moan. And I'd take one for the team to save your job. I'm giving like that). Single? None of the above matters. You can happily watch Hollyoaks, followed by the next day's episode on E4, with no one to tell you its wrong. (It is if you then procede to watch the same one the next day. Get out).
8) Money. You tend to have a hell of a lot more when you're single! This Christmas, friends had the usual nightmare of "what do I buy??" for their significant others. Presents will have been exchanged, and I'm guessing by now, most of them have made it to the wardrobe or car boot pile. You spend a fortune and get a pile of shite back - I once got a CD of Barry White greatest hits, a work out DVD (I lost weight chasing him round the flat trying to batter him with said DVD), and a lighter for the hob. I bought him a playstaion and 3 games. A fair financial exchange? Last year I spent the money on me and I did very well thank you. And on the flip side, there's no hiding the shopping bags as well when your single. No pretending you've had the shoes for years - I always find that blaming them for never noticing things is a good come back and flips it on to them being useless. I work hard, who gives a monkeys if I spend £300 on a dress that looks like it would only be at home at the Oscars? I'm shagging your boss, Gerard Butler, and he said he'd take me, so there.
9)Sundays to yourself. No visiting the in laws and pretending to care about cousin Jimmy who's about to become cousin Julie. Or Dennis, the next door neighbour, who's just had a heart bypass. My Sundays are whatever I like - popping out to see friends and having a spot of brunch,catching a movie and a coffee or dying on the sofa, wondering why I have a Celine Dion tattoo and one eyebrow. (Ok, its more often the latter in my case). In laws are rarely cool (it does happen) but my Sundays are sacred.
10)Being able to get smasho, fall over, have a male friend paint your toenails, and staying up until 4am talking crap. Popping out for a pizza and ending up in a strip club. And having a lap dance. meeting a hot man and having a wild night of (safe) sex. Going off on random road trips at the drop of a hat. Flirting. Running your own life and making your own decisions. Try doing that with a man in toe.
I'm not saying that I always want to be single. I'm sure when I find the future Mr Danger, then all the above points will become null and void, but single is not a disease. Single is not a curse. Single is a pleasure, to be savoured and enjoyed. Go forth and embrace your inner Spinster. Then embrace Gerard Butler. (Actually, hands off, he's mine).
Wednesday, 13 January 2010
What's In A Name?
What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Ahhh, the great Shaky. (William not Stevens). He had a way with words, that's for sure, but was he right on this one? Is it true that we don't judge on names, or can we be put off the "one" if he or she has a off putting name?
For example, this week, as you may have read if you are a facebook follower, I was "favourited" by a Adonis. This man is perfection - I have actually sent his picture onto friends to show them how gorgeous he is. I can happily write about him, with the safe knowledge that he will NEVER read this. (Why you ask? 1) He is so out of my league - he looks like he should be dating Jennifer Aniston and 2) His brother lives in the same village as me, meaning I may know his brother, and therefore he will have warned his brother that I am a bit of a wild one - or I've slept with his brother, or both). Anyway, I digress. the reason Mr Adonis is being mentioned, is that he has an awful name. Nigel.
Now, I'm not namest, but I have known three Nigel's. One is my parents friend and therefore old, but highly amusing. Two is the guy by mate lost her virginity to - in a two story shed, albeit heated with a sofa and fridge. The third, is a rather odd man that lives in our village, who despite having a heart of gold (and if you listen to the blokes who've shared a urinal with him - a big dinkle too), he is a bit creepy and odd and looks like he tortured insects as a child. You can therefore see why the name Nigel didn't ooze sex appeal to me - I just couldn't see myself screaming out that name in the heat of the moment.
I also once met a lovely guy at a club, and kissed him without asking his name first. All very fun and flirty. Until I found out his name was Kelvin.I went off him on the spot. Don't ask me why, but I kept visualising Kermit. And this was one frog, that needed to change his name by de-poll, to turn into my Prince.
So, i think we can ascertain, I am slightly namest. Hands up. Think of me what you will - but I have googled the most unsexy names, and answer me honestly, would you be happy dating: Ivor, Cyril, Bernard or Percy? And men, would you be confident that your mates wouldn't say anything if you introduced them to Ethel, Zelda, Myrtle or Eda? I rest my case m'lord.
Admittedly, I could live with a Percy if he had a six pack to die for; was a successful humanitarian lawyer; and rescued puppies at the weekend. But if he was just a mediocre Percy, I'd have t think twice. Considering my single status, I think I need to start being less fussy, at least on the name front.....you may well get a wedding invitation for Miss Lady Danger & Dirk Von Dinkle-Tink. Stranger things have happened...
(I'd like to dedicate this blog to Nigel....although we will never meet, the image of your naked torso will stay with me forever. Partly because it's my new screen saver).
For example, this week, as you may have read if you are a facebook follower, I was "favourited" by a Adonis. This man is perfection - I have actually sent his picture onto friends to show them how gorgeous he is. I can happily write about him, with the safe knowledge that he will NEVER read this. (Why you ask? 1) He is so out of my league - he looks like he should be dating Jennifer Aniston and 2) His brother lives in the same village as me, meaning I may know his brother, and therefore he will have warned his brother that I am a bit of a wild one - or I've slept with his brother, or both). Anyway, I digress. the reason Mr Adonis is being mentioned, is that he has an awful name. Nigel.
Now, I'm not namest, but I have known three Nigel's. One is my parents friend and therefore old, but highly amusing. Two is the guy by mate lost her virginity to - in a two story shed, albeit heated with a sofa and fridge. The third, is a rather odd man that lives in our village, who despite having a heart of gold (and if you listen to the blokes who've shared a urinal with him - a big dinkle too), he is a bit creepy and odd and looks like he tortured insects as a child. You can therefore see why the name Nigel didn't ooze sex appeal to me - I just couldn't see myself screaming out that name in the heat of the moment.
I also once met a lovely guy at a club, and kissed him without asking his name first. All very fun and flirty. Until I found out his name was Kelvin.I went off him on the spot. Don't ask me why, but I kept visualising Kermit. And this was one frog, that needed to change his name by de-poll, to turn into my Prince.
So, i think we can ascertain, I am slightly namest. Hands up. Think of me what you will - but I have googled the most unsexy names, and answer me honestly, would you be happy dating: Ivor, Cyril, Bernard or Percy? And men, would you be confident that your mates wouldn't say anything if you introduced them to Ethel, Zelda, Myrtle or Eda? I rest my case m'lord.
Admittedly, I could live with a Percy if he had a six pack to die for; was a successful humanitarian lawyer; and rescued puppies at the weekend. But if he was just a mediocre Percy, I'd have t think twice. Considering my single status, I think I need to start being less fussy, at least on the name front.....you may well get a wedding invitation for Miss Lady Danger & Dirk Von Dinkle-Tink. Stranger things have happened...
(I'd like to dedicate this blog to Nigel....although we will never meet, the image of your naked torso will stay with me forever. Partly because it's my new screen saver).
Sunday, 10 January 2010
The Dangers Of Drink Dating....
Dating is a nervous experience. I don't know anyone who doesn't feel the nerves and in my case, the horrendous sick feeling, prior to a date. Especially blind first dates (if you've read the previous blogs, you'd see why I, more than others, worry before a blind date....it hasn't always been a pleasant surprise). What a lot of us do to help calm the nerves, is have a drink.
I'm telling you now, this is a really, really bad idea. You may think that a few cheeky vinos might make you more confident and alluring, but in realistic terms, it makes you look like a prize tit in the long run. It's something about a drink and nerves that seems to turn the sanest of people into a cross between Jodie Marsh and Sue Pollard....on speed. (FYI - especially be careful if they are driving or not drinking....dating car crash people, dating car crash).
It will also make the details of the night a little bit hazy. I once text what I thought was a hot man I'd met the night before, only to realise a little later, it was the cab driver who'd called me when he'd picked me up. (I'd assumed we'd swapped numbers by the hot man calling me....can you imagine how confused the cab driver was to receive a message saying "great meeting you last night, I had so much fun, lets meet up again soon." He'd only driven me a few miles from my house, he must've thought I was a right nutter).
The last time I made the fatal drinking whilst dating error, it was horrendous. Although, partly his fault, as you will see...
I'd been chatting to this guys via an internet dating site (or "catalogue" as someone described it today - so true), and I was a little bit excited. I love a man who has spark and banter, and this man had it in abundance. A good feeling was surrounding the date, and even my friends were amazed by the excitement levels. We arranged a date mid week, but I had the following day off work so knew I could kick back a bit.A hair appointment was made, new outfit purchased, and a taxi booked. This was rookie error number one - I should've driven. Whilst on route, the date, who we will call Gary (as that's his name), text and asked what my "poison was". White wine was my reply. On arrival to the restaurant, I realised he'd bought me a bottle. And wasn't drinking. WTF?? Who does that? (See why this is all his fault?!)
Now, I like a glass of white, and nerves, mixed with excitement, led to me consuming the whole thing. At this point I was still ok, but it was touch and go. We ventured to a nearby bar, where, after the fresh air hit me, I realised I was a bit smasho. I changed to soft drinks.
But it was too late. The wine was coursing through my veins, and the tongue loosened. He got the Lady Danger life story. And this is an interesting one. He was told all about the nutty ex, past relationships, how I've been proposed to 4 times (said yes just the three times) and all about my checkered past.
Now, other than drinking on dates, another rule is don't tell your next, about your ex. So telling this poor guy the whole sha-bang was dating suicide. I'm still blaming him - he insisted I had another glass of wine, after the bottle he'd already plied me with, and I'm sorry, but you feed the devil, and you shouldn't moan when it's unleashed.A drunken ravishing then occurred, and depending on who's version of events, a bit of harmless biting...(I'd love to say it doesn't sound like me, as I don't remember, but I'm not called Lady Danger for nothing).
The outcome of drinking and dating in this case, well shock horror, we haven't had a date two, but still get on. In hindsight, a man that plies a girl with drink is a bit dodgy, and he did seem to have a mission to date the whole of match. C'est le vie - onwards and upwards, and if they scare that easily, well, then they're not the man for this dangerous little lady....
(NB: My good friend, the teacher, has since written me a list of subjects to discuss on dates: on the list are: my job (current only - my last job raises eyebrows); penguins; holidays; friends; tigers....ermmm, I'm not really allowed to talk much on dates - most things are off the list since this date as she doesn't trust me not to turn the simplest of subjects into a hot potato).
I'm telling you now, this is a really, really bad idea. You may think that a few cheeky vinos might make you more confident and alluring, but in realistic terms, it makes you look like a prize tit in the long run. It's something about a drink and nerves that seems to turn the sanest of people into a cross between Jodie Marsh and Sue Pollard....on speed. (FYI - especially be careful if they are driving or not drinking....dating car crash people, dating car crash).
It will also make the details of the night a little bit hazy. I once text what I thought was a hot man I'd met the night before, only to realise a little later, it was the cab driver who'd called me when he'd picked me up. (I'd assumed we'd swapped numbers by the hot man calling me....can you imagine how confused the cab driver was to receive a message saying "great meeting you last night, I had so much fun, lets meet up again soon." He'd only driven me a few miles from my house, he must've thought I was a right nutter).
The last time I made the fatal drinking whilst dating error, it was horrendous. Although, partly his fault, as you will see...
I'd been chatting to this guys via an internet dating site (or "catalogue" as someone described it today - so true), and I was a little bit excited. I love a man who has spark and banter, and this man had it in abundance. A good feeling was surrounding the date, and even my friends were amazed by the excitement levels. We arranged a date mid week, but I had the following day off work so knew I could kick back a bit.A hair appointment was made, new outfit purchased, and a taxi booked. This was rookie error number one - I should've driven. Whilst on route, the date, who we will call Gary (as that's his name), text and asked what my "poison was". White wine was my reply. On arrival to the restaurant, I realised he'd bought me a bottle. And wasn't drinking. WTF?? Who does that? (See why this is all his fault?!)
Now, I like a glass of white, and nerves, mixed with excitement, led to me consuming the whole thing. At this point I was still ok, but it was touch and go. We ventured to a nearby bar, where, after the fresh air hit me, I realised I was a bit smasho. I changed to soft drinks.
But it was too late. The wine was coursing through my veins, and the tongue loosened. He got the Lady Danger life story. And this is an interesting one. He was told all about the nutty ex, past relationships, how I've been proposed to 4 times (said yes just the three times) and all about my checkered past.
Now, other than drinking on dates, another rule is don't tell your next, about your ex. So telling this poor guy the whole sha-bang was dating suicide. I'm still blaming him - he insisted I had another glass of wine, after the bottle he'd already plied me with, and I'm sorry, but you feed the devil, and you shouldn't moan when it's unleashed.A drunken ravishing then occurred, and depending on who's version of events, a bit of harmless biting...(I'd love to say it doesn't sound like me, as I don't remember, but I'm not called Lady Danger for nothing).
The outcome of drinking and dating in this case, well shock horror, we haven't had a date two, but still get on. In hindsight, a man that plies a girl with drink is a bit dodgy, and he did seem to have a mission to date the whole of match. C'est le vie - onwards and upwards, and if they scare that easily, well, then they're not the man for this dangerous little lady....
(NB: My good friend, the teacher, has since written me a list of subjects to discuss on dates: on the list are: my job (current only - my last job raises eyebrows); penguins; holidays; friends; tigers....ermmm, I'm not really allowed to talk much on dates - most things are off the list since this date as she doesn't trust me not to turn the simplest of subjects into a hot potato).
Thursday, 7 January 2010
Reading Between The Lines.....
Internet dating is the main way us singletons date these days. We all have surfed the net on our lunch, or whilst we are supposed to be working, and I personally have trawled through thousands of profiles over the years. So I reckon I'm a bit of an expert at sniffing out the dross....its easy, you just have to know what they REALLY mean....
1) The opening header.....If they have something like "Please read this" they are desperate....."Promise not to tell how we met" they have zilch imagination. Look for the more snappy lines....we want witty but not scary. Anything begging the reader to look, or mentioning the search of the "one" normally indicates a bunny boiler who will announce he loves you on date one, and sing Enrique at you. Send a polite "no thanks", and block him. It'll save having to change your number in the long run. And possibly move house.
2) What they are looking for - check out their age. Then look at the age they are searching for. 30 year old men looking for girls from 18-30 means they want a bit of arm candy, who will laugh at their jokes; make their mates jealous; be up for anything they suggest in the bedroom; and make them feel intelligent. They have put down "-30" as they can't look like this is what they are looking for. Unless you're names Candy and you have fake boobs and a perma-tan, don't bother. On the flip side, men who will happily date 18-50 when they are 30, means we have a few issues....they are widening their search for a good reason.
3) Height - always a tricky one - but if under 5"7, they tend to add a couple of inches. I've dated some guys who claim to be 5"7 and have been my height in heels (IE 5"3). I hate to think what they say about their manhood - currently this isn't on the question list of any site I'm a member of....they'd only lie.
4) Want kids...."Yes - 1" means "NO WAY!! Are you mad? Kids! AHHHHH". Over one, and you're normally safe. "Have kids - they live away from home" - ahhh man, they'll want you to meet them. If they're horrors, you'll STILL have to be nice to them. Tread carefully. You could end up playing Julia Roberts to the ex Susan Sarandon. (If anyone gets that reference, you have also seen one of the worlds WORST films).
5) Body type - Average. Be honest. We all know this is internet dating code for "ok, I'm a little chunky, but I'm trying to shift a few pounds". No reason to be put off - I like a man with a bit of meat, but lets not pretend.
6) Hobbies - anything to do with cars or motorbikes...run. Unless you like this kind of thing, and will happily spend hours at car shows and "meets", this guy will bore you rotten. I once dated a guy with a picture of his car in his wallet - I mean WTF??? Oh, and on the subject of pictures....
7) If he has one or more pictures of a car on his extra photos, we have a serious issue. Motorbike = "I will expect you to go on the back of it, regardless of whether you'll muck your hair up, and I'll buy you a motorbike jacket for Christmas when you wanted shoes" (FYI - you will however tend to get a good deal a few years later at a car boot. £50 if you stand your ground).If they have a picture of a kit car they've made....well, do I have to say anything!? And those that think a girl is attracted to a man if they have 4 pics of a chavved up Corsa (with spoiler) then they will be on that site a wee while, and getting their 6 months free.
8) Holidays - "Love Australia...really want to go there" = "I watch Neighbours and Home & Away in between jobs, and think the women look hot. Realistically, Benidorm is the furthest I've been, and that was when i was 12 with my Mum, Dad and mate Dave". We like a man who's travelled, but over travelled means they might bore you with hours of stories and pics of their "inspirational" time in India.
9) Social drinker & occasional smoker = 10 pints of a weekend, and 20 fags a day. Fact. "No answer given" means there's a drink issue.
10) And finally, "What I'm looking for".....serious relationship = a wife / someone to love me, because my Mother didn't. RUN. Friendship and fun = sex.
There are nice men out there, but there are some right knob jockeys and scary chaps too....follow the above guidelines as a starting point and you will avoid Dermots and knob jockeys who may well break your heart.....go for it, it's worth a try! And it is more fun than actually working during work hours!
1) The opening header.....If they have something like "Please read this" they are desperate....."Promise not to tell how we met" they have zilch imagination. Look for the more snappy lines....we want witty but not scary. Anything begging the reader to look, or mentioning the search of the "one" normally indicates a bunny boiler who will announce he loves you on date one, and sing Enrique at you. Send a polite "no thanks", and block him. It'll save having to change your number in the long run. And possibly move house.
2) What they are looking for - check out their age. Then look at the age they are searching for. 30 year old men looking for girls from 18-30 means they want a bit of arm candy, who will laugh at their jokes; make their mates jealous; be up for anything they suggest in the bedroom; and make them feel intelligent. They have put down "-30" as they can't look like this is what they are looking for. Unless you're names Candy and you have fake boobs and a perma-tan, don't bother. On the flip side, men who will happily date 18-50 when they are 30, means we have a few issues....they are widening their search for a good reason.
3) Height - always a tricky one - but if under 5"7, they tend to add a couple of inches. I've dated some guys who claim to be 5"7 and have been my height in heels (IE 5"3). I hate to think what they say about their manhood - currently this isn't on the question list of any site I'm a member of....they'd only lie.
4) Want kids...."Yes - 1" means "NO WAY!! Are you mad? Kids! AHHHHH". Over one, and you're normally safe. "Have kids - they live away from home" - ahhh man, they'll want you to meet them. If they're horrors, you'll STILL have to be nice to them. Tread carefully. You could end up playing Julia Roberts to the ex Susan Sarandon. (If anyone gets that reference, you have also seen one of the worlds WORST films).
5) Body type - Average. Be honest. We all know this is internet dating code for "ok, I'm a little chunky, but I'm trying to shift a few pounds". No reason to be put off - I like a man with a bit of meat, but lets not pretend.
6) Hobbies - anything to do with cars or motorbikes...run. Unless you like this kind of thing, and will happily spend hours at car shows and "meets", this guy will bore you rotten. I once dated a guy with a picture of his car in his wallet - I mean WTF??? Oh, and on the subject of pictures....
7) If he has one or more pictures of a car on his extra photos, we have a serious issue. Motorbike = "I will expect you to go on the back of it, regardless of whether you'll muck your hair up, and I'll buy you a motorbike jacket for Christmas when you wanted shoes" (FYI - you will however tend to get a good deal a few years later at a car boot. £50 if you stand your ground).If they have a picture of a kit car they've made....well, do I have to say anything!? And those that think a girl is attracted to a man if they have 4 pics of a chavved up Corsa (with spoiler) then they will be on that site a wee while, and getting their 6 months free.
8) Holidays - "Love Australia...really want to go there" = "I watch Neighbours and Home & Away in between jobs, and think the women look hot. Realistically, Benidorm is the furthest I've been, and that was when i was 12 with my Mum, Dad and mate Dave". We like a man who's travelled, but over travelled means they might bore you with hours of stories and pics of their "inspirational" time in India.
9) Social drinker & occasional smoker = 10 pints of a weekend, and 20 fags a day. Fact. "No answer given" means there's a drink issue.
10) And finally, "What I'm looking for".....serious relationship = a wife / someone to love me, because my Mother didn't. RUN. Friendship and fun = sex.
There are nice men out there, but there are some right knob jockeys and scary chaps too....follow the above guidelines as a starting point and you will avoid Dermots and knob jockeys who may well break your heart.....go for it, it's worth a try! And it is more fun than actually working during work hours!
Wednesday, 6 January 2010
Miss-match.com - Part Two. "Keep Smiling".
So, my last entry discussed the dangers of old in the world of internet dating - the days of no profile pictures. This led to me spending a painful / scary evening with a freak of nature.....
These days, profile pictures are the focal point of a profile. You can put up as many as you want it seems, in various different settings,thus showing you are sporty / fun / sexy / kind to animals etc. So you'd think that we all know what we're getting when we rock up for a date, yes? NO! I have found people lie! The pics are old in some cases, and due to one such lie last year, this led to another painful date....
I'll set the scene. I'd been having a dry spell on the dating front, and was getting weary. I'd dabbled with a young hot thing earlier in the Summer, but brains were lacked. I had joined a website called mysinglefriend.com ages ago, one of the many I've tried. If you haven't heard of it, it has a description of the single person by a friend, and tends to be used mainly by middle class people called Bertie and Fi-fi, who work in marketing, live in Richmond, and spend their weekends at gastro pubs or catching up with their rugger mates from school. Anyhoo, I was away with a friend on a road trip (tip - if you road trip, change your Tom-tom to Irish Ned. Comedy genius)and I checked the site to see if anyone new had added me to their favourites. And they had. A stunner. He had a glowing profile from his friend - described as funny, successful, gorgeous, and she had no idea why he was single. And he was FIT. Messaging started, telephone numbers were swapped. He worked in TV - I had visions of me attending the BAFTAs as his date when he won an award. I'd picked out my dress and everything.
I was a bit disappointed when further digging unearthed he was currently working on a chat show as an interviewer, but hey, we all have to start somewhere. Again, a date was arranged. I was to accompany him to see Hairspray, and after meet with the star of the show who he was friends with. (His name will remain confidential - but "It's a puppet" was a catchphrase of his). To say I was nervous is an understatement - this could be my future husband! So nervously I waited outside the theatre. He called. He was walking across the road. De ja vous. He was a munter. Shor. Greying hair. Pot belly. The photo was obviously a good 10 years old. Flossie who'd recommended him should be done by trading standards for false advertising. I reckon she was the same dick who told the fat Phil Mitchell he looked like Dermot O'Leary.
I'm stuck at this point - you'd think after Dermot I'd have learnt - hide round the corner, check them out, then run if they are ugly. We went over to a bar where I promptly necked two large glasses of wine. Well, I necked one, then we took off his coat. This is when I clocked the outfit. A Star Wars, diamonte t-shirt, with a velvet blazer over the top. Eyes down - a pair of K Swiss trainers, which I truly believe should be banned for men over 21.Glass number two was then necked.He also smelt like he had bathed in Cool Water. (I still can't stand the smell - I had to get off the tube recently due to getting a whiff). Slightly drunk, we made our way to the theatre, and enjoyed a great show. He did keep grabbing my leg when he laughed which I chose to ignore....I should've run.
After meeting Brian (oops), we popped for a bite to eat. This is where it started going horribly wrong. Up to now he'd been ok, just visually not what I would go for (I'm being kind there). First, more about his job - it turned out he was a failed game show host, who used to present Family Fortunes after Les Dennis and before Vernon Kaye.("Keep smiling" was his catchphrase, which he signed all emails and texts with). He now worked for Alan Titchmarsh (or as he called him, "The Titch") as his warm up man.The BAFTA dream was well out the window by this point. Then the hand holding started. Excessive hand stroking - whilst I was trying to eat, as well as showing me pictures of his children and telling me (with a rather bitter voice) that his ex wife was now shacked up with a buff 26 year old sales assistant from Bicester Village. The excessive hand holding once we left the restaurant led me to chain smoking all the way to the car....it was so late to get the train - I had no alternative than to accept a lift. I considered a cab but figured my hands would be safe in the car, as he had to drive.
As luck would have it, the dick head had an automatic. I was cursing the dating fairy greatly, whilst my right hand got lovingly stroked all the way from London. I'm not ashamed to say that I pretended to be asleep from Hanger Lane to my house - a bit of a toss up between me giving him my postcode for his sat-nav and him knowing where I lived, or wanting to have my hand amputated the following day. I chose my hand. I rather like it.
The misery was almost over - we were home. I had a stiff neck from the fake sleeping, a hand so carrassed it made me want to vomit, and a signed programme by Brian. I rejected the offer to walk me to my door, and gave him a peck on the cheek, when he was blatantly going in for a snog. Then the perilous question - "can i call you?". I crumbled. He had a big boot and could have easily kidnapped me by knocking me out cold using a cloth damp with Cool Water. I answered "yes". Then, he clenched his fists; drew his arms down; and said "YES". I ran very quickly into my house, and deleted his number. The next day my hand was still twitching in horror, and despite having minimal contact, I could still smell Cool Water.
I ignored the texts, and hoped I'd never see him again.
(Until a few weeks later. In a local pub to me - and not to him. He was on another date, wearing the same outfit, stroking some poor womens hand. My friends thought it was brilliant, and insisted on saying "keep smiling" in a game show host voice.He did see me, did a double take, and I ignored him out of horror. To be fair, the date looked like she didn't mind the hand holding - proof i guess, that one mans frog is another girls George Clooney).
These days, profile pictures are the focal point of a profile. You can put up as many as you want it seems, in various different settings,thus showing you are sporty / fun / sexy / kind to animals etc. So you'd think that we all know what we're getting when we rock up for a date, yes? NO! I have found people lie! The pics are old in some cases, and due to one such lie last year, this led to another painful date....
I'll set the scene. I'd been having a dry spell on the dating front, and was getting weary. I'd dabbled with a young hot thing earlier in the Summer, but brains were lacked. I had joined a website called mysinglefriend.com ages ago, one of the many I've tried. If you haven't heard of it, it has a description of the single person by a friend, and tends to be used mainly by middle class people called Bertie and Fi-fi, who work in marketing, live in Richmond, and spend their weekends at gastro pubs or catching up with their rugger mates from school. Anyhoo, I was away with a friend on a road trip (tip - if you road trip, change your Tom-tom to Irish Ned. Comedy genius)and I checked the site to see if anyone new had added me to their favourites. And they had. A stunner. He had a glowing profile from his friend - described as funny, successful, gorgeous, and she had no idea why he was single. And he was FIT. Messaging started, telephone numbers were swapped. He worked in TV - I had visions of me attending the BAFTAs as his date when he won an award. I'd picked out my dress and everything.
I was a bit disappointed when further digging unearthed he was currently working on a chat show as an interviewer, but hey, we all have to start somewhere. Again, a date was arranged. I was to accompany him to see Hairspray, and after meet with the star of the show who he was friends with. (His name will remain confidential - but "It's a puppet" was a catchphrase of his). To say I was nervous is an understatement - this could be my future husband! So nervously I waited outside the theatre. He called. He was walking across the road. De ja vous. He was a munter. Shor. Greying hair. Pot belly. The photo was obviously a good 10 years old. Flossie who'd recommended him should be done by trading standards for false advertising. I reckon she was the same dick who told the fat Phil Mitchell he looked like Dermot O'Leary.
I'm stuck at this point - you'd think after Dermot I'd have learnt - hide round the corner, check them out, then run if they are ugly. We went over to a bar where I promptly necked two large glasses of wine. Well, I necked one, then we took off his coat. This is when I clocked the outfit. A Star Wars, diamonte t-shirt, with a velvet blazer over the top. Eyes down - a pair of K Swiss trainers, which I truly believe should be banned for men over 21.Glass number two was then necked.He also smelt like he had bathed in Cool Water. (I still can't stand the smell - I had to get off the tube recently due to getting a whiff). Slightly drunk, we made our way to the theatre, and enjoyed a great show. He did keep grabbing my leg when he laughed which I chose to ignore....I should've run.
After meeting Brian (oops), we popped for a bite to eat. This is where it started going horribly wrong. Up to now he'd been ok, just visually not what I would go for (I'm being kind there). First, more about his job - it turned out he was a failed game show host, who used to present Family Fortunes after Les Dennis and before Vernon Kaye.("Keep smiling" was his catchphrase, which he signed all emails and texts with). He now worked for Alan Titchmarsh (or as he called him, "The Titch") as his warm up man.The BAFTA dream was well out the window by this point. Then the hand holding started. Excessive hand stroking - whilst I was trying to eat, as well as showing me pictures of his children and telling me (with a rather bitter voice) that his ex wife was now shacked up with a buff 26 year old sales assistant from Bicester Village. The excessive hand holding once we left the restaurant led me to chain smoking all the way to the car....it was so late to get the train - I had no alternative than to accept a lift. I considered a cab but figured my hands would be safe in the car, as he had to drive.
As luck would have it, the dick head had an automatic. I was cursing the dating fairy greatly, whilst my right hand got lovingly stroked all the way from London. I'm not ashamed to say that I pretended to be asleep from Hanger Lane to my house - a bit of a toss up between me giving him my postcode for his sat-nav and him knowing where I lived, or wanting to have my hand amputated the following day. I chose my hand. I rather like it.
The misery was almost over - we were home. I had a stiff neck from the fake sleeping, a hand so carrassed it made me want to vomit, and a signed programme by Brian. I rejected the offer to walk me to my door, and gave him a peck on the cheek, when he was blatantly going in for a snog. Then the perilous question - "can i call you?". I crumbled. He had a big boot and could have easily kidnapped me by knocking me out cold using a cloth damp with Cool Water. I answered "yes". Then, he clenched his fists; drew his arms down; and said "YES". I ran very quickly into my house, and deleted his number. The next day my hand was still twitching in horror, and despite having minimal contact, I could still smell Cool Water.
I ignored the texts, and hoped I'd never see him again.
(Until a few weeks later. In a local pub to me - and not to him. He was on another date, wearing the same outfit, stroking some poor womens hand. My friends thought it was brilliant, and insisted on saying "keep smiling" in a game show host voice.He did see me, did a double take, and I ignored him out of horror. To be fair, the date looked like she didn't mind the hand holding - proof i guess, that one mans frog is another girls George Clooney).
Tuesday, 5 January 2010
Miss-match.com - Part One
Internet dating - the way nearly all my coupled up friends have met their current spouse. The way 9/10 people now date.116,000,000 sites came up when I entered "internet dating" into Google. If you are a Christian, one eyed midget looking for a 6 toed devil worshipper; a bisexual stamp collector looking for people who's name rhymes with Daz; or a chess playing Rasta wanting to find a Russian Bob Marley lookalike, there's a site for you. And its the way I have been dating since 2003. I was described once in a Cosmopolitan article as a "internet dating expert". The shame.
The first thing we all look at on the sites, is the pic. The guy / gal could be a lovely, heart warming, amazing person, but despite what we may say ("of course its about whats on the inside" - bollocks), we all go on the profile pic. And man alive I've seen some classics....Anyway, in the days I started the old internet dating malarky, there wasn't pictures. I kid you not. Digital cameras were probably around for those with the cash, but for most of us it was a rarity. So my first date went on description alone. Description from said man? "Some people say I resemble Dermot O'Leary". "Get in" was my reaction! We spoke for hours on the phone pre-date, and I thought this was the one ladies and gentlemen....he was warm, funny, intelligent, and used to be a song writer for Bizarre Inc. (At this point, yes, I should have run a mile - who the feck are Bizzare Inc? And if you do remember them, name a song they sang - its a rare talent). So with much anticipation, a date was arranged. Nervously I waited at Ealing station. My phone went. It was Dermot. He was walking toward me whilst talking on the phone. Now at this point I'm confused - all I can see is a fat, balding, slightly short man walking toward me, grinning like an idiot. Oh dear god. Whoever told this knob jockey he looked like Dermot O'Leary needed a SLAP and an eye test - scrap that, they need a dog and a stick.What I saw was Phil Mitchell with glasses if I squinted. Anyway, the date was horrific - he seemed to know alot of people that had "died suddenly"; claimed to have been in the SAS, and when Enriques hit "Hero" came on, he grabbed my hands over the table and started singing at the top of his voice. It was to be our song apparantly. (I still have convulsions of a bad nature when I hear it). There was a mild stalking issue after this date - thankfully a call to T Mobile and security solved that matter.
So thanks to technology we now can view and reject potential window lickers with ease. But be warned - some lie and put really old pictures on there from when they were hot. Part 2 tomorrow will discuss the ex game show host - a date not too different from the one in 2003!
The first thing we all look at on the sites, is the pic. The guy / gal could be a lovely, heart warming, amazing person, but despite what we may say ("of course its about whats on the inside" - bollocks), we all go on the profile pic. And man alive I've seen some classics....Anyway, in the days I started the old internet dating malarky, there wasn't pictures. I kid you not. Digital cameras were probably around for those with the cash, but for most of us it was a rarity. So my first date went on description alone. Description from said man? "Some people say I resemble Dermot O'Leary". "Get in" was my reaction! We spoke for hours on the phone pre-date, and I thought this was the one ladies and gentlemen....he was warm, funny, intelligent, and used to be a song writer for Bizarre Inc. (At this point, yes, I should have run a mile - who the feck are Bizzare Inc? And if you do remember them, name a song they sang - its a rare talent). So with much anticipation, a date was arranged. Nervously I waited at Ealing station. My phone went. It was Dermot. He was walking toward me whilst talking on the phone. Now at this point I'm confused - all I can see is a fat, balding, slightly short man walking toward me, grinning like an idiot. Oh dear god. Whoever told this knob jockey he looked like Dermot O'Leary needed a SLAP and an eye test - scrap that, they need a dog and a stick.What I saw was Phil Mitchell with glasses if I squinted. Anyway, the date was horrific - he seemed to know alot of people that had "died suddenly"; claimed to have been in the SAS, and when Enriques hit "Hero" came on, he grabbed my hands over the table and started singing at the top of his voice. It was to be our song apparantly. (I still have convulsions of a bad nature when I hear it). There was a mild stalking issue after this date - thankfully a call to T Mobile and security solved that matter.
So thanks to technology we now can view and reject potential window lickers with ease. But be warned - some lie and put really old pictures on there from when they were hot. Part 2 tomorrow will discuss the ex game show host - a date not too different from the one in 2003!
Monday, 4 January 2010
Womens intuition??
Every women claims to have it - how many times have we heard someone say "Oh I just had this feeling he wasn't right - womens intuition - I felt it in my waters" (not quite sure why we say that - its a bit odd really). Anyway, we can always tell when our mates have got with a knob jockey, but why can't we tell ourselves? Or can we, and we just choose to ignore it?
Take me for example. This morning, one such knob jockey text me. He'd just got back from his Christmas family holiday, and all through said holiday, he was flirting with me, texting me, blah blah blah. However, this mornings text informed me he'd started dating someone. WTF???? He's been like this from the start - our first date, he was telling me all about the other women he was dating. Then, after both drinking a lot of fine wine (we could have sunk a ship), we had a big passion fest (still not sure if it was more me doing the ravishing - i'm guessing so - the word lush was invented for me). However after the date he informed me I wasn't what he was looking for.. So then KJ (see above), why the freaking hell are you flirting like a trooper?!!? The answer, because he's an idiot who wants his cake! Womens intuition - I should run a mile. My waters are all a tither. But instead of running a mile, what am I doing? Seeing him this week. DOH. So, for me the intuition may tell me he's Mr Knob Jockey 2010 (an early contender on only the the first week of Jan) but don't we all love a bastard? No doubt i'll be screaming about his arseholeness in approx 3 days.....
NOTE: The second date was horrific - sober realistaion was that this guy wasn't just a knob jockey, but a cock monkey too. He's been relegated to the "live and learn" pile! See "The Danger Of Drink Dating" for other reasons why drinking is NOT advisable on dates!
Take me for example. This morning, one such knob jockey text me. He'd just got back from his Christmas family holiday, and all through said holiday, he was flirting with me, texting me, blah blah blah. However, this mornings text informed me he'd started dating someone. WTF???? He's been like this from the start - our first date, he was telling me all about the other women he was dating. Then, after both drinking a lot of fine wine (we could have sunk a ship), we had a big passion fest (still not sure if it was more me doing the ravishing - i'm guessing so - the word lush was invented for me). However after the date he informed me I wasn't what he was looking for.. So then KJ (see above), why the freaking hell are you flirting like a trooper?!!? The answer, because he's an idiot who wants his cake! Womens intuition - I should run a mile. My waters are all a tither. But instead of running a mile, what am I doing? Seeing him this week. DOH. So, for me the intuition may tell me he's Mr Knob Jockey 2010 (an early contender on only the the first week of Jan) but don't we all love a bastard? No doubt i'll be screaming about his arseholeness in approx 3 days.....
NOTE: The second date was horrific - sober realistaion was that this guy wasn't just a knob jockey, but a cock monkey too. He's been relegated to the "live and learn" pile! See "The Danger Of Drink Dating" for other reasons why drinking is NOT advisable on dates!
Sunday, 3 January 2010
Looking for love is like buying a car......
This is how looking for love was described to me today. A certain male friend of mine (oddly one I haven't dated / slept with / snogged - and he's straight - a rarity), said that looking for the "one" was like when you are buying a new car. You search and search for the perfect model; you check under the bonnet, and give it a test drive to be sure. (At this point my mind figured he meant sex, but in hindsight he is a good boy - and I think by "test drive" we are talking about dinner). So, you think, "yep, this is it, this is the car for me - it drives well, looks good, and previous ownership seems none too scary". But, after a few more outings, you realise the gear stick jams, the lights are dodgy, and instead of the windscreen wipers coming on, your horn goes. (Hello sailor). And so, you start again. Until one day....it turns out that the car you have found is perfect; a one off; and it passes its MOT and you live happily ever after.
Well, as weird as my man sounded, I have to say, he has a point. I also like the idea of having a car magazine for men - can you imagine? "This reliable 30yr old man passes full fitness by regular outings to the gym, has a good memory store for special occasions, but won't take you out when Man Utd are playing. 4 previous owners - 3 careful and one mad when she found out that he was seeing number 4 at the same time as her. Drowsy when given too much beer."
So the point of this entry, is to say that my car would be the following...a classic one off, but reliable. The speed to keep me interested, and the heating to keep me warm. I was told by the good boy that no such car or man exists. I disagree, but thats because I come from the Bridget Jones / Ally McBeal (oops - showing the age there) school of love - there is someone out there for everyone, and I will find my classic motor, oh yes, I will.....
Well, as weird as my man sounded, I have to say, he has a point. I also like the idea of having a car magazine for men - can you imagine? "This reliable 30yr old man passes full fitness by regular outings to the gym, has a good memory store for special occasions, but won't take you out when Man Utd are playing. 4 previous owners - 3 careful and one mad when she found out that he was seeing number 4 at the same time as her. Drowsy when given too much beer."
So the point of this entry, is to say that my car would be the following...a classic one off, but reliable. The speed to keep me interested, and the heating to keep me warm. I was told by the good boy that no such car or man exists. I disagree, but thats because I come from the Bridget Jones / Ally McBeal (oops - showing the age there) school of love - there is someone out there for everyone, and I will find my classic motor, oh yes, I will.....
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