The break up

I've not blogged in ages. Over a year or so in fact. The reason? Privacy. I was simply involved with guys who could and would google themselves on the internet and would not be happy with what they found. I've always been an advocate of not getting too serious with men. They always had their faults; their nose was too big, they weren't into horror films, they clicked their knuckles... And then it happened. I fell in love. It wasn't love at first sight... In fact anything but. He was a pretty boy, I was used to rugby players with broken noses or tall giant men with egos the size of Russia not some boy band type who wore Thomas pink shirts and offered me a drink not from a mug. But he seemed sweet and when whispered to in a school yard fashion that this boy had taken a fancy to me I had pushed for further conversation. I convinced myself he was a player, his friends appealed at me to give things a go. Take note here because this fact comes back later to bite me on the ass. I allowed him to take me out and things progressed into love. At least on my side. I was disgustingly smitten. Breakfast in bed, hanging up his washing, booking his favourite restaurants and sporting events. What did I get in return? The occasional nod of approval, the pat on the head... The comments through his housemate that we had things in common and I was pretty. But never a direct comment. This was my first love. My silly reckless gullible moment. I chose to ignore the signs. His snap at me in sainsburys about being too loud, him shhing me on the street for a crude joke, his blatant disregard for my affections. It wasn't long before I found myself like a small child begging for attention and approval. I trode on egg shells, begged him for sexual interaction (again alarm bells?! Begging a guy really?). And then it happened. Two weeks after my birthday. A weekend during which I was smothered in affection, spoilt and satisfied that things were right again... I was dumped. By text message. Later to be confirmed by phone. Six months ended at a rate of 40p. I was winded. Friends had often relayed painful breakups and if I'm being honest I had always dismissed them. In fact the words 'man up' come to mind. But the pain was indescribable. I had a wax booked, I afterwards told the waxer to advise anyone who had just been dumped to have a wax for the pain was largely decreased. I arrived home afterwards and collapsed on the floor into tears. Like a ragdoll I refused to eat or move. A heap on the floor. My family nudging me and treating me with tea. Every object reminded me of him, every song. It hurt. It physically hurt. My heart stung and I felt sick. This was why they called it heart ache. I turned to booze but this numbed nothing. I prayed that I would go to sleep and wake up back to my old self. The non believer in love. In hindsight it took time. And friends. Brilliant friends. Friends who would tell you to stop being pathetic, who issued you challenges and distracted you with silly masks and parties with better looking men. The pain was gradually disappearing two months on. And then I saw it. The new girlfriend, and the weekend break. Just two months later. A virtual slap. The sore heart returns as do the insecurities. But all I can think is that I've finally gone back to my blog and such dastardly acts have meant that I feel no guilt in publicly writing this. Just a shame I didn't name drop eh A...

Contact...

This is pretty awkward. It's similar to that thank-you letter you send out for some crappy birthday present to a weird aunt about 8 months too late. I haven't written since september. That's 9 months ago...I could have had a baby in that time. I haven't but I could have. I'd love to lie and say that so much has happened. I've cured cancer, finally did that bungee jump and have now met Mr Right but honestly? Bugger all has happened. I found two pounds under the sofa. That my friends was a great day. I've made a pact with myself however. From now on I am to write at least one blog post a week. AT LEAST. This is going to be a mid year resolution that I do keep. Unlike the four I made this year about playing hard to get, going to the gym more, reading National Enquirer and losing the word 'poppet' from my vocabulary. FAIL. So what to tell you about the 9 months...truthfully. For one my love life still remains a topic that I could make an encyclopedia out of i.e. A is for Asshole (see Chris, Tom, Dave for more definitions). I could speel it all out but let's be honest it's pretty same old by now. I will say however that my latest guy ended things with me via bbm. He informed me that the distance between where we live was too great. He lives in Clapham. I live in North London. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? What a load of (insert ladylike swear word). What else has happened? Well turns out I'm a whizz in the kitchen. Not sure if I have mentioned this before but I am head of the schools cooking club. (Don't actually believe I'm some whizz in order to get this position I was not tested whatsoever. Nor was I given a stopwatch, a turnip, five day old brie and an old shoe and told to make a child-friendly dish in 4 minutes). Anyway so turns out whatever I'm doing works because the cooking club is OVER capacity. I now have 30 kids to help teach how to hold a knife, beat the shit out of fruit with rolling pins. GOOD TIMES. And guess that ticks the whole box marked 'links with the community'. Bar that I'm now 24 but still getting ID'd for booze and cig so still looking 7 years younger and doing bugger all to help this fact. I have also discovered I love Ben Howard, that I have no immune system whatsoever and that my gaydar is awful. That's a great story I want to tell but I honestly can't yet for fear of being sued by Conde Nast. ADIOS Poppets. I'm off to book my surfing retreat to Portugal. WHY? Because I've changed (and groupon have an offer).

The update

I haven't blogged in a while yet again. I'd love to find some excuses but I have none other than a few vows of silence. I can't talk about work due to signed contracts, I can't talk about friendships due to a severe telling off the other day and I can't talk about relationships because it'll make me seem bitter. I'm left with not a large amount to talk about...

I'm exhausted. Mentally and physically exhausted. Teaching is the only profession I find where you are literally thrown into the deep end and watched whilst you sink or swim. None of this work experience/training malarky, you are left with the kids and watched whilst you rock silently in the corner whilst some kid named after an Italian city throws paper aeroplanes at your head (this hasn't happened to me yet). I love it however. Every week I'm realising more and more that I don't dread the mornings as much as I used to... they (dare I say it) excite me? Not that I don't miss journalism. I miss writing, working to deadlines and generally just feeling a bit important.

On that note it's hard to once again admit to myself that I'm also romantically back to stage one. Blogging about ones love life I find rather foolish but then again it also provides a sense of therapy. Honestly? It's getting bad. There comes a point where you start to self analyse and blame yourself. There's only so many times you can make the excuse about it being someone else's fault. For years my friends told me it was the men I chose but the recent past has taught me that that is far from true. I personally think it's me that causes this commitment-phobe growth inside a person. That like a cancer I slowly attack the immune system into defeat. Wow that was a little dark.
In other words my confidence has just been severely dented. I've never been one for clubs for example. I hate the meat market idea and the fact that I immediately revert to my 14 year old self, standing by the side at a school disco whilst I hold handbags of the girls chosen to dance. This to me seems to be a great metaphor for that part of my life. I went out over the weekend to a club for the first time properly in months. I hated every minute of it. It reminded me that the dating game is severe and cruel. It scared me to be back in that place again but also made me realise that I don't want some 25 year old drunkard who's idea of romance is sharing his glass of water in the morning. What's even stranger is that I myself am the biggest commitment phobe ever. I hate sharing my bed, the idea of my family assessing anyone feels me with dread, I don't want to be told off for drinking too much and falling off a bar and I don't have to think about christmas/birthday presents that will put me as the 'cool girlfriend' amongst his friends. It's all just utter bullshit.
I've started to realise it's not the label that I wanted but more the information divulging that I am regretting. The story about my first boyfriend, the time I thought Twilight was real... these are no longer my secrets. They are the secrets of a soon-to-be-stranger.

The Update

I haven't blogged for ages. I apologise. A lot has changed, new job, new hair, new attitude...well okay some things have changed.

So I decided earlier this year that I was going to try out new things. To start with this meant going to the theatre on my own, to see art galleries, to visit tourist sites and then I decided to branch it out to my love life.

I have always been hopeless in love. As my many stories on here tell you. So I joined a dating site. I met a few guys, to be fair I got off lucky every single one that I met was absolutely lovely..just so happened that none of us clicked that much.

First there was Alex, music DJ who was really chilled out and good fun. I did not like however the fact that everytime we went out for a drink he assumed me to be impoverished so pulled a face and said 'sooo...shall I get the drinks in, can you afford to buy one?'. I'm all for being spoilt but really. Anyway we got drunk, had a bit of a fondle and then realised actually we're really not anything special.

Then there was Mark. Mark was massive. That sounds wrong..it isn't. He was 6ft6. I should mention I'm only 5ft4 so over a foot taller than me and a rugby player. Mark was lovely. The biggest softie I've met, such a BFG (best friend or gay). As soon as we met we started outdrinking each other and discussing London Irish. Needless to say date two didn't happen but we do text each other about the rugby scores.

Then there was James. I really liked James. He wasn't that tall but was a sportsman and had a great sense of humour. Things were going really well..he'd invited me to stay for a weekend and actually genuinely seemed to find my jokes funny (great success). But then I got my new job in his building and things just...died. Let's just say the christmas party this year for work will be awkward. I did that typical girl thing of deleting him off facebook and my phone to 'get over him'. Ouch.

So after these guys I decided to rest and concentrate on work. But that can only last for a little while. My latest challenge to myself was to go on a date with a complete stranger. Someone I knew nothing about..apart from the fact that they liked burritos.

Yes that's right I went on a date with Mr Burrito man aka 52 Burrito dates. I'm not an idiot as my best friend called me when I told her about the date, I did my research. This guy seemed smart, was always nice in his blogs and was, after all, Irish. I thought I could never not get on with an Irishman. I was wrong.

You know that scene in Saw where the guy is tied up and awaiting his fate? That was the date. It was one of those situations where from minute one you could just tell you weren't going to have fun. We just didn't click. I tried my best, I asked about hobbies, his job, his favourite food etc. but was greeted with one word answers and a fake laugh. Great. So I told him about me and mentioned that I was a blokes girl and like to tell blokeish jokes. His response? Tell me one. Errr sorry do I look like a performing monkey? Unless you're Michael 'The Hero' McIntyre jokes are supposed to be spontaneous. This is clearly someone who would enjoy my mum's random cheese jokes. I then decided my last resort was to tell my attempted mugger story- which I have in fact told on here- this story everytime I tell it has people shocked and laughing. I have proof of this because I told it during my first round auditions for the tv programme Shipwrecked and it got me through to the pre final round. But do you know what I told it and it was like telling a blonde joke to Amy from The Only Way Is Essex. I just got silence. (cue haystack). That's when I knew it was over. We both made our excuses and left after just half an hour. The humour behind it all? I tried to cancel. My friend Tom was waiting round the corner beforehand and I wanted to continue drinking...but instead I went on the date. I was polite throughout and smiled A LOT. And I mean A LOT.

Needless to say my idea to branch out and try something new has hit a setback. That was horrific. And I'm not someone who would usually blog about a really bad date but let's just say if you pay a visit to 52 Dates I'm not spoken of in a nice light so felt it only fair I get my say. And just for the record after you read it..my surname's not Threadwell and I didn't go to Oxford uni. But heyho it's good to know he was paying attention!

Till my next blog post!

Apologies for belated blog post

Life is has been fairly crazy recently. I started a new job and have been slaving away trying to do things correctly despite working for free.

So I am officially bored of single life. I no longer want to be coming home to a quiet house, being perved on in sleazy clubs or date guys with secrets.
It's because of this that I finally bit the bullet and signed up to mysinglefriend.com
A friend of mine had had great success with the site previously and had met the man of her dreams so I thought I would give it a go.

If I am being honest the whole idea of online dating makes me feel very stupid and small. Let's be honest it does have an undertone of desperation so I was slightly worried what I might find. First of all was the idea of describing yourself. Am I slender, curveacous etc. I went for slender (yes inside I was laughing 'you wish' to myself but hey ho). Then it asked me if I was a smoker. Now I have been off on smoking for 6 years but I hate calling myself a smoker. I still like to think of myself as a social smoker despite having one on the way to work and one before bed. So again I lied and said an occasional smoker (my thoughts were if I did meet someone I would have to give up to support this anyway). After this my friend had to describe me, and leaving someone to describe you in not so many words is a pretty odd and unsatisfying thing. Despite this Sarah managed to do it pretty well and I was satisfied:

If you're looking for a girl who loves long walks, football, board games and loud clubs... then Abi is definitely NOT the woman for you. If on the other hand you are looking for a girl with phenomenal banter, who can make friends with anyone (in first year of uni Abi actually ended up befriending her attempted mugger), who loves the countryside (for the shooting and drinking), attends London fashion week, adores South African accents, and is a big London Irish fan then look no further.
Why, you may ask, is Abi single? Well being the owner of exceptional banter means that the majority of her friends are guys... I guess she's just prone to being stuck in the friendzone! Abi's sexy, smiley, intelligent and kind hearted (and not to mention the proud owner of a fantastic rack!). She loves to travel, she's already been to Australia, Namibia, Israel and Singapore. After completing a degree in English Abi is currently doing a journalism masters in London. Not just a pretty face...
She's not aiming too high, but if you're a rugby playing, Danny Care/Dom Waldouck look a like with fantastic chat then send her a message. She won't bite... much!

I was happy with that, wrote a short sarcastic description of myself and then moved onto pictures. This is a hard task yet again. Do you choose the one where you are striking a massive pose? Show your fun side with you drunk and dressed as a chav? Do the whole sexy outfit? It's a hard decision. I went for the standard caught unaware photo, a long distance photo and a poser photo. This was the best of the bunch. The majority of my facebook photos happen to be me posing with bob the builder, climbing a wall in my undies or me shaking my thang on the dance floor.

Once this was done I was ready to go. I decided to aim for a guy between the ages of 24 and 33. Despite me only being 22 I am deep down an old woman and can't really handle guys my age with their ability to make every saturday night a visit to a&e. Typically being a London girl I was left with quite a few options and so I began my search. I was surprised there was such a choice. Tall, thin, fat, muscly, arty, bald, model, singer, geeky, foreign etc. I have always thought myself to be someone who never had a set type but now I was starting to wonder. Part of me wanted to prove to myself that I am not shallow but in fact I was proved wrong by the amount of guys I selected who were way out of my league!! I 'added them to my favourites' and sat and waited to see what would happen next. (Granted that last time I went on an online date the guy had cystic fibrosis and I was not aware in the slightest).

I soon recieved messages ranging from normal to cheesy to insane. Ie. 'I'd mug you for your heart' or 'Will you be my princess' (why is it all foreign men seem to think that this is a winning line...in fact it makes me think of mail order brides). But I did luck out.

First up was Matty, a stacked broker from London with a pout and clearly a bit of an attitude. We exchanged a few emails and I'd decided I wanted a big rugby bloke so decided he might be a good idea. We soon arranged a date but I wussed out. Well not quite wussed out... I have one massive dislike. Bad spelling of simple words. It is so infuriating, not to mention that I find it very sexy when a guy is smarter than me (it's not that hard). So I made my excuses and am yet to reschedule :/ sorry Matty.

Then there was Tom. Tom looked like a nice, straightforward guy so we started talking. And not only was he cute but he got my ridiculous sense of humour too. We arranged drinks in Notting Hill and this time I didn't cancel. As I arrived it started to pour down with rain and I hid in the tunnel for cover. Tom called to enquire where I was and to mention that he had no umbrella (whoops). We stayed on the phone trying to locate each other and I headed towards the zebra crossing, where at the other end he was supposedly standing. I looked across and spotted a tall, good looking guy with a good fashion sense. tick, tick tick. We grabbed a drink and perched in the corner unfortunately right next to the men's loos. Classy. After two drinks we loosened up and begun to really chat. I discovered his love of dj-ing, about his family, where he lived, what his most embarrassing drunken situation was and had even told him about the night I became 'asbo abi' (a story I will soon blog about). We relocated to another pub and the conversation flowed so much so it reached 12am and I realised I needed to catch the last tube. We walked towards the tube and Tom stopped me, spun me around and kissed me. I couldn't help but wonder if this was a move he had used before, it felt rather like a cheesy movie scene. The next day we thanked each other for a good night and arranged drinks again the following week.

We met the week after and I was excited. Despite him having slight OCD ( a really bad thing considering he's obsessed with tidying his room- and my room is probably housing a family of 16) he ticked a lot of my boxes, smart, driven, charming, family orientated, good looking, honest. We returned to the same pub where I suddenly was innudated with calls from work. Despite my awkward interruptions again things went well...but this time I didn't restrain the drinks, four drinks in and I was tipsy and falling for his charms. I lent in and kissed him, and we ended up having a bit of a make out sesh. One thing led to another and due to alcohol and persuasive talk on his part I was soon back at his looking at his terrapin (not dirty he actually has one). The next morning I woke up in one of his band t-shirts, supposedly he had given me the smallest one he owned to quote 'see your boobs in the morning easier'. Hmmm... A kiss goodbye and I jumped on the tube home, a walk of shame at 9am before I had a day of interviews working from home.

What's annoying me however is the fact I am still not sure how I feel. Tom's goodlooking, funny, friendly and we get on really well but am I supposed to be having butterflies yet? Because of this I have now got four dates this week from the site.
Joe- a rugby playing guy of 6ft6 (highest heels please), Simon- a posh scot with a love of shooting, Luke- a very goodlooking guy with a love of travelling, Matt- a funny hockey player who works in media.

I'll keep you updated but for now I think I'm starting a dating addiction. This could possibly get worse.

The Curse

I can't sleep so finally decided to update my blog. What a writer I am! It clearly has nothing to do with the fact that I watched Paranormal Activity on my own and now have an active imagination when my floorboards creak.

So friday night my old housemate from university came to stay. She is one of the few girls that I can actually stand to be with for more than a few hours. Her chat consists of witty sharp banter rather than discussing how many pounds she has lost that week and which Jonas brother she'd do. She is however dirty minded as hell. Hence why we get on so well. I walked in on her many a times using handcuffs...and that was a tame night.
Anyway so we crack open a few bottles of wine and discuss work/holidays etc and then she suddenly goes quiet and looks at me. 'So Abi. How's the curse?'. The curse...I'd forgotten about the curse. In my second year of university we had just been to Fuzzy ducks (Fhm's easiest place to pull in the UK and our favourite haunt on a wednesday night) and were stumbling back home together. Suddenly she stopped stared at me and said 'Abi, you and I we're just not meant to have boyfriends at university'. We laughed it off but a strange thing happened, since that comment neither of us has managed to maintain a relationship whatsoever. Odd considering we had both managed to do the relationship thang quite well before hand.
We begun to compare notes: we had both dated older guys, both had failed. We had both dated our boss, both had failed. We had both been on an internet date, and been deeply disappointed. The pattern continued. As apparently had the curse. I know what you're thinking. All of those things have happened to lots of people. Well try having them occur over a period of 3 years. Then throw in the fact that both of us have had the WORST luck- I'm talking psycho men, men with bad B.O, guys with weird sex fetishes and stalkers. It's pretty bad.
So how to break it? Well she's moving to Australia and me? Well I think it's time to buy a puppy. Cats are so 1990s.

The Alchemist

So if you have read my last blog you will know that I met a tasty Spaniard during my time in Amsterdam. (As an update we are still in contact and I have been offered a bed there whenever I want to come visit!) Anyway the night we met for a drink I mentioned that I had studied English at University. This interested the bar man and we soon started to discuss our favourite books. He told me of his favourite book ‘The Alchemist’. I’d heard of this particular book but never read it. Spaniard then informed me that this book had been so inspiring that he had tried to live his life every day in connection with the book’s teachings. This interested me even more, a book that was so enlightening it could influenced the life of a young, outgoing, free spirited guy. If I am being honest I was jealous of Spaniard. He was so upfront about himself about the fact that he loved women, that he loved to travel, that he wanted love but until then loved sex so why not just take it when it comes. I wanted that freedom, that confidence so on returning to the UK I purchased ‘The Alchemist’ and finished it within a day.
What I took from the book was that everyone has a destiny. The universe has left you omens to follow to reach your destiny and it is whether you take notice of them that decides whether you will achieve it. I found this particularly interesting- what was my destiny? The Spaniard had told me of his previous dreams to travel, and that he had left the woman he loved in Sweden whilst he travelled in order to experience his destiny. ‘The Alchemist’ also claims that true love will wait whilst you achieve your destiny. I wondered how I could use the guiding of the book in my life. I have always had a list of things I want to do before I die. A few of them being:
1. Go cage diving with sharks in South Africa and visit my ex in Jo Bay
2. Visit the pyramids in Egypt
3. Become fluent in Italian
4. Go watch the surfing competitions in Hawaii.
5. Visit all the art galleries in Barcelona
I wondered whether this was a sign that I should start trying to tick one of these off my list? I pushed the thoughts to the back of my mind and carried on with my day to day life until today. My friend put on ‘Men who stare at goats’ and in that too was the message about everyone having a destiny and should follow the omens they are given by the universe. This was definitely a sign. So I have no idea exactly what my destiny is (to me I think it will be to be a fantastic journalist with a great handbag collection and my own Friday night talk show) but I’ve decided what my next stop in life will be if I am unable to get a job by the end of August. I will go back to my monotonous retail job and save every penny I earn. Then in March I will buy a round the world ticket and travel to South Africa, New Zealand, Australia and Fiji for several months. It might not be my destiny but it is most definitely a start.