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.
Showing posts with label dating. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dating. Show all posts
Tuesday, 27 September 2011
Sunday, 22 August 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, 1 August 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, 24 June 2010
My Dragon's Den Project
I've decided on a new concept to deal with relationships/dating. It's an idea which would be easily accepted by Dragon's Den...if they were all women!
I have made every mistake in the dating book. It is because of this that my best guy mate created 'The Good Spoon Guide'- a dating guide with a list of rules which I have since followed religiously. (i.e. no double texting etc etc)
This however does not always work. I am a great example of this. Therefore my idea is that I hire a body double who goes on the dates for me. The date is recorded and afterwards I decide who I would like to see again.
Basically the concept as a whole is that someone else does all the hard work for me. they get me up to the point where I am in an 'exclusive' relationship, and then I step in.
See I can easily do the girlfriend thing. I can meet the friends and be the 'cool' girlfriend discussing how hot Kelly Brookes is and the latest rugby scores. I can easily do my own thing, let him have boys nights and will invest regularly in 'sexy' underwear. That is not the problem. The problem is getting there. It's the playing hard to get, being engaging in conversation but yet still maintaining the mystery, and the addressing of where you stand. This is where I fail miserably. Another me (aka my body double) would solve this. They would handle the hard bits for me and I could step in when the relationship really begins- the bit I am good at.
It seems ridiculous to me that the first few weeks/months is the time when you hide the crazy and watch what you say- knowing any mistake you make could jeopardise the future. And yet later, when you are officially committed the crazy comes out and guys just deal with it. 90% of all my close friends are guys. They are relaxed, have fun and don't bitch. Take the photo above, that's one of my best friends who quite rightly will not put up with me moaning or talking badly of other people. This is a relationship I'm good at. Friendship. Isn't that just cheesy?!
My best friend who has just finished with his girlfriend of two years. Upon breaking up he did what most guys do, shagged around. His ex decided during one of these hook ups to go to his house and peer through the window where she witnessed his new gaming skills. The ex called in sick for work all week, dead bolted the door and sent abusive messages about him to his sister. Needless to say she was hurt but peering through the window at 1am? That's just a new level of crazy.
This wasn't even the first time. She banned him from facebook and upon spotting him talking to another guy decided he must be secretly gay.
So why is it that guys in relationships put up with the crazy that would have made them run a mile on the first few dates?
Perhaps that's where I'm making mistakes. I'm doing things backwards, showing the crazy before the calm! And if this is true...does anyone know a 5ft3/4 girl with blonde hair, big boobs and a massive love for dirty innuendos?
Tuesday, 8 June 2010
I'm a horrible person
I had to break the bad news to my stalker last night.
Apparently even stalkers have feelings, who would have guessed? It would seem that even they have to draw a line somewhere.
So as mentioned before I had tried everything to break bad news to this guy that apparently had a major crush on me. And by everything I mean every single excuse in the book; 'It's not you it's me. I'm a mess right now, I don't know what I want', 'I'm scared of commitment', 'I don't want to ruin what we already have'.
I even went on to tell the poor guy that I was going out for drinks with another guy...this resulted in him texting me every fifteen minutes to ask when I would be home, and to say that he hoped my date was going badly. Smooth. When I ignored these texts the phonecalls began...when I ignored these more texts began. It was like being stuck in a constant stalker cycle.
So last night I decided in order to break off this obsession I would have to say something that would put him off me in a massive way. I thought about the obvious- I don't like men...actually quite like your sister, or I have a sex addiction or even I used to be Alan but let's be honest none of these would have been remotely believable. Instead I went for the standard 'I got so drunk last night I had sex with someone I shouldn't have.' That doesn't sound too bad but believe you me the reaction I got from that was as though I had been dating him for years and just told him that I had been sleeping with his brother. (Can we please bare in mind that I had not even touched the boy at this point!)
I then faced an evening of angry texts, threats and mainly a great use of the word 'hurt'. It sounds cruel but it was like putting an injured animal out of its' misery. I am seriously confused about the role change however. Usually I am the crazy one who acts irrationally...perhaps I'm just not that bad. I was then informed that if I go to my local for a drink this week I need to 'forewarn him'. I mean really? The pub is opposite my house, do I really need to provide him with my alcoholic timetable? Because if I am being honest it would be far easier to simply tell him when I won't be in there.
Anyway so I decided that all this anger was for the best, I turned my phone off and went to sleep, waking up to a text from him this morning that read: 'So sorry I got so angry at you last night. I had no right. You're right we're not together so I'm sorry. Let's go for a drink this week. x'
You are kidding me?! Even when I'm a lying bitch I can't get out of this...
Apparently even stalkers have feelings, who would have guessed? It would seem that even they have to draw a line somewhere.
So as mentioned before I had tried everything to break bad news to this guy that apparently had a major crush on me. And by everything I mean every single excuse in the book; 'It's not you it's me. I'm a mess right now, I don't know what I want', 'I'm scared of commitment', 'I don't want to ruin what we already have'.
I even went on to tell the poor guy that I was going out for drinks with another guy...this resulted in him texting me every fifteen minutes to ask when I would be home, and to say that he hoped my date was going badly. Smooth. When I ignored these texts the phonecalls began...when I ignored these more texts began. It was like being stuck in a constant stalker cycle.
So last night I decided in order to break off this obsession I would have to say something that would put him off me in a massive way. I thought about the obvious- I don't like men...actually quite like your sister, or I have a sex addiction or even I used to be Alan but let's be honest none of these would have been remotely believable. Instead I went for the standard 'I got so drunk last night I had sex with someone I shouldn't have.' That doesn't sound too bad but believe you me the reaction I got from that was as though I had been dating him for years and just told him that I had been sleeping with his brother. (Can we please bare in mind that I had not even touched the boy at this point!)
I then faced an evening of angry texts, threats and mainly a great use of the word 'hurt'. It sounds cruel but it was like putting an injured animal out of its' misery. I am seriously confused about the role change however. Usually I am the crazy one who acts irrationally...perhaps I'm just not that bad. I was then informed that if I go to my local for a drink this week I need to 'forewarn him'. I mean really? The pub is opposite my house, do I really need to provide him with my alcoholic timetable? Because if I am being honest it would be far easier to simply tell him when I won't be in there.
Anyway so I decided that all this anger was for the best, I turned my phone off and went to sleep, waking up to a text from him this morning that read: 'So sorry I got so angry at you last night. I had no right. You're right we're not together so I'm sorry. Let's go for a drink this week. x'
You are kidding me?! Even when I'm a lying bitch I can't get out of this...
Saturday, 5 June 2010
She loves me...She loves me not
Can I just randomly apologise before I blog. I have a bit of an obsession. An obsession with '....' and I apologise. I realise I do it a lot but it's very addictive to throw a little bit of 'dundundun' wherever I can....see what I mean!!
Anyway I have a bit of a situation at the moment. It was my birthday this week (cue songs, cake, champagne and pressies) and I made a big point of getting drunk and crying over the fact that no one had ever brought me flowers. I then decided to tell everyone I was out with that my favourites were orchids, of course I was not in the slightest bit hinting for one of them to buy me orchids but if they ended up outside a flower shop they could perhaps do me a favour...
My plan worked and the next day I recieved a pot full of orchids. Now what you have to realise is that romantic gestures like that embarrass me. They are lovely but I have never really experienced them. My longest relationship was with a very unromantic man. A guy whose idea of wining and dining me was taking me to mcdonalds and then ordering the wrong deli sandwich. He also brought me mint aeros when I craved chocolate, who does that?? Mint Aero is NOT a chocolate bar. But anyway... (I told you the '....' were useful) as I was saying these orchids were a massive shocker. Especially as they arrived with a note that used the word 'love'. Now that really is scary. It turned out the flowers had been delivered by my friend who had decided that after six or seven hours of me whining on about wanting orchids he'd just buy me some to shut me up.
I relaxed. But not for long. The following evening I recieved a text from sed platonic friend claiming that he had developed feelings for me. Ah. I knew there was a price to pay for getting orchids.
I played my girl card and used the typical girl excuse. I'm not looking for anything serious right now, I'm confused, I don't know where my head's at. Whilst also making a point of letting him know that I was still going on dates with other guys. I was very apologetic and made a point of highlighting my many flaws. I thought this had worked until I started to get texts every hour asking me to just try a date, to tell him why things wouldn't work out. Let me just say now that I am the biggest wuss (it took me a month to dump my ex because he kept crying everytime I tried and I couldn't handle it). I agreed to a date...I don't know how I'm going to get out of this one.
I'm debating licking tube poles, sitting near snotty kids or simply being hit (not lethally) by a passing car. Hmm perhaps it is slightly wrong that I'm willing to be hit by a car to escape the awkwardness of a one sided date. I definitely have some issues.
The worst however has been the CONSTANT texting. After leaving my phone downstairs for half an hour I had recieved ten texts and eight missed calls, the tone of each becoming increasingly clingy as time went on. This is one of the mysteries of men and women that I really don't get. If you ignore men or show them you're not that interested they suddenly LOVE you, whilst if you like a guy and want to be with him he runs for the hills in similar fashion to if you were to turn up with a ski mask and a chainsaw.
Oh well. Let's see how this one pans out.
Anyway I have a bit of a situation at the moment. It was my birthday this week (cue songs, cake, champagne and pressies) and I made a big point of getting drunk and crying over the fact that no one had ever brought me flowers. I then decided to tell everyone I was out with that my favourites were orchids, of course I was not in the slightest bit hinting for one of them to buy me orchids but if they ended up outside a flower shop they could perhaps do me a favour...
My plan worked and the next day I recieved a pot full of orchids. Now what you have to realise is that romantic gestures like that embarrass me. They are lovely but I have never really experienced them. My longest relationship was with a very unromantic man. A guy whose idea of wining and dining me was taking me to mcdonalds and then ordering the wrong deli sandwich. He also brought me mint aeros when I craved chocolate, who does that?? Mint Aero is NOT a chocolate bar. But anyway... (I told you the '....' were useful) as I was saying these orchids were a massive shocker. Especially as they arrived with a note that used the word 'love'. Now that really is scary. It turned out the flowers had been delivered by my friend who had decided that after six or seven hours of me whining on about wanting orchids he'd just buy me some to shut me up.
I relaxed. But not for long. The following evening I recieved a text from sed platonic friend claiming that he had developed feelings for me. Ah. I knew there was a price to pay for getting orchids.
I played my girl card and used the typical girl excuse. I'm not looking for anything serious right now, I'm confused, I don't know where my head's at. Whilst also making a point of letting him know that I was still going on dates with other guys. I was very apologetic and made a point of highlighting my many flaws. I thought this had worked until I started to get texts every hour asking me to just try a date, to tell him why things wouldn't work out. Let me just say now that I am the biggest wuss (it took me a month to dump my ex because he kept crying everytime I tried and I couldn't handle it). I agreed to a date...I don't know how I'm going to get out of this one.
I'm debating licking tube poles, sitting near snotty kids or simply being hit (not lethally) by a passing car. Hmm perhaps it is slightly wrong that I'm willing to be hit by a car to escape the awkwardness of a one sided date. I definitely have some issues.
The worst however has been the CONSTANT texting. After leaving my phone downstairs for half an hour I had recieved ten texts and eight missed calls, the tone of each becoming increasingly clingy as time went on. This is one of the mysteries of men and women that I really don't get. If you ignore men or show them you're not that interested they suddenly LOVE you, whilst if you like a guy and want to be with him he runs for the hills in similar fashion to if you were to turn up with a ski mask and a chainsaw.
Oh well. Let's see how this one pans out.
Tuesday, 27 April 2010
The Photographer
I recieved a phone call from my brother yesterday asking for a favour. He'd managed to leave his bag in one of the Soho gay clubs and needed me to go get it for him. Today is my week off going into central but I decided to be a good sister for once. (This has nothing to do with the fact that I want to housesit for him when he's in Miami next week).
Just as I was leaving my friend called me up saying he was in Oxford Circus and did I fancy a drink, good timing. We met, (I ruined my diet yet again but only with a goats cheese wrap, I was tempted to spit in my diet's face with a KFC wrapstar but the diet demons got me) and headed to pick up my brother's bag. My friend is a photographer, he was picking up prints and has an interview for his BA tomorrow so was pretty nervous. Anyway I get to the club and have to listen to the WORST rendition of Boyzone playing...then some cute bartender comes out (gay of course, all the good ones are gay. Seriously ALL) and tries to locate the bag. Eventually it is found and we decide to head for a drink.
Here you need to be updated on my photographer friend. He is a young'n, just 20 years old (sounds patronising but it is so true that boys mature so much later than girls), he has a french girlfriend who he cheats on, and thinks he is the shit.
So we sit down at the bar and discuss how we both have interviews (haven't mentioned but in two hours I may just be a hired journalist)and I ask him interview questions. Can I please note that the photographer has not ONCE said well done to me about my interview, nor has he tried to help me out for my interview- despite the fact that I ask him about fifty warm up questions. Anyway his phone rings and it's the french girlfriend. 'Abi answer it..tell her i'm in the loo.' I look at him with my crazy face, 'you're kidding? I am not getting involved stop being such a kid and talk to her' So after whining at me I answer the phone and deal with the girlfriend. At this point she's called him 5 times, texted him 10 times and had no response. She's 19 though so I can allow her nuttiness, I for one was that psycho girl.. The poor thing cries down the phone to me, for all she knows I'm an evil temptress (I'm really not, a little bit of sick went into my mouth at the thought of even touching photographer- no offence). The photographer then decides he wants to make the girlfriend jealous, and knowing she is at work texts her colleague. Now here I see no logic? He claims to love her and yet decides this must be the best idea in order to make her love him more.
I am then dragged out of the bar, my YO MANGO is left (I NEVER leave alcohol, cardinal rule you shall not waste booze) and I am forced to be his 'back-up' when he goes to see the girlfriend at work. Luckily I am brought a glass of wine to say thank you and sit myself next to Andrew (the chef of my local with whom I have a great relationship after I decided he must have had a sex change and renamed him Aleysha) to watch the show.
The thing is I suddenly turn into some smart arse relationship expect even though I am the epitimy of a single girl. I sat there thinking how stupid they were, and this coming from a near 22 year old who last week went on a date, got drunk and told the date that 'all men hate me and ditch me for another woman'. RIGHT.
And the best thing? That camera loving sod hasn't even texted me today to say thanks or ask about MY interview. Instead I recieve a nice text saying 'interview went well. guy knew me from shoot. Wicked.'
Cheers, I want my YO MANGO back.
Just as I was leaving my friend called me up saying he was in Oxford Circus and did I fancy a drink, good timing. We met, (I ruined my diet yet again but only with a goats cheese wrap, I was tempted to spit in my diet's face with a KFC wrapstar but the diet demons got me) and headed to pick up my brother's bag. My friend is a photographer, he was picking up prints and has an interview for his BA tomorrow so was pretty nervous. Anyway I get to the club and have to listen to the WORST rendition of Boyzone playing...then some cute bartender comes out (gay of course, all the good ones are gay. Seriously ALL) and tries to locate the bag. Eventually it is found and we decide to head for a drink.
Here you need to be updated on my photographer friend. He is a young'n, just 20 years old (sounds patronising but it is so true that boys mature so much later than girls), he has a french girlfriend who he cheats on, and thinks he is the shit.
So we sit down at the bar and discuss how we both have interviews (haven't mentioned but in two hours I may just be a hired journalist)and I ask him interview questions. Can I please note that the photographer has not ONCE said well done to me about my interview, nor has he tried to help me out for my interview- despite the fact that I ask him about fifty warm up questions. Anyway his phone rings and it's the french girlfriend. 'Abi answer it..tell her i'm in the loo.' I look at him with my crazy face, 'you're kidding? I am not getting involved stop being such a kid and talk to her' So after whining at me I answer the phone and deal with the girlfriend. At this point she's called him 5 times, texted him 10 times and had no response. She's 19 though so I can allow her nuttiness, I for one was that psycho girl.. The poor thing cries down the phone to me, for all she knows I'm an evil temptress (I'm really not, a little bit of sick went into my mouth at the thought of even touching photographer- no offence). The photographer then decides he wants to make the girlfriend jealous, and knowing she is at work texts her colleague. Now here I see no logic? He claims to love her and yet decides this must be the best idea in order to make her love him more.
I am then dragged out of the bar, my YO MANGO is left (I NEVER leave alcohol, cardinal rule you shall not waste booze) and I am forced to be his 'back-up' when he goes to see the girlfriend at work. Luckily I am brought a glass of wine to say thank you and sit myself next to Andrew (the chef of my local with whom I have a great relationship after I decided he must have had a sex change and renamed him Aleysha) to watch the show.
The thing is I suddenly turn into some smart arse relationship expect even though I am the epitimy of a single girl. I sat there thinking how stupid they were, and this coming from a near 22 year old who last week went on a date, got drunk and told the date that 'all men hate me and ditch me for another woman'. RIGHT.
And the best thing? That camera loving sod hasn't even texted me today to say thanks or ask about MY interview. Instead I recieve a nice text saying 'interview went well. guy knew me from shoot. Wicked.'
Cheers, I want my YO MANGO back.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
