Breathe And Reboot

I need to learn to pace myself, I really do. Just generally in life I need to stop being so over-excitable and stop chucking myself head first into things all the time.

The date with the musician was nice, despite him being an hour late (he called ahead to warn me, so that was okish). He was shorter and less cute than I'd remembered which was odd because I (shockingly) wasn't drunk when I met him. Still, we went to one of my favourite fire 'n' leather pubs and had a couple of beers - he paid too which was lovely of him. The last guy I went out with did round for round with me which I'm fine with but it was nice to experience a little chivalry.
We chatted perfectly nicely and there were no awkward silences but something wasn't quite right. I hate to be vague but there was just no spark and for me that's a big deal. I can't imagine really dating someone who leaves me feeling the emotional equivalent of a casual shrug. Oh I'm so disappointed though; we got on so well on the phone! I tried so hard to be sparky and funny to put him at ease but I felt he was helding back. Maybe he was nervous, who knows? I walked back to the tube with him and he gave me a kiss on either cheek then left. Haven't heard from him today and I haven't contacted him. I don't know what I would say if I did to be honest.

Meanwhile, the graphic designer has suddenly got interesting again. I sent him one 'hello' email to the other address he gave me and he replied but I didn't go back because it was still a bit slow. However, he dropped me a line this morning and we've spent the whole day excitedly emailing back and forth, have swapped mobile numbers and booked a date for next Friday night. I'm not giving up on that one yet! But as I've just said, I'm not going to get myself worked up about it all this time. Yes, he's been very funny/cheeky today and yes he sent me a photo of himself that showed his upper body and yes he has forearms I could stroke for an hour but I'm determined not to get carried away...ahem.

Had to pick our Secret Santas at work today and surprise, surprise I got the MD. An office full of 10 women and 3 men and I get him. Fortunately there's a shop in the tube that sells chocolate genitalia so it'll be fine.

A Job Interview With Cocktails

Last night the musician called me, ostensibly to book our first date but we ended up talking for two hours. I am officially enraptured yet utterly terrified at the same time because tonight's the night. The First Date. He's coming all the way to my corner of London to see me.
I am not, by nature, a particularly shy person. I don't have a problem meeting people - I even perform well in job interviews. But stick me on a first date and I turn into a petrified mass of insecurity. I don't know why I find it so hard to remain calm and just view it as though it were meeting a friend. I think it's largely down to the fact that I'm never sure I'm good enough and fear that nobody else will either. Essentially you're meeting up to assess one another and yes, I know it's a two way street but I automatically put them on a fantasy pedestal and place myself kneeling beneath it somewhere far below.
I guess I just don't want to blow this one. Hang on, let me rephrase that rather unfortunate sentence; I don't want to mess this one up. I always worry that I'm not really being me on a date (is anyone?) so I tend to either fit myself to their mould or I start coming out with views and opinions I don't even believe just to have something to say or to seem more interesting. It's like I get a form of First Date Tourettes.

Unfortunately unless you are so overweight you cannot leave the house and are forced to conduct your relationships with faceless strangers on the internet whilst pretending to be a size 8 underwear model, at some point you have to meet them. The musician admitted to me that he was 'excited but scared' about meeting me. He told me that he really wants us to click because we seem to have a lot in common and get on so well on the phone (hey, 2 conversations I know but that's 5 hours of talking in total). Both of us said how sad it would be to have had this great 'virtual' connection but to then have it fizzle out in person and just have to walk away. Great, so no pressure then. Still, at least we've both admitted we're nervous - there is no false bravado on show here. God, how on earth am I going to get any work done today? Roobs, Oz Girl and I all have GAP vouchers so we're going shopping at lunchtime. I think I'll buy myself a nerve-steadying new top. Any port in a storm...

A Dress And A Crush

Two delightful events lifted what promised to be an extraordinarily dull weekend.

Firstly I tried on and purchased a sweater dress. Not the most thrilling event, relatively speaking, but to me it's a landmark. During the summer, I attended a family gathering to which I made the unfortunate mistake of wearing an outfit which not only demonstrated how, to put it bluntly, chubby I'd become but also made me sweat like some kind of farmyard animal as I'd failed to anticipate the ridiculously hot weather. To cap it all I stupidly had my photo taken with my cousin who is gorgeous and very, very slim (she runs). When my mum blithely handed me the pack of pictures a few weeks later I came to that one and felt as though I'd been slapped with a sockful of coins. I immediately put myself on a diet and since then have lost just over 2 stone. A few months ago, the thought of wearing what is essentially a knitted tube would have sent me scurrying for the darkest corner of room, however, joy of joys! On Saturday I stood and marvelled at how not-horrendous I looked in the cashmere-blend, soft navy, knitted tube. I'm wearing it today and working the heeled boot look with it. Not to sound shockingly superficial but there really are occasions when, as a girl, you can lift your own spirits and make yourself feel fabulous just by wearing the right outfit.

The second event was a glorious three-hour phone call with the musician yesterday afternoon. He text me first to ask if it was ok to call (bless). When I read the text I actually felt my heartbeat speed up at the thought of actual voice contact. We'd sent a couple of cheeky texts at the weekend but this was a big development.
We talked, and we talked and then we had a break for respective loo visits and tea making, then he called me back and we talked some more. He is fascinating and he makes me laugh. His outlook on life is philosophical but grounded and he can maintain an interesting conversation whilst going off on little tangents and still making sure he asks me questions. I think we're going to try and meet up one evening this week. I got off the phone and immediately felt myself plunge headfirst into Crushville. I am now demonstrating all the signs of a woman with a major crush. These are:

1) I've stopped watching TV because no one on there is sufficiently romantic. Instead I'm listening to CDs from my past whilst lying across my bed, just like I did when I was 15.
2) I'm not eating proper meals. Instead I'm just wandering into the kitchen occasionally and picking at whatever's around.
3) I lay awake last night for hours just replaying the conversation in my head. When I remembered the moment he told me he believed in 'The One' I knew I wasn't getting to sleep any time soon.
4) I'm daydreaming about him on the tube
5) I'm smoking more which I think is due to heightened nerves and anticipation
6) I keep re-reading his text messages, even though I know them by heart

It's pathetic, really. I'm old enough to know better than this and I haven't even seen him since the night we met. I guess the date will be the clincher. I'm now worried that meeting will break the spell. What if he doesn't like me after all or what if he's not as gorgeous as I remember? On the other hand will I plunge deeper into the chasm of my crush, destined to listen to bad love songs and eat too much toast for the next few months? I have to meet him and find out. Maybe I'll wear the sweater dress.

Big Apple, Big Change

My best and oldest friend is moving to New York.

The unselfish, caring, supportive side of me is so, so happy for her. The other side hasn't come out of its bedroom yet after storming off and slamming the door.
You see, she's also currently my housemate. After 17 years of friendship, we've lived together for the last 9 months and its been lovely. It changed our relationship, of course but I felt for the best. So naturally, my other housemate A and I are left with the dilemma of what to do next. I think we're going to try and get someone else in for the room which is depressing for two reasons. Firstly we're going to have to interview a string of potential lunatics from Gumtree or wherever, and secondly, none of them will be my best friend, K.

I didn't handle the news very well. I don't feel as bad as I should about that because the timing was rotten. I'd just spent an hour pouring my heart out about The Ex one Wednesday night a few weeks ago and had just dried my eyes and done that brave but slightly self-conscious, wobbly smile every girl does after they've been bawling unattractively in front of someone. As the last of my Kleenex hit the bin, she told me. Her company have offered her directorship of a major new account over there. They are sorting out the move and getting her an apartment in Manhattan so its full on fabulous SATC joy. Cue much more Kleenex, more bawling and me trying desperately to be supportive whilst clearly very, very upset about it.
We've since entered a weird kind of static field where A and I aren't talking about filling the room and K isn't telling us anything more about NYC. If group denial is possible, we're doing it. She's not going until January but I'm all about the forward planning and details so I'm keen to crack on and make some decisions.

Oh, apparently, not emailing a man is the best way to get him interested. After two days of me not answering the graphic designer's last email, he emailed me again asking if I had time for 'general chit chat' (quick, help me get off my bra) but fortunately I was just disappearing off to a trade show. I dashed off a quick email to say as much and came in this morning to a reply saying he hoped I'd be around soon and giving me another email address to use. Maybe I'll just keep ignoring him - at this rate I could have his phone number by tomorrow.

Finally, the highlight of my week so far was meeting a sexy musician in a bar last night. He wasn't on stage or anything, just with a couple of friends but the fact that he's a singer/lead guitarist came out in conversation (he also has a proper job but I'm dazzled by creative types so I can't remember what it is). I gave him my card and this morning he emailed me. He sent me a link to his band's website which I've checked out. I can pretty much guess what their music is going to be like without listening to it. One of my exes was a lead guitarist and I was a groupie/roadie for a couple of years. You tend to find bands fall into one of two categories. Either they are utterly devoid of talent but desperate for attention so go down the Slipknot route of just bellowing/snorting into a microphone whilst playing the same three chords over and over, or they are genuinely talented and play listenable, slightly heavy on the guitar, Matchbox 20 type stuff. There are no dreadlocks/pig masks on their site so I think I'm safe. Let's see where this one goes...

He's Just Not That Into You

Things have cooled off with the graphic designer. Honestly, he became dull to the point of narcolepsy. Maybe he went off me but honestly, I was trying to show an interest in his golf/gym/graphic designing. Perhaps I wasn't convincing enough. Anyway, I've decided not to reply to his last email and see if he a) wakes up and decides to chase me a little or b) slides further into his coma and forgets I exist.

I know I said I wasn't really into my date from Sunday night but it would have been nice to hear something from him. Even just an 'It was nice to meet you but I don't think so'. On the other hand perhaps I've got unfeasibly high expectations of men.
There's a scene in SATC where the character Berger is talking about men and how they behave on dates. The theory being that there are no mixed messages; if a guy likes you 'he's booking the next date, he's coming upstairs, early meeting or no early meeting.' Otherwise the conclusion is 'he's just not that into you'. A man (theoretically) does not worry about his own feelings or getting hurt, he doesn't wonder whether you'll respect him if he sleeps with you so early on and he certainly doesn't care if he has to dash home in the early hours to make it to a morning meeting. If he really, really wants you...he'll take any opportunity to have you. Having not really dated before, this is a difficult concept to grasp. I've always just fallen into relationships - you meet in a bar, swap numbers, talk on the phone, go to dinner a couple of times, sleep together then bam...relationship. Before you know it you're spending every night in front of the TV so you don't have to talk and you've lost two years of your life. Or maybe that's just my relationships to date...?
Anyway, the point is I've never offered myself up for rejection in this way. I guess I need to thicken my skin if my tactic going forward is to be a bit more open to dating and new experiences in general. Yeesh.

Big client dinner tonight. Me, my horsey colleague (I have NOTHING in common with horsey people), one client who is Mr Mumbling Sarcastic and another who is Mr Letchy Boob-Ogler. How am I expected to eat Chinese food with these people? I'll barely get through a bowl of hot and sour soup before I either pass out with boredom or am provoked into attacking Letchy Boob-Ogler with my chopsticks. I'd better not drink or I may not have a job in the morning.

Blonde's Ambition

OMG - Blonde just phoned me on my work line! Apparently Oz Girl gave him my extension number whilst battered on Friday night. His opening question was 'Can I have your mobile number so I can call you after hours?' It had taken me a good few seconds to work out who the hell he was when he said his name so this really threw me.
'No, I don't think so. You can talk to me now if you like,' was my terse response. He actually had the nerve to imply we should be having some clandestine meeting or another following our 'connection' on Friday night. What connection would that be, then? The connection your hand made with my gusset or the connection shortly after that where my ass made connection with the back seat of a cab? I wish I'd said that, actually. I also wish I'd mentioned the girlfriend in more forceful terms (the poor thing) but all I said was that it would be 'inappropriate'.
To be fair the office is very small and everyone could hear me being Miss Cagey and of course Oz Girl knew exactly who it was and was making apologetic faces at me over the top of her computer. It took about 8 seconds for the rest of the office to twig something untoward had happened on our previously innocent sounding night out. I'm now worried Roobs is cross with me for not telling her but I was so ashamed of myself! Its that weird situation of knowing someone really well but never having had them pissed off with you. You're not sure exactly how to act so now I'm overcompensating by offering to make tea to test the water. Honestly, my self esteem is so low right now, it's embarrassing.

Dark Bars and Light Beers

I have self esteem issues. I mean, I know I've never exactly been that happy with myself and that I do have certain things that need addressing in that direction, but on Friday night the true extent of it was slammed home to me.

Impromptu drinks after work with Oz Girl. She was due to be meeting friends and I was stepping in as an after work use. When the friends turned up, they happened to be two blokes - one of whom she had a major crush on. His blonde friend was vaguely interesting to talk to if not that attractive and I was the wrong side of a glass of Chianti and three Coronas when they arrived so I was happy to stick around.
Within an hour and a half, Blonde was standing behind me at the bar as I ordered, running his hands up and down my body and generally fondling me in a very inappropriate way. Now, here's the kicker - I didn't stop him. Despite knowing he has a girlfriend of 4 years (what hope is there for any of us). Of course, it got me very, very excited as I haven't been touched in an illicit fashion for a long time. There was something about this guy...not the looks so much as the way he spoke to me. He would hold my gaze and act as if it was just us in the bar. I'm sure this technique has worked on hundreds of drunk chicks in the past so I'm under no illusion about it's depth of meaning but right then, it was just what I needed.
We ended up snogging for hours. In the bar, outside the bar, in an alley on the way to the next bar... Real, teenagery, wanton snogging. At one point his exploring hands became utterly x-rated and it was then that I jolted myself awake. What the hell was I doing standing in a crowded bar with some bloke's hand down my knickers and his mouth on my neck? How low has my self esteem plummeted that I am so desperate for affection I let this total player get that far with me? I scrabbled for my bag and fled the bar into a waiting taxi amid a cloud of drunken shame.

On Sunday night I had a date. Sadly not with the graphic designer, we're still just chatting (ask me out, already!) but with another guy I'd met after work last week. He was nice and we got on really well (I actually choked on my Corona at one point he made me laugh so hard...should probably stop drinking Corona) but there wasn't really a spark. He's a fascinating man - his career is as an underwater photographer - but it just didn't click. I'd actually be happy to have him as a friend - he's the sort of guy I can imagine getting happily smashed with. Plus I am confident he wouldn't take advantage like the evil Blonde.

This week is shaping up to be a hectic one. I still haven't resigned due to fear of unemployment engulfing me at the last minute. I do have two appointments with recruitment consultants this week though so hopefully something will happen soon. My industry has a trade show this week which I'm required to attend and whore myself around at. The slight niggle is that The Ex is in the same industry and may well be there. I haven't spoken to or seen him since he finished with me four weeks ago so it could be awkward. I'll just have to look great and laugh lots in case he's around. Honestly, as if it wasn't going to be difficult enough.

Melting Moments

I spent my lunch hour in Hotel Chocolat, which has selfishly opened an emporium of joy just a short stroll (ok, rabid run) from my office. We had forewarned them we were coming, in order that they eject all other customers, suit themselves up in full kevlar body armour and prepare some generous trays of 'samples' to appease our chocolate jungle fever. I'm not sure if they totally bought the whole 'we're looking for corporate gifts' line but they did give us some freebies so that was a plus.

We were literally like kids in a candy store. We spent long minutes gazing adoringly at strawberry and chilli drops, cookie crisp slabs, praline waffles and something alluringly called 'Smudge' which is essentially a vastly superior version of Nutella that just cries out to be served on skin. I think we got quite giddy with joy at one point because we decided to find the chocolate which most described ourselves. My best work-buddy Roobs decided she was dark cherry truffle and I ended up being champagne truffles; the description read 'A lickable centre filled with du marc Champagne'. Sounds about right.

I've been exchanging emails with a graphic designer friend of a friend. I know, I know but I've actually seen him this time, albeit briefly, so I'm not in for another surprise/shock (he's seen me too so ditto). The only slight problem is that he's not the most talkative chap, at least not on email which unfortunately makes him seem a little dull. I'm hoping he's just one of those guys that has a morbid fear of emails/phones and turns into a monosyllabic teenager when pushed to talk about themselves. He might be fab in person and he does have the sexiest brown eyes. I think I'll pesevere for now and see where it goes. Nothing ventured etc etc.

Up All Night (and not in a good way)

Having felt burning shame over actually getting angry about the way another human being looks yesterday, I have been mentally self-flagelating with sticks overnight and decided the best thing to do was send an honest email to Ad Man explaining the situation without using the words 'milk-fed', 'someone's dad' or 'total let down'.
I think I achieved the seemingly impossible and kept the tone light, whilst maintaining it was entirely my fault for having a 'type' and not his that he didn't fit into it whilst hinting that I might be ever so slightly shallow anyway and he probably doesn't want to get involved with someone so high maintainance. See? I didn't even have to lie. Quite whether I'll be able to read his reply, should he send one, is another matter. I hate letting people down.

Guilt over Ad Man's imminent let down wasn't the only thing keeping me awake last night. At around 2am I was woken up by a group of men talking loudly outside my window. After a couple of minutes I looked outside only to discover three hooded 'yooves' kicking the crap out of a preppy-looking dude. They had him up against my neighbour's BMW 3 series and were uttering phrases like 'I'm going to cut your fucking balls off'. After a few more minutes of serious menacing, a pimped-up people carrier arrived and two of the hoodies bundled into it whilst the other gave preppy guy another punch in the stomach, just to make sure then hopped in and they sped off. Surprisingly preppy guy actually got up and staggered off.

I had my mobile phone in my hand, ready to call 999 but I didn't. The reason being that back in May I witnessed a kidnapping in progress outside my local pub. I reported it, and in September I ended up giving prosecution evidence at the Crown Court. It was without doubt the most terrifying thing I have ever done. I thought the phrase 'shaking with fear' was merely flowery prose designed to spice up a novel but I discovered its actually possible. Anyway, it was weeks of panicking about it, psyching myself up and not sleeping that culminated in my stint in court, then me breaking down into floods of tears all over my witness liaison officer the minute I got outside. It was just too much to bear and the thought of getting tangled up in all that again was just horrifying.

I finally drifted off at around 4am to be awoken by a crash from downstairs. In my sleep-addled state I managed to convince myself that the hoodies had seen me watching them and had come back to finish me off. I dozed fitfully with the light on until my alarm went off at six. When I got downstairs for a shower (weird house setup) I discovered one of the sucker-trays holding the shampoo had fallen off the wall.
Today I am sleep-deprived and jumpy. My line manager is down from the northern office and there's a good chance I'll have resigned by lunch time. I'm determined to do it as every day here is making me more and more miserable. I just hope I can do it without crying. Mind you the way I'm feeling now there's more chance of me nodding off.

Disappointment

Right, fine, I get it. The reason people generally post on dating websites is not because they are fit young stud-bucks that just have absolutely no spare time between the gym and city trading to find a girlfriend, so figure they'll save time and advertise their gorgeousness to the masses, oh no. The reason is because they look like milk-fed simpletons with receeding hair, incapable of approaching women in real life. Dammit, dammit, dammit! Why couldn't he have been at least moderately attractive?? And p.s. 'greying dark hair' means dark hair with a few flecks of grey. You have GREY HAIR, my friend and not much of it.

Oh, by the way, Ad Man sent me his pic...just in case you didn't get that.

So now I am in the oh-so-fun situation of having just received a photo and the ball being firmly in my court. If my responses become somewhat cold and tail off, it's the equivalent of sending him an email saying 'No thanks, you look like my friend's dad'. However, do I string along this (admittedly nice) guy giving him false hope and making him think I'm still interested having seen him? That's just cruel!

The nice part of me (I do have one, honestly) thinks maybe this could just be a new friend in the big bad city and does it honestly have to lead to 'romance'? Neither of us have ever said 'girl/boyfriend', only 'friend' so I could play dumb and imagine that's what we both believed from the start. So you know, where's the harm in one drink? After all, we do have similar tastes, specifically quite unusual taste in music.
Then the childish, shallow part of me wakes up and wails 'But I want him to be fiiiiiiit! Waaaaah!' Honestly, just to hell with it all. I've learnt my lesson (she says). Unless there is an accompanying photo that a) you find attractive and b) are convinced is actually the person you're emailing/was taken very recently then just don't bloody bother. In fact, it might be better not to bother at all and just try your luck with the drunken barflys. Sad though it seems at least you can SEE them.

On the job front my line-manager is coming down tomorrow so I'm planning on 'doing the deed' then. Enough with the scary situations, please!

All I can say is thank God I didn't tell anyone about the whole thing - at least I don't have to explain my sudden loss of interest in my new email buddy.

How many days til the Canadian gets back...?

Supplemental

He replied! Hurrah and phew. I really must stop getting so hung up on things involving boys that are barely anything at all. Plus I must remember that I have yet to see him! Please, please, please don't let him be a facially-challenged gimp, please let him be attractive (if I'm lucky, please make him look like Albert from Make Me A Supermodel). God forgive me for being as shallow as a murky puddle but I'm quite concerned about it now. He says he's sending me a pic either today or tomorrow so we shall see...

Boss is on his way in, apparently. I just don't know what to do. All morning I've been getting panicky whenever issues have cropped up and covertly checking out job listings (hey, they don't notice the blog). I must get this all sorted out asap but I'm worried my courage will fail me. I don't think it's possible to get drunk without anyone noticing so I'll just have to channel bravery from elsewhere instead. Maybe I'll Google 'famous quitters' and see what comes up...

Feeling the Fear

I'm thinking of resigning.

After all the Big Conversations on Friday, which involved phrases like 'When are you going to wake up and realise that it's all down to you?', 'The investors in America are watching you' and 'You're not even justifying your National Insurance cost here', I spent the entire weekend obsessing about how much longer I can continue to work for a company that uses idle threats to motivate it's staff. I long ago accepted that I'm not the right person for the job so how come I have yet to do anything about it? I guess just a general optimism that it might start getting better, and probably the desire to hang on the the best job title I've ever had, hands down. But it's not all about that, is it? I'm beginning to realise it's about trying to be happy, hopefully on a daily basis. That might mean earning slightly less than I do now and dreading people asking me what I do at parties but if I'm sleeping at night and not trying to hide behind my screens every day, praying no one asks me any questions then surely, that's got to be better?

Of course, I don't have another job to go to. I'm 'feeling the fear and doing it anyway'. Well, thinking of doing it anyway. So really I'm 'feeling the fear and having a think about doing it and writing about it in my blog in the hopes it will act as a cathartic exercise and give me some mental clarity.' A slightly less catchy soundbite I think you'll agree. Quitting now would give me a month to find something else. I suppose it's do-able and I could always temp (urgh) but there's rent/bills to pay, aspirational magazines to afford etc. Must make a decision soon though as I really don't want to come back here after Christmas. After the annus horribilis that has been 2006 I really would like to start 2007 on a positive note - albeit single and potentially homeless (melodramatic maybe, but that's my mood today).

On another note, I have received no reply from Ad Man after sending him my picture on Friday afternoon. Prior to me sending it, he did say he'd reply over the weekend. A less secure individual might question the correlation of these two events. I, on the other hand, have not even seen a photo of this person let alone met him so I'm determined not to allow my ailing self-confidence to get knocked by it.
I may need a Pret brownie fairly shortly though.

Eeek!

Sent my picture to Ad Man. I don't know why I'm scared, I walk around with this face all day and any number of people are free to look at it. On the other hand I don't go around asking everyone that looks at me what they think of my face so there are marked differences.

Awful, horrendous, cry-in-the-toilets day at work today. Horrible boss conversations about how I'm not handling the pressure of my job properly and should be working like a demon possessed as opposed to a girl on a modest salary who works for less-than-nice men. I'm basically scared of my own job because I don't truly believe I can do it. Apparently 'The Board' is scrutinizing me at the moment, and people's necks are on the line. Slightly misleading because if my area of responsibility goes tits up it'll be me out on my arse, not any of them. They'll all just get together at the local 'look how much money we can chuck about' eaterie (they go to places called 'eateries' - they're that sort of people) and discuss me in the past tense whilst inhaling wine and cigars.

On the other hand the real people here, the girls I work with, are fab. They make it bearable. We've just opened a bottle of Chianti and are about to down tools and have a Friday afternoon goss. Sadly that's not enough to keep me here - I really must look for something less scary so I can start sleeping again.

I don't know how much more change I can take. First The Ex, now potentially the job and next my house breaking up. But no time to write about that now. I think I might need to start keeping Chianti under my desk - things are looking rosier with every sip...

Sex and The Ex

Three weeks ago today, my boyfriend of two years, dumped me. The Ex, as he shall forever be known having wrested the dubious title from the unresisting hands of my last 'ex', decided that after two years and despite being late twenties, he just couldn't see himself settling down. He wanted to concentrate on his job/new house (eh?)/rugby/other women (the last one is imbellishment but he might as well have added it).

It wasn't completely out of the blue. I had felt for some time that things weren't right. We had started to do that thing where you hurl yourself full pelt into an argument without really caring what you're arguing about, and bait one another for the hell of it. Well, I had anyway. Also, the sex had lost its heat. I think this was mainly my fault though (fact: he took a cock ring on our recent holiday, I took a lot of novels and some pyjamas).
Still, it was sad. At one point I thought we were destined to go the distance, I really did. When things started to get weird I consulted my closest gf's and found that The Ex was in the Fuckwit Zone, a zone I actually had no experience of. It turns out that no less than three of the girls in my London circle had been with boys aged between 25 and 28 for years when suddenly, said boys had bolted citing fear of committment or 'just wanting to be single' as their reasons for stamping all over hearts and flinging them out of tenth floor windows. One after having lived with my gf for 7 years.

The Ex is 27.

I had become the victim of a stereotype. How boringly predictable. Still, I shouldn't have been surprised. Most of the girls I know here are single and in my life there are only two gf's who have made the committment thing work. D, who is happily married and pregnant with her second child and CM who is getting married next year, and for whom I am bridesmaid (the only bridesmaid but more on that another time).

The Ex thoughtfully dumped me on a Friday night so I had the whole of the weekend to indulge myself in heaving, pouring, unattractive sobbing (partly selfish, partly because I was genuinely going to miss him). By the Monday, I already felt a bit brighter, a bit more positive, a bit more 'hey at least I'm free to meet someone who actually wants me'.

On the Wednesday I snogged a Canadian. He was unexpectedly present when I met a gf for drinks and after she left, he and I stayed, got drunk together and discussed sexual tension quite a lot. I would have gone home with him that night but the tiny sober part of my brain was trying to sound an alarm through it's bath of red wine and I knew that would be the wrong thing to do. God that kiss was fantastic though. Urgent, highly sexual with just the right amount of soft lip-biting. Emails have been exchanged since but he's now in Thailand for a couple of weeks (no, really). I hope I hear from him but I'm not holding my breath. In my experience, snogging someone you don't know then leaving a gap of 2 weeks in which you don't communicate usually means both parties can't remember whether the other was as fit as they thought and decide it's best not to bother risking it. We shall see. I bet he'd be a fantastic lay, though. During a conversation about scars I got to see his stomach...brown, toned and smooth. God I could have snogged him right then. Plus his voice was incredible, sexy accent and very gravelly...horny enough during normal conversation but reduced to a hoarse whisper during sex... Jeez.

Anyway, the point is, afterwards I wasn't distraught. I kept waiting for the whole feeling of almost-cheating on my ex to wash over me, or at least the gut-wrenching sadness that he was no longer the last person I kissed to hit me...but it didn't. It made me think that maybe I was more prepared for this than I thought. Perhaps I'd almost gotten over him while we were still together. I certainly felt more like friends than lovers towards the end.

This last week or so I'd started to yearn. For attention, for flirting (I work in a virtually all-female, small office and live with girls whose friends are all girls) and quite frankly, for sex. Hence the email to Ad Man. Who, by the way, replied last night. Lovely, long, chatty email in which I learnt a lot of stuff I liked about him - probably enough to go on a date at least. The clincher is, I have yet to see a picture. I'm sorry, I know there's a certain superficial element at work here and I'm sure I'm at the age where I should be more interested in compatibility/personality/common interests/an ability to utter the word committment without having a panic attack but dammit I need the attraction! I've done the relationship with Mr Nice, the guy who (and I'm not kidding here) worshipped me. It was one long fantastic ego massage but I just didn't fancy him and no matter how well we got on, or how much I respected and admired him (I really did) he just didn't fry my onions and after a while I just felt cruel.
Anyway, I've offered to send him a pic of me (yuk - hate them all but needs must) in the hope that he'll act first. God I hope there's a mutual attraction, I really do. I just need to be wanted again. I don't want another relationship right now (unless it's with Mr Fantastic) I just want to be desired, touched, flattered etc etc. Yes, I am lacking in self-confidence and yes it's probably not the healthiest route to take but really, when have I ever chosen what was best for me?

The Shameful Admission

I have a Shameful Admission.

I can only make this S.A. because this is the equivalent of my diary and diaries do not judge or ridicule or reply. Plus no one knows who I am and there's probably no one reading this so it's safe.

Last night I texted a boy in response to his ad on a dating-type website.

Oh God it looks even worse written down. The thing is, in this sprawling metropolis I have realised that it's basically impossible to meet any nice/non-axe murdery men who might want to buy me red wine and kiss me next to a waiting taxi then send me naughty texts at bedtime. It's either a constant race-to-shag or something resembling the finals for the Ugly Freak Olympics (I know, I know - shallow bint).

I'm probably going to the wrong places but bars seem to be filled with desperate, drink-sodden piss artists hanging around in packs uttering such alluring chat up lines as 'If you leave now, who will I have sex with?' (this was said to me in Apt Bar in the City last week with no provocation whatsoever - total dive, don't bother). Another sparkling opening gambit recently was 'What's the difference between a bespoke suit and off the peg?' Firstly, what?? Secondly, props for originality but please, please fuck off really quickly. It's hopeless.

My justification for my actions was that I have given my phone number out countless times in bars with varying degrees of success and gone home with a few and any one of them could have been a Dangerous Type couldn't they? So why do we assume people that post on websites for a date are loonies/sad cases? Maybe they've seen the light... OK so I'm trying hard to justify the S.A. but still.
Anyway, we shall call him Ad Man and his post sounded lovely. Normal, down to earth and friendly and he could spell! I know that may not sound like the most important criteria but believe me, it matters. A man could be the sexiest, most well paid cock-model who also does work for charity but if he can't spell, he comes off sounding like a drooling moron. There was no option to reply by email to Ad Man, so I texted him (cue profuse sweating and the panicky flinging of my phone onto my bed as it sent).

This morning I got a text back. Initial high followed by wave of sicky-fear about what I'd entered into but fortunately his text was as normal as his post - even lamenting the number of nutters who had responded, whilst taking care to point out I wasn't one of them. Already I'm at the top of the pack by virtue of not being a nutter! He gave me his email address so I waited a non-desperate looking amount of time (an hour and a half) and emailed him. No response yet but he probably likes his job and is actually working or something.

Unfortunately there is one very good reason why I should not have done this. I should not have even been surfing this sort of website and I definitely should not have fired off a deliberately casual email this morning. It's the reason I'm wondering exactly what I'm hoping for. Hmmmm.

The Rise and Fall of Minty

August.

We have a rat.

Two previous sightings in the kitchen (both by me) have led to poison (rodent pic 'n' mix more like) being put down. In an effort to humanize the creature I name it Minty.

One Saturday morning whilst home visiting the parents I get a text from my housemate K to say that after stumbling home drunk, she'd been woken up at 5am by a 'small thud' only to find Minty the rat (snaggle-toothed denizen of the gutters) on the pillow next to her. Did you know rats can climb brick walls? Neither did we. It had scaled the outside of the house and climbed through her window. K did what any sensible, professional grown up would do. She shrieked, leapt out of bed (still pissed) and spent a good ten minutes crouched, gibbering on a chair outside her room, eventually deciding to wake up A and cower in her room for the remainder of the night. Much later that morning, with the comforting light of day upon them, they ventured back to K's room to verify the presence (or lack thereof) of Minty. As they were shaking out the covers and laughing about the whole thing as only the mildly hysteric can, Minty shot out from the bed where he had evidently spent the night, scaring the bejesus out of A and K and A's stepsister who was visiting for the first time (welcome to London).

Our landlady and the pest people were summoned and Tone The Rat Guy arrived in a van discreetly marked 'Bird Control'. Tone, full sized air rifle casually propped on his hip, asked for a bin bag to clear up the utterly ineffectual old poison we'd had down so K opened the bin bag drawer and guess who was skulking inside? Yep - you have to hand it to Minty, he really has...sorry, had a sense of humour. Well K lost it at this point and spent the rest of the time shaking outside in my landlady's Volvo. Tone couldn't get to Minty because he had taken refuge behind our sink which is apparently where he had been living (shudder). So the only option was to leave the area surrounded with a veritable battalion of traps - electronic, snapper, glue, plus proper, 'can't buy it in the shops' poison which Tone referred to as 'the kill-a-dog stuff' (luckily we don't have a dog).
They shut the kitchen door at 12pm that Saturday and we didn't venture back in until 9 the following morning by which time I had bravely returned home. K, A and the stepsister helpfully stood guard near the front door at the other end of the hallway while I (how did that happen?) gingerly opened the kitchen door. There was Minty. Stuck to a glue trap; alive and very, very angry. It was like watching some sort of ratty epileptic fit as he hurled himself around the kitchen floor in a vain attempt to break free. Tone The Rat Guy was there within half an hour. He unsheathed his massive weapon in our hallway (snigger) and shot the poor blighter twice. We all felt the 'One for luck!' comment, made whilst he reloaded with all the zeal of Dirty Harry about to bust a drugs ring was somewhat unnecessary but then he looked like a man who got his pleasure wherever he could.

So Minty is no more. Our kitchen was bleached beyond the reach of any germ on earth and the holes have since been blocked up. K is twitching constantly, refusing to cook in the kitchen and can't sleep without self-medicating so we're keeping her away from sugar and forks. A found droppings behind a cupboard in her room a couple of nights later. We're keeping our fingers crossed and our mouths shut.

Testing...1,2,3

I have been inspired. I've skulked in the shadows for far too long, it's time to step into the light, raise my virtual face to the virtual sun and pour my Important Thoughts into the virtual universe.

The only slight issue, tiny really, is that I'm not currently having any. Important Thoughts, I mean. It was a different story at 1am as I lay awake listening to Party House having another unfeasibly large gathering on our street, killing time by composing 'hilarious' posts in my head. I awoke convinced I was going to start my own blog and unleash my consciousness into the world, enrapturing thousands with my insightful missives. Even on the tube this morning I remained inspired despite the attempts of the man next to me to asphyxiate the entire carriage with Lynx deodorant. I'm not sure which flavour he'd selected as they largely smell the same to me but I would imagine it's called something like 'Thrust' or 'Stud' or 'Delusional.' I was able to block him out in the nasal sense and chuckle quietly to myself with glee (whilst maintaining the Double Hard Bastard/Don't Fuck With Me stare, natch) at the thought of all the lovely, juicy bits of consciousness that would keep me blogging away for weeks.

Yet here I am. Blog created, stack of work firmly ignored, tea brewed and...nothing. Not a squeak, not a drop, not a sprinkle of inspiration.
Perhaps the key is stealth. If I approach the blog determined to write something I would want to read if I wasn't me and suddenly found me, then the internal pressure will just overwhelm me. Countless failures of the past will loom like sinewy demons into my peripheral vision, taunting me with the laughter of the schoolyard like that time I fell over whilst playing kiss chase and ended up with fish lips for a week when I was seven, and I'll have to have a cup of tea and a bit of a sit down.
On the other hand, if I just keep it open on the desktop, quietly doing whatever open applications quietly do, I can surprise my thought processes into action by just clicking and typing randomly.

Actually there has been quite a lot of action this year - a lot of events that have made me think 'If only I had a blog, this would make a great post.' I may begin all this properly with a retrospective of 2006 because it really has been a doozy (whatever that is). I guess bringing it all up to date would make sense, I'll just have to decide where to start. Minty the Rat, Kidnappings, Break Ups... so much joy to choose from.

I'll have a think.