Fresh Start

I'm back on the dating website. I spent all of two days mourning the premature death of my fledgling relationship with S then on the third melancholic day I suddenly realised that he had gone from 'can't wait to see you' to 'and you are...?' in the space of 72 hours so why the hell should I dedicate any longer to feeling sad/abandoned? Sitting about being miserable is a total waste of time, whereas messaging and dating cute men, is not. Of course I'm feeling extra cautious, contrary to historic fact I don't actually enjoy getting clobbered by blokes so I'm not expecting to meet Mr Right, just some nice guys to have fun with. OK if I'm honest there's an ego-massage element to it too. I don't cope well with rejection so a small amount of validation that I'm not a complete waste of skin is just a bonus.

I changed my photos and updated my profile and have been happily inundated with messages. Of course around 98% are from the usual crop of weirdos/old guys/uggo's but some have been lovely. I have a date pencilled in for this Thursday with O, a guy my age who's a teacher (sexy profession). I'm also messaging about six other guys at the moment. I've decided to cast the net wider this time.

I met up with Roobs, Oz Girl and B yesterday for a terrifically girly afternoon involving a pub lunch and a full on assault of Oxford Street. We massacred H&M, Topshop and Beyond Retro with almost military precision. It's the kind of afternoon men will never understand - it is utterly the preserve of girls and their friends. It actually astonishes me how the four of us managed to hold a cogent conversation whilst at opposite ends of the shop and still ask each other's opinion on whatever we happened to be holding up for inspection. I haven't shopped en masse like that since I was about fourteen when it was mainly about spotting boys and deciding which top to spend your pocket money on in Miss Selfridge. Not much change there then.

As Roobs and I were coming out of Topshop, I was approached by a glamourous fifty-something woman in a fur-collared coat, who asked me if I'd ever considered modelling or TV work before. My bullshit radar immediately kicked in and I narrowed my eyes and asked why. It turns out she was scouting for a casting agency who look for people for music videos, TV commercials and modelling (don't make me laugh...or cry) and she thought I 'looked the part'. She didn't specify which 'part' that might be so I didn't immediately discount the possibility that she was thinking of the before shot in an obesity/acne/dangers of smoking campaign (I told you rejection messes me up). I said all that to Roobs afterwards and she punched me quite hard in the arm. Anyway, fur-collar took my photograph and phone number (work line of course) and said someone would call me during the week to 'discuss the opportunities'. I've got the card and will have a quick look at the website. I hardly think it will come to anything given the number of nubile young waifs she must have accosted around Topshop that afternoon, so I won't be preparing for my close up just yet.

Women's Intuition

Women's intuition is an interesting thing. Somehow we know when a friend is down or when our boss is using clever words to disguise a worrying subtext or when our mother says she doesn't want anything for her birthday you'd better bloody buy her something good. It is also very efficient at picking up on the fact that someone, to put it bluntly, has gone off you.

I hate women's intuition.

On Friday night I met S for dinner and a movie. The aforementioned strange atmosphere of Valentine's night continued and I did begin to wonder whether the awkwardness really was all in my head. I tried so hard to be sparkly and funny despite my brain feeling mummified after an astonishingly stressful day in the office. We sat through the two hour film without a single touch being exchanged between us. Afterwards outside, he suddenly announced he had a headache and thought he should probably go home. I'm sorry but a pack of rabid dogs couldn't stop a man from going home with a woman he wants to have sex with let alone a 'headache'. "I'll talk to you soon," he said and kissed me on the cheek. Honestly, he may as well have hired a plane to sky write 'You're not the one' - it would have been much more subtle.

Although at this point I didn't know for sure of course. CM arrived on Saturday morning and thank God she did. Our bridesmaid dress shopping was peppered with my obsessing about S and what it could all mean. Bless her heart, she didn't sugar-coat it which is what I needed. Had she tried to do the faithful friend thing and given me false hope I may have let myself believe her but she absolutely agreed it wasn't looking good. Incidentally, we did find a dress which I love and as CM noticed, it's exactly the same blue as my eyes.

She left me on Sunday lunchtime and I busied myself with chores until my phone rang at 5pm. It was S and, of course, he finished with me. I didn't give anything away and I was very Zen about it. After all, what's the point of behaving like a harpy or screaming like a fishwife? If someone's made up their mind to dump you, all you're going to do is confirm their decision and leave them feeling justified. The trick is to remain calm, and be civil, which I was. That is until that call ended and I immediately rang CM and burst into tears. We only dated for a couple of months but I was really falling for him and he seemed so into me. Frankly I think it has a lot to do with him turning 30 this weekend. He's looked at his life, evaluated 'us' and asked himself whether he's with the person he wants to be with for the rest of his life, to which the answer was clearly 'no chance.' Well that's fair enough and I'm glad he did it now than when I'd really been hit hard. I'll miss talking to him and sharing the in jokes we had and I know I'll get over it in time but it doesn't stop it hurting now.

However, I'm looking forward to next weekend. I was supposed to be meeting S's friends at his 30th birthday dinner but now that's off I have a free Saturday night. I need to find someone that would be willing to accompany me to some dark bars for strong cocktails. On Sunday I'm meeting up with Roobs, Oz Girl and B from my last company for a lovely long lunch. I haven't seen them since I left that job so I'm very excited. It's all about being a single girl again and filling my time accordingly. Luckily I'm a veteran...

Every Girl's An Island

I don't know what it is about me that craves solitude from time to time. I consider myself to be very sociable and gregarious but I am also completely happy with my own company. Lately I don't feel as though I've had any time to myself. What with the new job, the hectic flat move, getting involved with S and desperately trying to find time to see all the important people in my life I feel as though my time has belonged to everyone but me.

I had hoped that with A away until next Tuesday, I would be able to set aside some time this weekend to be alone and just potter but it seems I am required for bridesmaid dress shopping. That's the thing about agreeing to be someone's bridesmaid. You don't just commit to the day, you commit to a year or more of wedding dress shopping, veil shopping, endless conversations about the big day from what colour the ushers should wear to what they should serve as a starter, numerous discussions about dress length for the bridesmaids and then trips to go and try things on. It's an absolute honour to be asked but I'm the only one for this wedding so it's all on me. It just means that where I thought I'd spend tomorrow night with S then have a couple of days of blissful solitude, I will now be getting up early on Saturday to go shopping then entertaining CM for the evening. After that got booked I just thought to hell with it and booked something in for Sunday too although it's one of those flaky commitments that may not happen. I spotted that the Curzon cinema in Mayfair is showing Casablanca which (don't judge me) I've never seen. How absolutely perfect though because the first time I ever see it will be on the big screen! S is apparently coming with me although I worry that Weds, Fri and Sun is a bit much. I don't want to overdo it after all so we'll see if that actually happens.

Tomorrow night we're going to see Hot Fuzz which I am so, so excited about. I am a complete Simon Pegg fanatic and know Spaced practically verbatim. This is supposed to be even better than Shaun of the Dead so I have high hopes!

Last night we completely failed to go for dinner. We met in a bar off Piccadilly Circus and after a bottle of wine decided we couldn't be bothered to move so we basically just stayed and got leathered pausing only to consume heavily-breaded hot bar snacks. Nutritionally useless but delicious nonetheless.

It was a slightly strange atmosphere but sometimes I wonder if that's just in my head. I was really tired so I wasn't very sparkly but he didn't seem to notice. He came home with me and we had a very drunken but very hot session before going to sleep/passing out. I have realised that he seems rubbish at initiating physical contact. It's nearly always me that reaches out a hand to him or gives him a kiss and that's not too often because I don't like PDA's at all. It just means that we spend a large amount of time like awkward acquaintances who aren't sure how to behave around one another. I guess it'll be up to me to be a bit more assertive and not just assume he's not touching me because he doesn't want to. After all, he always reciprocates. Honestly though, why is it all about the fucking head games? Why can't men and women just be honest with each other? Seriously, I'm getting to damn old for this.

Happy VD

www.meish.org/vd/

Hearts, Flowers & Cynicism

I wasn't going to be the one to mention it. We both knew it was fast approaching, casting a shadow of obligation and inevitable awkwardness over the coming week. I dread this day the way I dread dentist appointments or having to see those friends who are inexplicably in your life despite neither party liking each other or having anything of interest to say.

Valentine's Day.

It's not that I don't like romance, it just makes me astonishingly uncomfortable. Mind you, so does people invading my personal space, anyone doing nice things for me ever, anyone buying me presents when its not my birthday/Christmas and men crying. However, romance is the subject at hand. I'm not referring to garage forecourt sentimentality either; carnations in yellow paper and pink teddy bears holding overstuffed hearts bearing sickening legends such as 'I wuv you'. Oh and not forgetting (shudder) 'Love Cheques', an idea so out of touch with modern relationships that any normal person would immediately dump the individual who dared present them with what is essentially a gift that says 'You don't fuck me imaginatively enough so here are some instructions and a schedule.' If you like any of that you're probably called Kylie and dot your 'I's with hearts. If so, stop reading now - you're banned.

See? See how antsy this whole thing makes me? I'm not against a dab of romance here and there providing it's done with style. I love being taken out to expensive restaurants, being sent flowers spontaneously or having a quicky when you're supposed to be on your way out the door (OK that last one's more blind lust than romance but I still love it). I know it's an old complaint but I just can't get on board with this 'Ready, Steady, Go!' idea of a day devoted to romance. Yes, it's probably worse if you're single but at least you can keep your head down and ignore the entire 24 hours.
However in my typically contrary fashion I would also feel slightly let down if I was seeing someone and they didn't mention the day or suggest doing anything for it, much in the same way you don't actually want to be wolf-whistled at by builders when you walk past the site but if they don't, a small part of you wonders why. Curse my high-maintenance.

S asked me to spend tomorrow evening with him. I decided not to mention V Day because it can be kryptonite to some blokes and we've only been seeing each other for a few weeks. However he's independently booked a nice restaurant and will then be staying at mine. I'm not entirely sure I know the rules of the night though. For example, he was at my flat last week when I was opening my post which contained a big stack of housewarming cards. He watched me opening them delightedly for a few moments, then said 'I hate cards.' That was it, offhand statement of fact for me to do with what I please. Unfortunately I adore giving cards and get really excited when I find one I think a specific person will like. Does this mean I can never give him a card? What about the immediate future? Is he more anti-Valentines than me and decided to make a pre-emptive strike against a possible whim whereby I present him with a 5 x 2ft padded card featuring pigs kissing?? I've decided to be sly about it and have bought a very nonchalant card with a clever quote on the front of it and nothing inside and the 'L' word is nowhere to be seen. If he presents me with one, he's getting the stealth-card from me but if not, it's staying in my bag. It's really all about the powerbase.

Having said all that, I am keen to find out where this is going. Coupledom or 'that girl I used to date'? I still have no real idea where we are. We are gradually starting to see more of each other and I feel a little more comfortable emailing him occasionally but any firm developments are as yet unspoken. I won't ask on Valentine's Day, there couldn't be a worse time; I'd be better off asking in the queue at Waitrose. Plus, I haven't actually said the words 'Are you my boyfriend?' since primary school. I'll just have to bide my time and obey the rules of engagement. Ooops...there's a word I'd better not say tomorrow night.

Funky Cold...what?

Ordinarily waiting on hold for anyone is a frustrating and ultimately mood-dampening experience. Today however, as my travel agent fiddled away unseen with the BA master computer, feeding its hamsters/oiling its cogs/promising her first born to wangle yet another late notice travel request on my behalf she placed me on hold and I came ear to voice with the erstwhile gravel-voiced rap 'sensation' Tone Loc harping on about his Funky Cold Medina (y'all).

I was instantly transported...away from my desk, out of this office and back in time to myself aged 11. It was Summer and my birthday and I'd just received a compilation on double cassette (probably Now 8 or similar) along with a shiny new Sony Walkman. It was of course, the standard design with the interesting feature of not actually being able to rewind the tape, rather you were forced to eject it (with the bone-shaking catapult mechanism), re-insert it, fast forward to a guesstimated point of origin, eject again, re-insert, press play and repeat the entire process if it wasn't exactly where you wanted it. God I thought it was flash. I remember driving in the car to the Peacock Farm for a picnic listening to my new acquisition on my new acquisition (it wasn't called the Peacock Farm by the way - it has a proper name but its main feature was that it had peacocks wandering unworriedly through groups of playing children and emerging suddenly from the orifices of the wooden adventure playground structures...but I digress). Now 8 was an interesting choice for a burgeoning 11 year old be-braced girl who had just started noticing boys for reasons other than that one had just pulled her hair or they had a strange smell and was starting to realise that the approaching teenage years held great potential for sulking, mood swings and obsessional behaviour. The songs seemed hand-picked to coincide with my coming of age. For example, 'Boys' by Sabrina (remember the video? Oh yes you do), 'Can I Play With Madness' by Iron Maiden and the pinacle, the jewel in the crown of this pop-drenched inappropriate cheese fest; the one and only Tone Loc.

I hadn't really listened to the lyrics of Funky Cold Medina before, not properly, but today I paid attention and it hit me. What we have here, is a rap record advocating early use of Rohypnol in the pursuit of getting laid. He buys some random shit from a dude draped in glassy-eyed 'hos in a bar one night and proceeds to pepper every woman he meets with this potentially fatal narcotic. He goes on the American equivalent of Blind Date and drugs the girl who picks him which quite frankly I could see her mentioning when they popped back the following week to discuss the date with whatever perma-tanned host the Love Connection has. As if that weren't bad enough, he drugs his own dog causing it to be gang-raped by the local hounds in a Medina-induced frenzy. The only highlight of the song is that in the manner of Crocodile Dundee, he encounters a transvestite (Sheena - a dead giveaway for anyone but the sex-blind Loc) and fails to realise it's a man. Only when the old boy comes out does he realise the potential horror of dosing all and sundry with the monstrous Medina. Plus we never find out why it has to be cold. He may have meant it as a cautionary tale to all about the dangers of drugging helpless women in bars so that they're 'good to go' but given the current rampant abuse of the drug, I would say he failed. I have a suspicion his dubious turn in Ace Ventura Pet Detective was merely the result of a community service order on the way to well-deserved obscurity. Tone Loc, where are you now eh?

Random 80's rap observations aside, life seems to be going well at the moment. A and I moved into our new pad at the weekend which was stressy enough without a 25 stone stinking Russian bloke making it worse. Honestly, the van hire place promised us faithfully that the driver would be helpful and we were hoping for some cheeky cockney gent with forearms like hams to call us 'little ladies' and not let us lift anything heavier than a bag of pillows. What we got was a guy with a spike through his ear, no grasp of the English language, a complete disinterest in assisting with anything and body odour that could slay an elephant at 50 yards. He actually managed to make the air OUTSIDE our house smell. A and I scuttled back and forth from the house while he waited in the van, then he waited in the van at the other end while we scuttled up and down stairs at the new flat. We cursed under our breath and breathed through our mouths the entire time.
Still, it's nice to have a new home even one with a perpetually luke-warm shower (must phone the landlord) and an unfathomable cooker (ditto).

I've been roped into hosting a table at an industry 'bash' tomorrow night in Battersea. The theme is Burlesque (Oooh look, there's a band wagon! Quick, jump on it!) so I had to dash out last night and buy fishnets and red lipstick. It's essentially black tie with a twist. Actually it should be fun - there will be free champagne and wine and a meal plus burlesque bingo (the mind boggles) and other rampant entertainment. I'm a pretty open-minded kind of girl but the minute anyone gets a snake out I'm leaving.