This week I am mostly on holiday. Which is dandy and jolly for the most part. I am free to rise when I wish, boil an egg in a languid fashion at ten in the morning or paint my toenails then immediately remove all the polish, cackling to myself while watching Richard & Judy Mark 2. Oh yes, I know how to live.
However, this week does involve me spending time with Functioning Adults. For those of you that don't know, Functioning Adults (FAs) are those of your peers that have somehow managed to wade through the general low-level neurosis, negative peer pressure, lucid nightmares in which your mother catches you having sex/taking drugs/molesting ferrets/dropping babies on their heads and all-encompassing self-doubt to emerge victorious at the end of a church aisle swathed in a white dress or morning suit depending on gender of aforementioned FA. It's kind of like 'It's a Knockout' only with shorter arms.
FA's are present in all our lives and, short of deleting them from your BT Friends and Family package, there's not much you can do to avoid them. Admittedly, women feel the shadowy presence of their FA's more keenly than men. This is because we have ovaries.
FA's are distinguishable by certain characteristics and there are many circumstances to which you must adapt. Here is a selection of what I just said then:
1. FA's are never single
2. They are not just co-habiting* but are either engaged or married
3. If they are engaged, they will have a constant ream of bridal magazines stashed about their person and fabric samples hanging from their bag at all times
4. If you are lucky enough to be their bridesmaid they will monitor your calorie consumption for a year and a half and make you go to Colour Me Beautiful (then cry for a week if you're not a Summer and make you dye your hair)
5. You must like the fiancé/husband without question and value his opinion on all matters
6. The fiancé/husband has the right to stare at your tits whenever he so wishes, occasionally choosing to enthusiastically vocalise the action with the phrase 'I would'
7. If your FA owns a house and decides to replace all the wooden doorknobs with glass ones, not only must you notice, you must also ask the place of purchase, price of knobs and entire thought process leading up to this crucial decision
8. If your FA's have a child and/or children you must be ridiculously excited to see/hear about/talk on the phone to them at all times. Especially at 6am on a Saturday when your FA is calling you for a quick chat because they've been up for three hours feeding, changing and watching 'Nibbly Pig Disbands the Third Reich' and she naturally assumes it's around lunchtime but can't check because all the clocks in their house are covered in baby sick
9. When you go for dinner with the FA's, especially those with children, you must remember that they are probably no longer having sex. To this end, and to get the best portion of tiramisu, you must regale them with glamorous and risqué stories of your urban single life. This is doubly important if you live in a city and they live in the 'burbs. Pepper your stories with throaty laughs, hair-tossing and knowing winks to the husband. Discreetly avert your gaze when he stands up with a stiffy
10. Never attempt to have a conversation with your FA if their child is anywhere in the room. Conversations attempted with FA's in the presence of their offspring generally follow this pattern:
FA (three hours after you arrive): So anyway, enough about us. How are YOU?
You: Not too bad. Oh, funny thing happened actually, you know that bloke I mentioned? The one who took me to that Greek restaurant?
FA: Stop that darling, please. Because you'll get stuck, that's why. Come and read dinosaur book, you like dinosaur book. Dinosaur! Dinosaur! Sorry, you were saying?
You: Er...right well anyway, after the disaster of the Greek place I didn't think he'd ring again but low and behold he did. Anyway, I decided...
FA: Jocasta! Jocasta! Don't stick your Lego there, its disgusting! Because I said so. I'm not joking, I know it's fun now darling but it won't be so much fun when mummy has to take you to Casualty again, will it? Remember Casualty? Yes you do, the nasty nurse had to put the cream in your special place, didn't she? And it hurt, didn't it? Right, so put the Lego down and come here. Barbie! Look darling! Barbie! Sorry, so you're at a Greek restaurant...
Personally I'm happy being a DA (Dysfunctional Adult). In the city DA's travel in packs, selfishly filling our days with shoe shopping, bed hopping and cocktail consumption. We gleefully kill off clutches of eggs with extra-strong Mojitos and pulverise brain cells with Merlot.
Unfortunately, the chances are there will come a point when your FA's become a positive influence. It is inevitable that, unless you are cursed with the same levels of deluded self-confidence and playboy joie de vivre as Peter Stringfellow, you'll eventually want to hitch your wagon to someone of the opposite gender, financially cripple yourself by purchasing a shoebox with windows and find yourself taking folic acid whilst flexing your pelvic floor in the queue at Waitrose. At this point you will probably start to appreciate the eternal struggle of unfounded optimism that is the life of an FA. You will go to them for advice and integrate yourself into their routines until one evening you find yourself serving tiramisu to a DA across your limed oak dining table, listening jealously to her tales of urban debauchery while your husband shuffles across the kitchen with a gingham chair cushion clutched to his crotch. Something to look forward to, then.
*It's never final until a ring is purchased - mortgage schmortgage
Friday, November 16, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
De ja vu
I don't know what's going on in my head these days, I really don't. After a year of more casual sex and dating than the rest of my life all together, I am still no closer to a) understanding men or b) understanding myself.
Communication between Red and I continues, however I can feel myself retreating. I've been on holiday this week, travelling round visiting friends and family in the home counties and as a consequence have been away from email anyway, but even my texts have been drying up. I think I knew all along that physically I just couldn't fancy Red which is really, really sad. So much about him appealed to me; his mind, his sense of humour, his interests, his compassion, however the physical thing - no matter how much I tell myself otherwise - is important. The memory of Red kneeling over me, and showing me his cock but first having to move his stomach out of the way is resounding more loudly in my mind than anything else. I loathe my utter superficiality but I am what I am. I don't expect people to be perfect, there just has to be an attraction. I would like to keep him as a friend but I worry we've gone too far for that. He had a problem that cropped up earlier today and his first thought was to text me for sympathy and help. I feel we've crossed a line.
I have somehow agreed to go out with L tomorrow night. It will be the first time I'll have seen him since our disastrous third date back in May. He's invited me to a comedy night, which is just my kind of thing. The problem is, I don't know if he's inviting me as a friend or as a date. He could feasibly think that enough time has passed now for the dust to have settled on our brief period of dating so that friendship is possible, or he might genuinely like me again and want to date me. I have no way of telling so my only option is to go, look fab and not make a single date-like move. I will assume it's a friend thing, then if he happens to try and kiss me or touch me in any way (other than a platonic one) I'll know the score. Trouble is, if he doesn't try it on I think I'll be quite disappointed. The man may have been a headwreck in the past but my God he's damn cute.
Communication between Red and I continues, however I can feel myself retreating. I've been on holiday this week, travelling round visiting friends and family in the home counties and as a consequence have been away from email anyway, but even my texts have been drying up. I think I knew all along that physically I just couldn't fancy Red which is really, really sad. So much about him appealed to me; his mind, his sense of humour, his interests, his compassion, however the physical thing - no matter how much I tell myself otherwise - is important. The memory of Red kneeling over me, and showing me his cock but first having to move his stomach out of the way is resounding more loudly in my mind than anything else. I loathe my utter superficiality but I am what I am. I don't expect people to be perfect, there just has to be an attraction. I would like to keep him as a friend but I worry we've gone too far for that. He had a problem that cropped up earlier today and his first thought was to text me for sympathy and help. I feel we've crossed a line.
I have somehow agreed to go out with L tomorrow night. It will be the first time I'll have seen him since our disastrous third date back in May. He's invited me to a comedy night, which is just my kind of thing. The problem is, I don't know if he's inviting me as a friend or as a date. He could feasibly think that enough time has passed now for the dust to have settled on our brief period of dating so that friendship is possible, or he might genuinely like me again and want to date me. I have no way of telling so my only option is to go, look fab and not make a single date-like move. I will assume it's a friend thing, then if he happens to try and kiss me or touch me in any way (other than a platonic one) I'll know the score. Trouble is, if he doesn't try it on I think I'll be quite disappointed. The man may have been a headwreck in the past but my God he's damn cute.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Can't see the wood for the sleaze
This post was going to be different. I was going to write about how I ended up meeting and sleeping with my latest Myspace admirer (I'll call him Red). How he text me that day telling me he'd cut his lip shaving and I was worried it would make him even less attractive to me than I already thought. How I travelled all the way to see him still not quite knowing why, and the second he met me at the station I knew I didn't fancy him. How I realised I was so far from home the only thing I could do was persevere and try to get to know him. How we ended up in his tiny loft room in a shared house with dingy carpet and how the only things we had to eat were crisps and grapes. How physically, he was just not attractive to me. His pictures were clearly old as he had gained a lot of weight since then and had neglected to buy new clothes because his shirt was stretched taught across his body, the buttons gaping. How I managed to get pretty drunk and when he finally did make a move to kiss me it was clumsy and unpractised. How when it came to sex he seemed awkward and unsure and when I gave myself an orgasm as he watched, he commented afterwards how he was glad he made me come. I was going to write how, the following morning I was embarrassed when he played me some songs (he's a comedy musician) and just wanted to get back to London.
But in the last few days, my perception of my time with him has changed. The flipside has shone through like pin pricks of sunlight through a straw hat.
When I was on the train on the way down, he sent me an excited text telling me to enjoy the sunbathed fields and watch out for the white horse on the hillside in Wiltshire. When he met me at the station, Red was clutching a small, tissue-paper wrapped bunch of purple iris's which he shyly gave me as he told me I looked spectacular.
As we walked up the hill from the station, he pointed out buildings of interest and told me which artists had lived in which houses and which writers had drunk in which pubs. He bought me real ale and told me all about a children's book he's writing, encouraging an engaging debate on religion and atheism.
Before we went into his house, he stopped to apologise for the state of it, imploring me not to pay attention to the threadbare carpets and lazy student decor, explaining it was his only choice as a struggling writer and poorly-paid journalist.
When Red opened the door to his tiny loft room, it immediately felt like an artist's garret and he beckoned me to the window to show me the view high above the rooftops and out across the fields beyond in the dwindling autumn dusk. When I leaned over the desk to peer out the window, he rested his hand lightly on the small of my back and a gesture that would have felt sleazy and presumptious coming from another man, felt warm and affectionate. The only reason there were just crisps and grapes to eat was because when he asked if he should book us a table for dinner, I stupidly said no and that just snacks would do. When we were settled, he played me episodes of my favourite radio show about which he's writing a book and told me stories about the participants which no one without full cast access would know. He made me laugh. He produced joint after joint and we got stoned together, sitting cross-legged on his bed listening to comedy. When he leaned in to kiss me, it was my fault it was clumsy as I was most of the way through a bottle of red only I had been drinking and I blundered into his approach. He tenderly kissed my skin and seemed to marvel at my body, he gazed at me and stroked my face, smiling as though we were sharing a huge secret. When it was over and we needed to sleep, he fetched me water and tucked the covers around me, spooning me tightly and kissing my neck. I was surprised at how, although physically I didn't fancy him, something must have clicked because every time he kissed my neck or stroked my back, I was instantly wet. I could see he was frustrated at the clumsiness of our liaison and I recognised shyness in his eyes.
Since I've been home we've texted or emailed constantly. He's been so kind about me being ill the last couple of days. He properly thinks about things I tell him and gives me thoughtful, kind responses. He seems to adore me and intellectually and emotionally, I adore him too. Red is like me in so many ways and so unlike the parade of sleaze I've been subjected to this year.
However, my mind is in turmoil. I keep imagining what it would be like to be with him, forgetting for a moment the distance issue. Could I overcome the physical thing? I've been in that situation before and just couldn't and I think this might be marginally worse (back then I used to cry after sex but stayed because I loved who he was). He keeps saying he wants to lose weight so if he did, would it make a difference? I think it would, judging by the cuteness of his Myspace pictures. Plus, how often do we slate men who don't fancy women because they're overweight - am I really that shallow? Am I just idealising this man because he idealises me and basically I just want to be loved, regardless of how pathetic that is? Am I hankering after his meagre lifestyle in his lofty garret because I suddenly feel so vulnerable and lost living in a rough part of South London as opposed to the safe, sloany West (last night I watched out of my bedroom window as, under it, a troop of police searched and questioned a group of teens for drugs and weapons, eventually cuffing and arresting all of them for having PCP and weed - all I could think about was the safety and peace of Red's little hideyhole)?
I don't know how I feel but I know that I wait for his text messages and I crave his emails and if I haven't heard from him for a couple of hours I get twitchy. I can feel myself getting dependent on his presence in my life but is that just because I haven't met anyone else?
L, a guy I went on three dates with back in May and who basically went AWOL after the third, has been back in contact and asked me out again. Is this it? Am I doomed to fall prey to fuckwit guys who pick me up and drop me and treat me like crap, purely because I'm physically attracted to them? Is it time to start looking beyond that and fall in love with what's beneath? Or is that just a load of almost-thirty, Disney-crap desperation nonsense and if so, then where the fuck is the right one? All I know is, it's been a long time since a man's mind really caught my attention without the body to back it up. Rightly or wrongly, this guy is different and I just can't get my head straight. Sometimes I wonder what I'm waiting for.
But in the last few days, my perception of my time with him has changed. The flipside has shone through like pin pricks of sunlight through a straw hat.
When I was on the train on the way down, he sent me an excited text telling me to enjoy the sunbathed fields and watch out for the white horse on the hillside in Wiltshire. When he met me at the station, Red was clutching a small, tissue-paper wrapped bunch of purple iris's which he shyly gave me as he told me I looked spectacular.
As we walked up the hill from the station, he pointed out buildings of interest and told me which artists had lived in which houses and which writers had drunk in which pubs. He bought me real ale and told me all about a children's book he's writing, encouraging an engaging debate on religion and atheism.
Before we went into his house, he stopped to apologise for the state of it, imploring me not to pay attention to the threadbare carpets and lazy student decor, explaining it was his only choice as a struggling writer and poorly-paid journalist.
When Red opened the door to his tiny loft room, it immediately felt like an artist's garret and he beckoned me to the window to show me the view high above the rooftops and out across the fields beyond in the dwindling autumn dusk. When I leaned over the desk to peer out the window, he rested his hand lightly on the small of my back and a gesture that would have felt sleazy and presumptious coming from another man, felt warm and affectionate. The only reason there were just crisps and grapes to eat was because when he asked if he should book us a table for dinner, I stupidly said no and that just snacks would do. When we were settled, he played me episodes of my favourite radio show about which he's writing a book and told me stories about the participants which no one without full cast access would know. He made me laugh. He produced joint after joint and we got stoned together, sitting cross-legged on his bed listening to comedy. When he leaned in to kiss me, it was my fault it was clumsy as I was most of the way through a bottle of red only I had been drinking and I blundered into his approach. He tenderly kissed my skin and seemed to marvel at my body, he gazed at me and stroked my face, smiling as though we were sharing a huge secret. When it was over and we needed to sleep, he fetched me water and tucked the covers around me, spooning me tightly and kissing my neck. I was surprised at how, although physically I didn't fancy him, something must have clicked because every time he kissed my neck or stroked my back, I was instantly wet. I could see he was frustrated at the clumsiness of our liaison and I recognised shyness in his eyes.
Since I've been home we've texted or emailed constantly. He's been so kind about me being ill the last couple of days. He properly thinks about things I tell him and gives me thoughtful, kind responses. He seems to adore me and intellectually and emotionally, I adore him too. Red is like me in so many ways and so unlike the parade of sleaze I've been subjected to this year.
However, my mind is in turmoil. I keep imagining what it would be like to be with him, forgetting for a moment the distance issue. Could I overcome the physical thing? I've been in that situation before and just couldn't and I think this might be marginally worse (back then I used to cry after sex but stayed because I loved who he was). He keeps saying he wants to lose weight so if he did, would it make a difference? I think it would, judging by the cuteness of his Myspace pictures. Plus, how often do we slate men who don't fancy women because they're overweight - am I really that shallow? Am I just idealising this man because he idealises me and basically I just want to be loved, regardless of how pathetic that is? Am I hankering after his meagre lifestyle in his lofty garret because I suddenly feel so vulnerable and lost living in a rough part of South London as opposed to the safe, sloany West (last night I watched out of my bedroom window as, under it, a troop of police searched and questioned a group of teens for drugs and weapons, eventually cuffing and arresting all of them for having PCP and weed - all I could think about was the safety and peace of Red's little hideyhole)?
I don't know how I feel but I know that I wait for his text messages and I crave his emails and if I haven't heard from him for a couple of hours I get twitchy. I can feel myself getting dependent on his presence in my life but is that just because I haven't met anyone else?
L, a guy I went on three dates with back in May and who basically went AWOL after the third, has been back in contact and asked me out again. Is this it? Am I doomed to fall prey to fuckwit guys who pick me up and drop me and treat me like crap, purely because I'm physically attracted to them? Is it time to start looking beyond that and fall in love with what's beneath? Or is that just a load of almost-thirty, Disney-crap desperation nonsense and if so, then where the fuck is the right one? All I know is, it's been a long time since a man's mind really caught my attention without the body to back it up. Rightly or wrongly, this guy is different and I just can't get my head straight. Sometimes I wonder what I'm waiting for.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Secrets and Lies
Blogging lost it's appeal for a while. Doom and gloom prevailed and frankly I was boring myself. Nothing of any major significance has happened since the last post. I moved house with my flatmate, A, into her brand new flat which was stressy but such a good move. The flat is gorgeous and we're in an area of London with so much more vibrancy and excitement about it that where we were in the leafy old West before.
On Tuesday night, work A and I went to the Soho Theatre to hear Abby Lee who writes the fabulous Girl with a One Track Mind blog discuss sexually explicit blogging and the affect it has on feminism. The evening was a sell-out and the topics ranged from the aforementioned to body image, kinkiness, misogynism and many others. It was utterly fascinating and I was thrilled at the end when I got the chance to chat to Abby and have her sign the book. A asked an extremely pertinent question while we had our five minutes regarding female to female misogyny and whether it's worse or just different than male to female. Thrillingly we got a mention in her subsequent post!
The only other thing to mention is the developing relationship between an online guy and me. Yes, another one and another Myspace one at that. We started emailing a few months ago when we discovered a mutual interest in ancient English comedy, particularly radio shows and an absolute obsession with Stephen Fry. As time went on our mutual interests became more and more evident and we genuinely started to get on. I was in a 'relationship' at the time and he never mentioned anything remotely sexual or leading in that respect, but I got the impression he fancied me from the comments left on photos and general affectionate tone.
Recently things have changed. He obviously knows I'm now single and was very sweet when I was coping with the fallout from R (ulterior motive??). Slowly but surely, things changed and we started flirting a little over email then text until we've recently had full blown phone sex. Issues with all this are:
On Tuesday night, work A and I went to the Soho Theatre to hear Abby Lee who writes the fabulous Girl with a One Track Mind blog discuss sexually explicit blogging and the affect it has on feminism. The evening was a sell-out and the topics ranged from the aforementioned to body image, kinkiness, misogynism and many others. It was utterly fascinating and I was thrilled at the end when I got the chance to chat to Abby and have her sign the book. A asked an extremely pertinent question while we had our five minutes regarding female to female misogyny and whether it's worse or just different than male to female. Thrillingly we got a mention in her subsequent post!
The only other thing to mention is the developing relationship between an online guy and me. Yes, another one and another Myspace one at that. We started emailing a few months ago when we discovered a mutual interest in ancient English comedy, particularly radio shows and an absolute obsession with Stephen Fry. As time went on our mutual interests became more and more evident and we genuinely started to get on. I was in a 'relationship' at the time and he never mentioned anything remotely sexual or leading in that respect, but I got the impression he fancied me from the comments left on photos and general affectionate tone.
Recently things have changed. He obviously knows I'm now single and was very sweet when I was coping with the fallout from R (ulterior motive??). Slowly but surely, things changed and we started flirting a little over email then text until we've recently had full blown phone sex. Issues with all this are:
- I worry that he seems TOO nice - is this just a cover to hide the fact that he's a deviant trying to get his way?
- He lives in the West Country so distance would be an issue for dating.
- He is not remotely my type - red headed and, well, a little chubby (but very, very cute nonetheless).
- I am concerned that I'm only 'falling' for him because I'm on such a rebound from all the rubbish blokes this year and am therefore sucked in by his chivalry, flattery and, quite frankly, adoration
The problem is, my battered heart thinks I deserve to be adored for a while. Selfish, I do see but this year has been ridiculously cruel, man wise so it's about time isn't it?
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