When bad men happen to good girls

I can't quite believe I've been blogging for over a year (despite the recent lapse in posting). I think I'll leave the bumper-navel gaze for the Christmas week when I'll be trapped in suburbia and bored stupid but for now I can't help my thoughts wandering to the beginning of this year when, as always, anything seemed possible. It's definitely been an odd one.

On Sunday A and I invited all our fave chicks over to the pad for a Christmas soireé. We provided an acre of buffet food and gallons of wine which of course, meant the evening culminating in the 'C*nt of the Year Awards 2007'. Each of us submitted a bloke from the year who has really screwed us over (mine was New York R but it was a tough choice) and the token engaged person among us judged which 'man' was most deserving of the title. It goes to show the levels of horror we've all endured this year when I tell you that R didn't win despite his stellar levels of fuckwittage. The winning bloke was submitted by F, whose ex-boyfriend she was with for 8 years recently texted her out of the blue after 2.5 years of silence. After a couple of hesitant texts, they agreed to meet and of course, alcohol flowed, a romantic meal occured and before you could say 'castrate them all' she was in his bed. A day or so later she mustered up the courage to text him (she was drunk) and 36 hours later, she got a reply which ended with 'see you around'. As if that wasn't bad enough, during the course of the date she discovered he'd lived with someone else for a year since their split; she's only just got to the point where she's ready to date again. A deserving winner, I think we can all agree.

There's not much going on in my life at the moment in terms of men, just a couple of flirtations (and a weekend of filthy sex with one which I really needed). This could be because my confidence has hit rock bottom due to my weight. It's been creeping on the last couple of months and I'm now really uncomfortable. Bloody typical just before the festive season - so like me to make sure I'm really, really fat after the holidays rather than being sensible and allowing a bit of a buffer zone. If only I was the type of girl who lost her appetite in the face of heartbreak rather than one who uses it as yet another excuse to comfort eat. Mind you, if that were the case, based on this year's experiences I'd be thinner than Posh.