I've been quiet, but with very, very good reason.

As those close will know, and those who read between the lines will have guessed, it seems that - temporarily at least - the search can be called off. I've met someone a little bit special and just for now I'm interested in seeing where that leads us both. You know what they say about Napoleon Dynamite...flippin' sweet. :)

It's a nice, and interesting change. There is no craziness here, just calm and content and a feeling of steadiness and gentle excitement and just...happiness. It's really early days; we've been dating for about five weeks or so. I daresay there are a few little obstacles we need to navigate together. But we went to the cinema on Saturday and the production team of the film we were watching were there, handing out questionnaires for the audience to fill in. I was leaning over his shoulder to compare answers, and there was a question I'd not got to yet:

Who did you come to the cinema with today?

1. Alone
2. With friends
3. With spouse
4. With work colleagues
5. On a date
6. Boy/girlfriend

...he ticked number 6, so I guess that's where we are for now. I will still update; perhaps I'll change the tagline, but for now let's all hold our breath and see what the next few weeks bring!

Thank you for reading. Hold steady. X

Today

Today my dears I have hidden my public profile on Match, removed it from the Guardian, and cancelled on the fat girl website. If I want to reactivate Match I just flip a switch and the others...well, I only really attracted crazy people haha.

Yesterday I got a sheepish email from the Iranian boy; saying he'd lost his phone, blah blah. I sent a short sharp one back saying, oh really? And it took you a week to let me know? Nah. I think not mate....and truth be told, I am not bothered in the slightest.

Let's see what happens next.

Ha hahaa!

I just crept in (yes, it's 3am...oops) and looked at myself in the mirror in the bathroom. Oh my. So THAT'S what you look like when you make out for so long in the car after the fancy pants record label do that the beard rash has started before you've even got home. Um. I'll, uh, be over here....putting moisturiser on.

I like your sleeves.

Have you ever been kissed by someone and had your whole body respond and not be able to navigate the car successfully afterwards because you're actually dizzy?

You know...there's a lot to be said for the quiet ones.

:)

......*AND*

I hated the Cocteau Twins.

I LIKED MINOR THREAT okay thanks that's all.

Incidentally

Is it wrong of me to want to put all the names of the girls he was fucking simultaneously up online just so they can see what a cunt he is? Because, you see, he's such a fucker he'll have gone back to the same pool of women and will be sleeping, probably, with all of them. All his exes. That's his pattern.

The midweek rant

Okay so first of all, a status update:

1. The Thoroughly Lovely Man from Saturday is actually a slacktacular not-bothering-to-call-to-cancel jerk who I shan't be seeing again after last night's fiasco (basically didn't bother to let me know until 10pm - by which time I'd guessed - that he wasn't coming. Then had the cheek to ask me if we could do something at the weekend, which I've just flat turned down.).

2. The Iranian Much-Too-Young-For-Me-Boy has, I suspect, found someone younger and local. This suits me quite well actually because

3. I rather like Napoleon Dynamite. He's very sweet and we're going to the cinema after work tonight and I'm quite excited to see him.

In other news, I just caught a glimpse of the Cocteau Twins on HypeMusic and you know...it occurs to me that I just didn't register when we were together what an egotistical, boring twat the Heart-Trampler was. I was so in awe that I really didn't notice the fact that we never actually talked about me, just about How Hardcore Andrew's Life Had Been and How He'd Coped Admirably With All His Challenges and How He'd Got Into Music And Knew More Than Everyone Else and just...oh FUCK OFF MATE. Honestly I kind of want to bludgeon him with his stupid record decks. I am SO BORED of these stupid boys with fucking issues, the big fat issues, just MY GOD GET THEM SORTED OUT. I am not interested. I want someone who does not need fixing. Just once. Just this once I want someone for me. And, rather aside from the point....I think it's fair to say I'm over Heart-Trampling, Heartbreaking, Self-Obsessed, Actually Quite Boring, Andrew. And his STUPID FEET.

Okay thanks. I just needed to get that out. Liz Fraser inspired RAGE in me this morning...haha. (Cocteau Twins...oh my god, if i heard ONCE how he heard them on John Peel on his radio in the wild northern wastes of Shetland and it changed his life, I heard it a THOUSAND FUCKING TIMES well hello matey there were thousands of us who had that happen and some of us actually let it change our lives rather than sit there and fucking whinge on about it. Jesus wept.)

How LOVELY.

I just went for coffee with a thoroughly lovely man. This was the nice local one that I'd missed two dates with - third time lucky indeed. He is very funny and odd and extremely handsome. He also does not smell of Dog and I am seeing him Wednesday. Approved!

Hoo boy.

So tonight I had a date with a New One, via Match. He invited me over to his for dinner and suchlike; after getting his address and leaving it with everyone I know, along with his phone number and a physical description, I set out all intrepid, hair done, makeup on, legs shaved, favourite t-shirt and all. Things began to take a nasty turn when he opened the door and an aroma that could only be described as Hot Wet Dog escaped the hallway. Oh please, God, let this not be dinner.

Anyway. He ushers me into a (reasonably....okay scruffy yes but not actually dirty) room and bids me be seated; I did try, but apparently the seat had been broken for quite some time, because there was no audible "oh God I just broke that" noise, more a soft flooooooooooooooooomp as I ended up sitting near as damnit on the floor with my knees round my ears.

The conversation was quite boring and one-sided (his). The food was indeed Hot Wet Dog (I pushed it around a bit and pleaded the fifth). The end of the evening came when I ventured into the bathroom - I just couldn't hang on any more - to discover that the toilet was still festooned with shit from where he'd apparently had a copious and explosive, er, release shortly before I came round. I mean for GOD'S SAKE. You'd never leave something like that would you? Would you? Anyway, horrified, I crept back into the lounge and, since he had started doing the slow creep towards me, feigned sickness (although after the bathroom and the waft of Dog it wasn't much of an effort), and legged it. LEGGED IT I SAY. *shudder* eurgh.

On the PLUS side darlings. The lovely local type who I keep missing has asked if I will go out tomorrow afternoon; the plan thus far is to meet for coffee at 2.30pm and see where the wind blows us. He is evidently not put off by my short fat cripple image. I am certainly not put off at all by his 6'4" really-quite-handsome thing. Oh well we'll see - although if he smells even slightly of Dog I am OUT.

Holdups, hangups and hookups.

So it's been a little while since I updated - I started a new, full time teaching job just over a week ago and that combined with the music writing (which has taken off in a quite remarkable fashion) and the dates - oh there's still dates believe me - has left me kinda wiped out! Anyway. Let us catch up on everything.

The last time I updated was a week ago. That evening, I went to review some bands for the magazine I'm writing for and Napoleon Dynamite came along with me, and you know - he's really quite good fun company. He's a bit odd. I mean...with his physical placing and behaviour around me, I can't work him out, but still we have a nice fun time. I went out again with him Sunday night to see a film, and he's picked some tickets up for some of the gigs I've got coming up to review, including one tomorrow night. He is not very demonstrative in words, but I had an oddly sweet text message from him saying, Hello. I have sent you a list of depressing films. I am looking forward to seeing you Thursday. X Sure enough, he'd emailed me his top fifty depressing films. Genius. He is so odd though. In a good way. Last weekend I also went over to spend the afternoon with the beautiful Italian, V, who is lovely and gorgeous and just...no, no, no. We had a really fun time but I think he is too emotionally messy for me. I like him but not for my man.

My lovely Iranian boy...well, we didn't get together as plannedlast weekend - hence I was out and about. Something cropped up and we put it off, and actually I've barely heard from him; I've actually had to be chasing to get anything from him. And darlings...I don't chase. Ever. Not unless it's really fucking serious. SO the current state of play is...I miss his cheerful little face and his, er, other cheerful physical attributes and so on but he needs to be in touch with me if he wants anything, which I've made quite clear to him.

What else. Oh well I was asked out on a date by a very local guy, literally round the corner, very nice looking, seems quite nice - an illustrator, but we've postponed twice now and he's just asked me out again this Saturday afternoon and so I've just asked my usual question. Hi, you do realise I am short and fat and a bit crippled don't you? No answer yet. Well, it sorts the men from the boys.

Finally...and here's the alarming one. Okay. So. Way back in the mists of time, about four months ago when I first signed up to the dating site for bigger girls (I pretty much just use Match.com now, except I barely use that either, but anyway), I got a few emails and IMs from a seriously...and I do mean seriously fucking gorgeous law student. Much too young. Somewhat out of my league. Vanished mysteriously around Christmas. Didn't really think any more of it. Anyway on...hm. Monday? Perhaps? I get an e-mail. Oh hi. Remember me? ...Why yes. Yes I do.

Well. For some time now I have wondered how straight people do the hookup for sex thing. That sounds naive and oldfashioned, but I have to be honest. Don't forget I never did this before and I've got nobody to ask! Let me explain. I know how Gaydar and the personals work for gay guys (and girls, to a slightly lesser extent). Where I worked, the work I was doing, and the guys I worked with cleared that one up for me. Haha. But for the straights...I hadn't really twigged how that one worked. Perhaps you still have to go out and find someone? Or...er...oh no apparently not. He basically chatted me up a bit, and then pretty much asked me if I wanted to go over to his place on Saturday night. No, shall we go on a few dates and see if we like each other. Just, let's fuck. WELL. Um. Blimey. I actually said, you know honey...we might not like each other. Putting aside all the other social etiquette rules...you just invited a completely strange woman to your house to have sex. Hi are you mad? Apparently no, this is now the Done Thing. I'm going to suggest we go for a DRINK. And then we'll see. I mean I'm not exactly shy but...crikey. *mops brow* Bejesus.

I tell you, it's enough to make you want to get under the covers and never come out.

Early morning muse

I guess this whole exercise has been, largely, about figuring out what sort of relationship I want and where I want to fit into that, and how I want that relationship to fit into my life, rather than - as has been for the first thirty years - the other way around being the case.

So, having said that, let's look at the current state of play.

V (the Italian) - sweet, funny, devastatingly attractive...lowest self esteem ever, depressed, doesn't go out very much...I'm going to have to get back to you on that one. I don't know if I want to be the fixer again. Look at me not going straight for my script for once.

R (came with me to a gig last Friday night) - nice enough, heard nothing from him since, I'm not down to chase.

C (Napoleon Dynamite Benjamin Button guy - well...he's a bit weird. He's nice, but odd. I've not figured out the problem yet.

W (the nice photographer) - showing no inclination to arrange any second dates anytime soon.

N (the Glaswegian) - talks to me most days. Begs me to go and spend the weekend with him. Also knows I've hardly any money and can't afford the petrol, has not offered once to even meet me halfway.

And finally...

A (the much-too-young-Iranian) - you know, I wonder if I'm looking for something that's not there. I think I'm almost put off because it's too simple. He's attractive, funny, perpetually cheerful, has a nice solid family background, no visible madness or trauma, owns his own house and if I'm sick or the weather's bad will cheerfully drive fifty miles to say hi. I always have fun with him. There is no big serious weirdness going on. He clearly thinks I'm the best thing since sliced bread, but not in a creepy Heartbreaker ExBoyfriend kind of way. I don't know. I am quietly, secretly, quite fond of him. I was secretly rather worried last weekend when he had food poisoning and spent 24 hours in hospital and I couldn't get hold of him. Anyway. Last night he phones and goes, what you doing the weekend? I go, nothing so far. He goes, well, this might be too forward so you can say no but do you just want to come over here and we'll go for a drink and a dance and you can meet some of my mates? And do you know, it struck me. Best part of a year I was with the Heartbreaker Ex and he never once wanted to introduce me to anybody. A, my best friend, always says not to make the ordinary extraordinary but you know...what is worse is the feeling of sadness I get when I realise that actually for me it kind of is.

So anyway. Right now he's the only one acting normal, treating me like an actual normal girl, and to be honest it's just nice. At first I was a bit concerned that perhaps it was a case of I-only-like-him-cause-he-likes-me, but actually, that's not how it is really. I caught myself thinking I quite missed his cheery face last night, which was a bit odd. And speak of the devil and he'll text you to say good morning and have you left for work yet.

I'm going to give this some thought. (I didn't say yes for the weekend yet either.)

Further ponderings, and a post-weekend update

So...I had a strangely lovely time yesterday with a somewhat confusing man. You will remember, or praps you won't, that I'd had a few brief email exchanges with the guy who went ahead and booked the swanky sofa at the local indie cinema to see Benjamin Button? Well, anyway. I trundled into the city and met him - after a bit of faffing about because I'll be really honest...he didn't look like his photo. At all. He was very, very quiet. Exceptionally so. He was sort of...well. He was QUIET. And geeky but not in a cool-geeky way...more of a...Napoleon Dynamite geeky kind of way. But nice company. We watched the film, he stands up and blurts out, "Do you smoke?", we wandered outside and he's rolled me a cigarette and we stood there for a minute, me all tearstained haha...him saying nothing. And then from nowhere he dabs at my face all matter of fact, not awkward at all, and goes, have you got to go home? I say no, it's only 8 o'clock. He stands there just looking at me until I go, shall we go and eat? Since we were on the edge of Chinatown. So we did, and it was sort of comfortably awkward and we talked about travelling a lot and he just...kind of...he was very nervous. His hands shook terribly. His bus stop was on the edge of town, the way I was driving home, so I dropped him off and he kissed me. Not a 'we kissed', moment by any stretch - no. He was most definitely in charge. I was the somewhat surprised recipient. No nerves there.

He was an odd combination of terrified and confident and geeky and very funny. And not what I'd normally go for, but oddly attractive, in a gangly curly wearing glasses kind of way. Anyway I'm out reviewing on Wednesday and got guestlisted twice, and I'd already said if he wanted my spare he could have it so...I guess we'll see. He was odd. In a good way. I think.

Radar fail

I swear...one of the things I've not learned yet is how to tune in my Man Radar. I went out to review tonight, and R - the musician I mentioned - came along to meet me. We had a very pleasant evening, the bands were great, we got on like a house on fire. I didn't have the crazy flipfloppy tummy, but he's good company. (He's got funny teeth...praps that's it. Anyway.) So. We have a nice night. There is the customary standing too close, touchy feely contact protocol stuck to and followed all evening. He walks me to my car, and promptly legs it without even shaking hands. Okay so uh...perhaps he was standing too close because it was loud and crowded? Obviously didn't fancy me? Right? Right?

Er...wrong? I hadn't even got home when the text popped up on my phone: thank you for a lovely evening, I had such a good time, let's do it again soon? Well if you want to of course, but I do! Hope you're home safe. x

*blink*

But...I...you ran off surely that means...no? Uh? Huh?!

Okay and then there's the beautiful one from last Friday night, who has called and IMd and texted me all week, made me put my webcam on 'so he can see me', sends strangely touching affectionate little messages on his lunch break, has asked me to go up and see him, but is apparently unable to suggest something outright - I mean...I don't get it. I don't GET it...lol.

The only one I am currently understanding is the much-too-young-for-me guy, who is rather charmingly still displaying the appropriately awed behaviour of someone who just got shown the uncensored instruction manual and was allowed to have a go. At least he's upfront; when can I see you next? I'm free on these days, just tell me when. I'll come to you, I know you've got to get up early for work. See, that's easy. I say what shall we do? He gives a list of suggestions. (Not saucy ones, he just doesn't expect me to make ALL the decisions, which makes a pleasant change, and I'm sorry, but it's nice for someone to ask for what they want for once.)

And thus I share with you all my perpetual confusion and shall now bid you goodnight and go and lay down.

So...here's the weekend lineup.

lTomorrow night I have to go out and review some bands. A random straggler has invited himself along; I hope he understands I will mostly be touching up record label types and trying to snag setlists all night...we'll see. He's a musician. I think he's only coming because he suspects I may know the NME.

Saturday is the International Singleton's Day of Misery (or something). I plan to spend the whole day in my pyjamas eating chocolate and reading comics.

Sunday I'm meeting the guy who went ahead and booked seats for Benjamin Button - strangely though he's hardly been in touch since sorting it out so I'll have to wait and see. How peculiar. I'm presuming it's still on, but these man creatures are a funny bunch.

Now then. Without rubbing it in...I barely got any sleep last night so um...haha. *tosses hair* Night!

Home truths

1. I may INTEND to stick to my guns, but add alcohol and um...I might not be so...how shall we say...committed

2. It is entirely possible that I didn't make it home last night and

3. The camera never lies.





....HAHAHAHA! *cough*

...

...even if it is fucking enormous.

(To be fair, if I had a cock that big, I'd probably show you all too.)

For your amusement

Suggestions, please.

What do you think Much-Too-Young-For-Me-Boy said to provoke my statement:
"But I can't think of anywhere I could find a trampoline at that time of night..."

Go on. Let your imaginations run FREE..muahahaa. Poor fella. He really shouldn't have sent me all those photos of his cock.

Easy tiger!

Blimey. Well, yesterday was nice. I spent it at my friend's house eating far too much and watching silly films and...um...being the somewhat gleeful recipient of multiple phone calls from the gorgeous Friday Night Date. Oh hello. This morning when I got up (at the crack of dawn, I might add), he'd already e-mailed me to say good morning and wish me a nice day and to say he looked forward to talking to me this evening. How nice.

On the other hand...my much-too-young friend has redoubled his efforts following my refusal to spend next weekend with him being loved up (see previous posts) and has, er, took it upon himself to try a completely different approach. Up til now he's been very polite. No saucy texts, no dirty emails, no suggestiveness at all. I mean obviously he's not shy in person but he's never been, well. Even the slightest bit naughty.

...Until now.

Now, it appears, he's decided the way forward is to prove exactly how much he likes me...how very, VERY much....by showing me precisely what I'm going to be missing by not holing up in a hotel all weekend with him. I nearly dropped the phone when I opened that particular photo message. Good lord. *cough* Apparently...in purely physical terms...well, it would seem I am going to be missing a considerable amount.

I think I need a cup of tea and a smoke. And possibly...a lie down. Somewhere quiet.

Hrm.

God...I just read my last post back and you know...I'm not a meanie. I'm not some heartless horrible girl. That's precisely why I'm not going to see him this weekend; it seems I've got the wrong idea about what we're both bringing to the table here and maybe I'm older and can separate the love and the sex out better but I just don't want to break any hearts. I've always said that at thirty years old, I've never broken any hearts - and perhaps for some people that'd be a mark of failure but for me I'd rather keep it that way. I don't want anyone getting hurt, fucked over, or to go into something expecting one thing and getting another.

I know it's traditional to just expect the guy to be happy he's getting some, but you know...he's a lot younger than me. I think I'd feel I was taking advantage or being dishonest if I slept with him, suspecting that he might be...oh I don't know. Perhaps I've overreacted but you know what, it feels like the right thing to do. There's no need to rush anyway and I refuse to be held hostage by a day of the week. I'd rather overreact and be accused of being a dumbass than really, genuinely hurt someone. I'll be sticking to my guns.

He's gone very quiet, incidentally. I think I've done the right thing.

Arrrrrgggggggggggggghhhhhhhh

So. Next Saturday is the day guaranteed to strike fear into every singleton's heart. Fucking Valentine's Day. Gah. Quick! Find a date! Fall in love! Feel successful! So, to avoid all festivities I've made sure I'm working both Friday AND Saturday nights reviewing, and hopefully that will ensure I'm too busy all weekend writing to have to bother with it. Except of course...the much-too-young-and-now-with-increased-enthusiasm-boy from Thursday night is making a full on steamrollering attempt. I was momentarily caught unawares, as he just casually goes, so what time does your band finish Friday night? He'd already sent some rather frisky messages this morning so I wasn't really reading much into things - other than I might finally be about to get some - when he says, I think I'm going to nab a hotel room Friday night young lady. Sound good? Well yes, yes it does. Finally! Except THEN he goes....yeah I'll bring my laptop so you can write your article and then we can spend the day together...

[insert pause here]

I say, um, what? Since when did the third-date shag turn into let's spend the weekend together? (I didn't say that part out loud, at this point.)

He goes, yes, it's Valentine's Day isn't it - we can spend the day together it'll be lovely!

I say, um, I have to write an article and get it into the magazine and then I have another night out reviewing on Saturday, deliberately arranged so I can AVOID VALENTINE'S DAY. And hi...you're twenty four years old. If you're doing it right I'll need to go home to my bed and some PAINKILLERS during the daytime on Saturday.

Anyway the long and the short of it is I just said...ya know what? I'll see you the week after next. This is putting way too much pressure and expectation on things. I thought we were having a nice casual fun thing, possibly about to involve some lovely filthy happy sex, but um....apparently not. Time to start phasing this one out I think.

I probably sound contradictory. The thing is...I'm dating at the moment. I am looking for a partner, eventually, but I'm in no rush. I value being left alone when I say, leave me alone. I was enjoying having a lighthearted, casual fling with someone who I find attractive who finds ME attractive and to be honest I thought we were both just scratching each other's itch. I've made it quite clear that I'm nobody's girlfriend. I'm not being exclusive because there's nothing to be exclusive about; for the most part I don't have sex, or even end up in bed with the men I date, and to be honest that usually suits me pretty well. I'm in no hurry. I think what I'm most cross about is using the date as some kind of tool to kind of...ensure something. It's a very, oh I don't know. I'm just infuriated.

Anyway I think I've made myself very clear; I just said, look. Valentine's Day is all very nice for couples; it's a cute little marker of something that should permeate every day of the relationship anyway. But for single people, it's nothing. It's a celebration of love. Don't get things mixed up.

It's very late, but this tickled me.

Well

I am quite excited to see the Twitter feed already has a few followers - I shall be sure to announce loud and clear when I'm going out, in case anyone really wants the blow-by-blow accounts. I think it could be quite amusing. I sort of wish I'd been able to tell V last night, by the way I want to tweet the date as it's in progress - he's geeky enough he'd probably have found it funny, bless him. But I think the terrifying Chinese meal and the ketchup incident in the pub would have been quite entertaining had I been able to sneakily update on them as they happened. Well, we'll see. Perhaps I need to brush up on my sneak tweeting. Haha.

Anyway. It is EXTREMELY cold, and probably snowing again, so I'm going to creep into bed and sulk because...let's face it dear reader...I've still not got laid. Fairly soon I'm going to lose my mojo, or something. I will forget my BED FU. Le sigh. Right! I'm off.

All things in moderation

I just received a nudge on Match. I had a quick look at his profile. No photo. This was the entirety of the content:

HI LADIES IM SINGLE AND R LOOKIN FOR SOME FUN AND LOVEING . IM UR AVERAGE GUY FULL TIME EMPLOYMENT . UP FOR NEW EXPERIENCES AND ALSO UR AGE N LOOKS NOT IMPORTANT JUST SEND ME A MAIL AND SEE THE REST FOR URSELF X X X DONT BE SHY IL STIL CUM AND TRY X X X

I r looking for some loveing.
Indeed.

And completely out of nowhere...

Okay so...this is completely unexpected. This guy, local, cute, pleasant, likes music and travel and films, he's sent me a few emails via Match.com, this, that, blah blah. Never met him, not arranged any dates, nothing like that. Cute though. Anyway, I'm sitting here drinking tea and checking my email and...he's booked one of the sofas at our local indie cinema (I was telling him how much I loved it there) to see The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (I'd been telling him how much I like David Fincher). No checking to see if that's okay, or even if I want to meet up! No, 'would you like to meet'. No, 'how would you feel about going for a coffee'. No...just, 'So...I just booked us one of the sofas to watch Benjamin B next Sunday afternoon. You coming? :)' Well, I like his approach. No fuckery with this one. Heh.

Okay so

There has been sleep, and lying quietly in a darkened room, since my last (somewhat flustered) posts. I have to say...okay, well. You have to understand that until fairly recently I was quite clear in my head that I was the ugly fat girl that nobody would ever go out with (um...I think we've established that that's bollocks now). So while my sense of self-esteem is about 1000% higher than it's ever been, I am still surprised sometimes. And I guess...well, he's just the type I've always really had a thing for, since I was in my teens, but because I was an idiot was always too scared to talk to. Long dark hair, very goodlooking, just...oof. It also threw into sharp relief the men I've been out with who had no idea what I was talking about half the time - he has a lot of shared cultural points of reference, and just...well he felt very familiar. It was nice. He's the same age as me to within a few weeks as well, and that is nice too. I can't quite put my finger on it.

Sorry. I should also add that as well as being mind-numbingly, giggle-makingly attractive he is also very funny and geeky and shy enough that it leads to charmingly awkward outbursts rather than clammed-up silences. Oh de-ah. Very nice

Muahaha

He just texted to say he's home and had a lovely time and would I like to go out again please?

PLEASE?

I managed to be ladylike in my response, you'll be proud to know. *fans self*
(Only just.)

Good LORD.

I mean...I've seen some cute men in my time but good god. I think I just went on a date with the type of man I had awful, heartwrenching crushes on in my teens and early twenties. It is a good job he got in his car and left or I may well have eaten him like a fucking peach. God. Pass me a towel.

The weekend update, in brief:

I went to catch a film and for dinner with the much-too-young-Iranian guy last night and we have a lovely time and a real giggle, but you know...we were discussing our musical tastes last night and I just...I just don't know. This is going to sound dreadful but he has the musical taste of a 12 year old. Nickelback? Bon Jovi? Without being ironic? I marched him out to the car and plugged my iPod in. He wasn't even sure he'd heard of the Cure - not, I hasten to add, that that was the first band I threw at him. A complete list of bands he's not sure he's heard of includes Soundgarden, Nirvana, Bloc Party, Editors...oh god, the list. I hadn't even got to any of the stuff I actually listen to. He did however tell me some of the most recent things he'd bought...they included The Script and Katy Perry. I almost - not quite, but almost - choked. Gah! It's official. He's too young.

Next!
Tonight I have a date with a very attractive Italian guy, who we shall call...for it is his initial...V. He is most attractive. He is the one who cheered when I said I'd go out for a drink with him.

Tonight I shall also be premiering...drumroll please! For your VIEWING PLEASURE:

I shall be road-testing my Real Time Trauma Ticker, via Twitter, wherein I shall endeavour to update in real time how things are going. You can check back or sign up for maximum amusement potential. I direct you to the top right hand side of the page for the link.

Tomorrow I was supposedly going to the seaside with the nice photographer type that I went to the science museum with but I've sent him an email saying look...perhaps we'll do this another time okay? If he's ill (and this sounds dreadfully selfish) I just can't go out with him, because I'll be floored and I'm scraping by on short contract work right now and can't afford to be off work. Plus, since my immunosuppression comes from a lymphatic disorder, it really fucking works me over when I get sick. Just..it'll keep won't it.

Right and on THAT note I need to go and have a bath and make myself presentable.

Send help. And a big stick.

So...it's official. I am actually emitting. I think I must be. In the last 24 hours:

- small flurry of e-mails from (new) (exceptionally cute) local fellow via Match
- incessant and REALLLY keen phonecalls and texts from the ridiculously attractive one that I tried to put off with my chubtastic gym-hating ways and failed
- actual, genuine GLEE from one particularly sweet Italian guy who asked - extremely shyly - if we could meet for coffee and then ACTUALLY CHEERED when I said yes, bless him. (I think he is slightly awed. Which is always nice. Just...SLIGHTLY. Not overdoing it.)
- Finally, and maddest of all, is the guy who sent me an email via Flickr (he had obviously been looking at my photostream via one of the groups) and who is sending increasingly saucy emails to me which is...um. Distracting? to say the least? And again...a bit odd to me since he appears (well, if it's him in his photos and I think it is) to be some sort of uber fit martial arts championship competitor.

What is going ON? Has the world gone mad? Like I said yesterday...it's like there's been a switch flicked. I think I might have to fashion some kind of stick for beating them away with soon if these keeps up...lol. It's almost as if all the boys I never dated are catching up. The last fifteen years' worth...haha.

Finally: Shiny D? Nothing. Huh.

Pass me a stick.

Spores. I'm telling you. SPORES. So...the guy I did my best to put off by emailing him and saying, look, I'm short and fat you won't like it - well. I just shrugged and gave him my number. Three times he's called me today. THREE. *blink* We were talking on the phone earlier while I was waiting to go in and see my therapist (believe me, we had some THINGS to talk about today haha) and he blurts out something disarmingly complimentary about how pretty he thinks I am or somesuch (which threw me - I didn't know quite what to say) and THEN says...look. Let's just get this straight. What dress size are yoU? I say, I'm like, a 22. He goes...Ha! That's nothing. I actually blinked so hard I could hear my eyelids make contact. Evidently chubtastic is okay. So anyway.

...LIVE ACTION UPDATE ALERT!

I actually had to stop typing then because he phoned me AGAIN. Man. Spores, I'm telling you. Or perhaps somewhere in the galaxy the switch has been flicked and suddenly fat chicks are in. Who knows. Anyway he wishes to 'get to know me better'; uh huh.

Speaking of which...Shiny D. No contact again today at all. I sense this one is a funny bugger. Oh well, we'll see eh. I'm not about to chase; I have enough to be dealing with.

W, the fella I went to the science museum with, called me earlier to see if I was okay in the snow, which was rather sweet. He is evidently quite poorly but still wants to go to the seaside at the weekend (to take photos, remember I'd said about liking seaside towns in winter?) - I've said let's check in towards the end of the week, because although it's a lovely idea, I have a compromised immune system and I really can't be doing with catching anything and then not being able to work - which sounds a bit mercenary but times is hard. Sadly though if I get a cold or anything like that, with my cockeyed lymphatic system it's goodnight Vienna for at least a week. Urgh.

Well, beauty sleep is needed. Ta ta.

Good LAWD.

Man.

I think I mentioned, a few posts ago, about the incredibly attractive guy who emailed me via Match all eager despite his profile going on and on about how sporty he is and his preference saying he wanted someone with a slim or athletic body type, didn't I? Well. I'd sent a VERY brief reply and didn't hear from him again...until (insert drum roll here) this evening, when I get this:

Hiya [insert my name here],

I am great just been busy and then done my back in with a slipped disc - just getting my left leg back, kinda lost all the feeling, but it's doing ok now.

So how are you and what you been up to this weekend, and how's your search going ? Do you have a number- I'd love to have a chat offline :)

[insert his name here] x


Well bugger me. Right...this is just silly. I don't know quite what's going on but we have the most unsuited, mismatched wants and preferences (according to our profiles) that I've EVER SEEN, and I am so tired of all the fuckery, so I sent him this:

Hey!

I'm sorry to hear about your back - what a pain! I hope you feel better soon. I hope you're okay other than that?

This weekend I've been in London visiting my best friend. There was much singing and dancing and general silliness, so that was nice. Usually though I'm out at the cinema or reviewing a gig.

I am very flattered that you've asked for my number but you know...I *might* not quite be what you're after. I notice you're rather sporty and so on and me...well, I'm built for comfort, not speed. I dance but that's about it. So you know, I just thought I'd better point out that I'm actually short and fat and the closest I get to a gym is running away from it in horror. (Sorry.)

Obviously, if you're still interested, hooray! But, you know. Honesty's always the best policy isn't it! And this whole internet dating malarkey. My god. I wish people would just tell you the truth a bit more often, it'd make life a lot easier! So there you are.

X

And...well. I give up. The answer?

Hello again and thanks for your honesty, but I'd LOVE to have a proper chat to you. At best we may like each other a lot, and at the very worst just become friends. So that isn't so bad and look - my mobile is XXXXX XXXXXX - text me if you're still up. I like you so far, so good :)

X

God. I hope he's not some kind of fitness fascist. I don't LIKE going to the gym. Haha. I mean his profile, under exercise and interests, I think he ticked EVERY SINGLE KIND OF SPORT. *facepalm* Oh well. Perhaps he likes the idea of something soft to collapse against afterwards. I mean honestly.

In other news, Shiny D wishes to repeat the experience, apparently. I told you. I'm fucking giving off SPORES or something. Juicy fat girl LOVE SPORES.

...ewwww.

A good result all round?

Well. I was in something of a huff yesterday when I posted last, as you can probably tell. I am pleased to report that moments after I posted he responded - basically saying, look, I'm still stuck in [insert tiny town name here], I know it's getting late; perhaps we should postpone. I'm really sorry. My response was to gnash my teeth and wail slightly, fling my pyjamas and toothbrush into a bag and hurtle off down the motorway to my lovely best mate's house for an evening of copious alcomahol consumption and drunking singing and bellydancing, which did make me feel considerably better. During the proceedings Shiny D (like Sunny D, but with more facial piercings) texted to ask if he could make it up to me by taking me for lunch on Sunday - today. Being of sound mind and full of Jack Daniels I somehow managed to restrain myself and didn't respond until this morning, wherein I told him I'd be in [insert large city name here] at lunchtime to buy my dad's birthday present, and he could drive and meet me there.

And, he did! I'm a bit...well, the jury's a little bit out. He was very nice. I was so geared up to be cross with him and for him to be a bit of a cock that I think I was taken aback a little by him being so thoroughly pleasant and, well, polite. I've got all the way to thirty years old and never had my chair pulled out for me in a restaurant, and actually it was rather nice. I think I was expecting lightning to strike or something, and it didn't; he was just a nice, normal looking type, very funny, nice hat. Hard to read. I can't really tell what he thought of me, to be honest. I sent him a message about an hour ago saying thank you for lunch, hope you had a nice time, and haven't heard back, but eh. Doesn't mean anything really does it.

Anyway here - have a little giggle. This is my 'love horoscope' for the week:

For the Week of Feb 2nd, 2009 -- The Moon in your emotional sign brings your feelings to the surface this weekend. If you're vulnerable and don't want others to know, you might want to avoid crowds. Time alone or with one safe and caring person can help you hone in on what you need and what has to be changed to put you on a more rewarding relationship path.

Uh huh.

In other news, you wait years for a nice man to come along and then approximately fifty take interest at once. Egads. I need to log into Match.com and respond to the six - six - NEW emails I had while I was out of town for precisely 27 hours. I mean COME ON BOYS, I'm short and fat and generally quite antisocial. Right...let's go and see what's what. If there's any exciting ones I shall report back. In the meantime, I'd like to announce that my hangover has apparently caught up with me approximately ten hours later than anticipated. It's karma, I tell you.

Hmph.

It's five minutes to three. I'm sorry...that's leaving things a little late isn't it? I mean...that really is leaving it late. I sent a text about a half an hour ago: Hello shiny. I'm guessing as I've not heard anything we're not meeting later? Could you let me know please? I hope you had a nice day yesterday :) xx

Thus far, nothing. So he's either a: been hit by lightning or something or b: a rude bastard. Man, I surely can pick em. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed. I am actually (don't tell anyone) secretly rather gutted. But we don't tell anyone that. Or that every time something like this happens I'm all brash and brazen and fuck-you...and crushed horribly. Yeah.

Well, I'll put some things in a bag and head to A's, I think. Three hours on the motorway followed by copious drinking and wailing should sort me out.

Kissing frogs

I counted up all the different men I've been on dates with since I started doing this yesterday morning. Total count thus far is ten, and IF I go out today it will be eleven. I wonder what the average is? I wonder if there are statistics? I'm not talking about relationships here - I'm talking about the average number of different people one can expect to meet from, say, a dating website before finding one you like enough to see more than once for reasons other than sex (wow, I so gave myself away there...ignore that)? Match.com say that if you've "not found love in six months, you get your money back"...hm. See...I wonder what they class "love" as. I think I'm overthinking. I should probably go and stick to my original plan of tweezering my eyebrows into submission and making myself look pretty. If he doesn't bother to get in touch today, fine, fuck him, I'll put the feelers out and go and catch a band somewhere. I was introduced to the singer from a new band I've not seen before the other night when I was out reviewing the new syndicate band night, who asked me to go and watch them next time they played. I'll go and examine the MySpace.

You know...I'm kind of cross. That's not good.

Here we go.

So, it's Saturday morning. Still nothing; I wonder what time I'm supposed to sit around and wait til? Seriously. I sense that this one's going to be a disappointment. I think that if I've not heard from him within the next three or four hours, we're done. I'm not fucking doing this, no matter how hard my innards spasm when he messages me.

I can tell it's pressing my buttons; all I can think about is our friend, the heart-trampler. I wonder if I am somehow drawn to the ones that make me a little nauseous. It'll be interesting to talk to my therapist about this on Monday, that's for sure.

SO.

David - there, you can have his name. David, he has not been in touch at all today. Hrmm. The last thing he said to me last night, apart from that text I posted yesterday, was this:

You are the shiniest and beautifullest :) Are you doing anything exciting tomorrow? I am off to a beer festival in [erased for privacy] which I'd forgotten about. Are you still up for meeting on Saturday? If so, let's meet in the afternoon and go out in the evening to be safe? Yes? xxx

So that's from last night, talking about today - ie, the beer festival is today. So we are supposedly meeting tomorrow (Saturday) afternoon and going for dinner/a film/whatever. My thing is this. I've not heard from him today, at all; so I have no idea what time in the afternoon he means. I'm actually...well, let's just say A would be proud, since my butterflies always wear off rapidly when I sense there is a distinct Lack of Plan, and moreover a Chance Of Being Blown Off Because Of Rampant Hangover. First up, I rarely drink, so that's kind of ewww to me. And secondly...I have done ENOUGH TIME being second best. It's the first date for fucks' sake. If you don't want to do it then and stay out drinking til you're sick - fine. Just fucking tell me so I can do something nice with my Saturday, maybe go and take some photos or something. Fuck off to Wales for the day.

And also...you know what...I'm sorry but you can at least spare thirty seconds to answer a simple text message. If you're that into me. Right? Right.

Man. Who wants to put bets on he lets me down tomorrow? I am telling you NOW, dear reader, that if he does? I am done with seeking the butterflies for a long fucking time. Forget what I said last night about not being in the mood for anything casual. You know what? Sometimes I wonder if that might not be an altogether better idea. I just worry I'm too fragile for either sometimes. Perhaps that's telling.

Oh my god. A always says to me, "if only you could just be lesbian". See...I'm not strictly all that straight, really (oh cmon who IS) but...I hate to say it; the older I get, the more I like the cock. Christ on a bike I just said that publicly. It's true though. I think it's my frustrated-and-likely-to-remain-thus biological clock ticking. Ho hum.

I suppose that the one benefit of meeting in the afternoon (if, indeed, we meet) is that I can of course spend all morning tweezering my wretchedly, stubbornly lupine eyebrow(s) into a piece of forehead art and swallowing diazepam and weeping. Haha.

In other news, I smell of Oil of Olay. I love the smell - but have just remembered why; it's because this is what my grandmother smelled of. It's lovely in some ways. A comfort and a joy.

...on the other hand, smelling like an 80-year-old probably isn't going to lure the totty. (Sorry Nan.)

Dude. The inside of my head? Is actually fucked. Bedtime for me.

Okay. Okay.

Via text:

You should always smile and feel beautiful and shiny - it would be silly for you to feel any other way, you. x

Do you see?!!
I can't even think about him without something like THAT appearing on my phone! Gah. Gahhhhhhhhhghhghhghhhh. I need a stiff drink and a slap round the face.

Whew, it's all go round here.

Well. Today it is Thursday and I have been out on dates two nights on the trot. It's all quite tiring...haha. So last night I went out with the Iranian boy. My word. These young men...they're not shy, are they? *cough* We went to the cinema, and lo, for I was duly pounced upon. Good grief. I actually had to cough politely after a couple of moments and remind him that actually...this is an Aronovsky film, and we're going to bloody well watch it. I'm not exactly known for my shyness myself in public (that's possibly a story for a night after I've had a couple of drinks, though), but hi...I don't want to get ARRESTED. Hahaha! Whew. Anyway, after the film (The Wrestler of course - and it's VERY good) we went for dinner, which was very nice, and then - fortunately - I'd got an early work start this morning so I managed to peel him off me fairly swiftly in the car park and make a bid for freedom. Otherwise I suspect I'd have been doing the motoring version of the Walk of Shame this morning, and you know...I'm not down for that. I have no doubt that if I wanted it, it'd be goooooooood (and I have VERY good evidence to base that on, haha), but I'm not kidding myself that it'd be a casual thing and I'm really not sure if I'm in the mood for that - not with sex, anyway. Obviously I reserve the right to change my mind, but for now, no.

Tonight I went to see My Bloody Valentine: 3D with the (I am never referring to him as the sex addict again, his initial is S)...with S, and we had a very nice, fun time - but no chemistry for me. I'm not sure about him; he's curiously asexual for someone who apparently...oh I don't fucking know how it works haha. But we had a really good laugh and the film was hilarious (and squelchy) and we'll probably catch a film together again when the mood strikes. If nothing else it was nice to have a shared experience with someone; I spend so much time alone I think I've been in danger of going a bit funny. So that was nice.

And of course...lovely D. I am having to CONCENTRATE on not going starry eyed. It's fucking hard work though. I mean...I meet all these nice - lovely, in fact - guys, and sure they're all attractive in their own way, but I don't really fancy, I mean really fancy people very often. I might like them physically, or get along well with them in a matey, cheery kind of way - and sometimes, it's both. But the butterflies. The tingly arms when the phone goes. Holding your breath when someone's talking in case you miss something...me, I don't get that very often. Hardly ever. It's mashing...my...buttons. Imagine someone in a hurricane, tying their most precious things down in a hurry. They might get battered, but at least they won't all blow away. That's me.

Some light relief.

Me and the guy I'm seeing tomorrow for cinema/dinner:

Me: What you up to now then? Slacker.
Him: I'm in bed, going to watch [insert truly awful film here - and I hasten to add, he just did the night shift, he's not actually a slacker]. You should come round and watch it with me ;)
Me: But that film's SHIT, haha. I'd have to bring a book.
Him: I'd keep you entertained in other ways!
Me: Scrabble?
Him: More exciting :P
Me: OH MY GOD, MONOPOLY!
Him: No. Calm down. Not Monopoly. LOL.

Oh hi.

My apologies in advance for not updating after the date on Saturday (I fantasise that someone out there might have been desperate to want to know what happened, haha). Well...so this is what happened. I had a lovely day out with a very nice man indeed. I mean really lovely. As I was explaining to A on Sunday, on paper he fitted my 'type' exactly - and indeed he is who popped up when I did a completely selfish 'fantasy date' type search on Match (ie, I selected specific physical and lifestyle attributes I found preferable and attractive, and he scored 100% on them all). He was tall, and big, dark features, very funny, same politics, lived in the right area, no kids (but wanted them), no crazy ex-wife (but hoped to get married one day), likes photography and music, has his own car and home, blah blah blah. And do you know what dear reader? There wasn't any spark at all. It was comfortable to the point where it was like...oh I don't know. He's a bit of a stunner, but not for me. There was not even a whisper of romance or...god that sounds really stupid but I could have been out with my dad or something :(

So let's see; what else is new. I've got a couple of dates this week; I'm seeing the much-too-young Iranian guy that I went out with about three weeks ago again tomorrow night because quite honestly I'd like to just go for some no-brain nice fun dinner and a movie with someone I find physically very attractive who quite clearly fancies me. That'd be lovely. (Incidentally we had a talk about the leg-clinging, and I am pretty sure it stems more from him just trying to make sure I know he's interested than actual crazy tendencies, so I'm less worried about it than I was.) I'm seeing the sex addict - no tittering at the back, please - to go and catch that 3-D horror film with; we didn't get there last week as he had to look after his little girl, but this is the third time we've tried to go out so let's see. I think if he cancels this time I might knock it on the head, because although there've been genuine reasons, it's kind of...hi. I see how this is going to go.

Finally...now then. In true slightly-superstitious style I am almost too scared to talk about this one out loud in case he turns to sparkle and ash and blows away in the wind, but on Saturday morning as I was flapping round putting makeup on and getting ready to go to the science museum, I got an e-mail from the dating site for big girls that I am registered with but not now subscribed to (I let it lapse) since I have been using Match.com. You have mail! A HA - finally, a crazy person for me to feed to the blog! One eye looking sideways at the clock, I quickly logged in and found that it wasn't a freebie pre-programmed one-liner "I fancy you", but an actual email. So I pay my four quid and I open it and...*gulp* Oh my word. You have to understand that I'd resigned myself when I first started doing this to the fact that I probably wasn't going to meet anyone a little bit, well. Someone who really fulfilled all the criteria. And you know...these dating sites don't ask the questions that I'm interested in. Does he have holes punched in various bits of his anatomy. Is he heavily tattooed. Does he have a really kind face. Does he write things that make your palms sweat slightly when you read them and one eye screw up just in case you read that wrong. Does he say things on the phone that make you temporarily unable to answer because you're in stun. Is he really funny. Does he look quite a lot like Ian MacKaye from Fugazi. They don't ask. They fucking should. Thus far, D fulfils all of the above, which is a bit scary and a lot lovely and makes me simultaneously want to run around cheering and hit the ejector seat button. Don't ask me how I know all this from some emails and a phonecall. I don't. I am not sure. I am having to be a bit wary as he is currently mashing some of the same buttons the Heartbreaker (who asked me to marry him in under 24 hours and whom I was living with in under a fortnight) did. I really hope he is not as mad as he was. Or emotionally fucked up. He doesn't seem to be but...gahahaha...they never do :) Anyway we're going out on Saturday. I am keeping my dates during the week and forcing myself into a semblance of normal. I am slightly terrified but not nervous like I'm usually nervous.

You can't see this but...

...I am making an "o" with my mouth. I just had...a three hour phone conversation with the photographer. You know, the shy one who sent me one of his mp3s. Not as shy as I thought. Three HOURS. I hate talking on the phone. I'm rubbish at it...three...hours. Haha. Um. He's nice. We're going on a date. In um...nine and a half hours. To the science museum and planetarium. I need to go to bed. Immediately.

*snore*

Some however are really dumb.

Okay so before Christmas, this cute Italian guy emailed me via the Guardian website. All very pleasant but the last e-mail sent was from me, saying happy Christmas, email me when you're back from Italy and sure, we'll arrange to go for that coffee then. Right? Right. Anyway. Nothing. Not a peep. Ho hum. A couple of days ago he sends me an email via the Guardian website - Are you still alive? I was kind of surprised since he'd never bothered to respond to my last message, and since my subscription has expired and it's £24 a month and I've got no permanent work at the moment, I just hit the option to send him an automated one-line response saying my susbscription's expired, I'll get back to you when I've re-activated it. Nothing. Nothing. Tonight, he sends another message: Still alive? Oh give me a BREAK. I sent the same automated one-line back. Now, dear reader, let us consider this.

He knows I am reading his messages and cannot respond because I don't have a subscription. The fact that I have not rectified this over a couple of days but continue to respond to him would imply (to ME, anyway) that yes, I do wish to correspond with you but I cannot afford to rectify the problem of not having an expensive paid subscription right now. I've done it twice now. He knows I've been online and if he checks he will see I've visited his profile and I've read all his messages. If he bothers to look he'll see it was him who never responded and left things to lapse for nearly a month. We'll gloss over that though because BEARING IN MIND HE KNOWS I CAN READ, AND AM READING HIS MESSAGES VIA THE WEBSITE, he sends back another that says: I should have given you my e-mail address :(

Oh mate...don't bother. You should have? Why didn't you just put it in that bloody message right there that you just SENT? Hi are you thick? Oh...yes. You are. Jesus wept.

I think a bit of me just melted and fell OFF.

Things that make me cringe:

Men who serenade you when they really, really can't sing. Or play the guitar. I refer those in the know directly back to my shortlived affairette with the married bastard the Christmas before last. If anyone wants to hear some truly dreadful, out of tune wailing, please let me know and I'll provide you a link. God I'm such a horrid bitch. ANYWAY.

Things that make me feel funny in my tummy (in a good way):

Men who serenade you when they really, really...can. *gulp* The bumbly fumbly shy e-mailer from yesterday pipes up, would you like to hear a song? It's not great but I like doing it. I, because I am sweet and lovely and never ever mean (!) say, of course! Send it to me that's really sweet. But, dear reader...it WAS! Bless him, he's really rather good. I'm going for a little lie down. Haha.

Un bijoux updatette

Well, following that last confusing episode I've done a bit of thinking and decided that actually...I don't really care that much that I'm not seeing him again. What I do care about is how he somehow felt it was okay to project his stuff onto me and what a whopper of an ego he apparently has. Oh well, never mind - at least he actually came with his crazy showing, unlike others I could mention. Move along!

And speaking of which...you wait forever and then they all show up at once. Yes, gentle readers, it appears to be Emitter Day again, wherein suddenly I am swamped by the hordes. Not that I'm complaining. Some of the horde appear to be quite attractive. Anyway, a rather pleasant surprise today; as you'll recall I didn't go out Saturday night after all, because my leg was hurting and I couldn't be doing with the standing and the (as it turned out) hellish weather, so I called it off, thus cancelling the sort-of-date with (I have to stop identifying him as this) the (whispers) sex addict. At lunchtime today my phone goes and...it's him! Well, I'm AWFUL on the phone with someone I don't know if it's a social call. I get tongue-tied and quiet and shy and nothing comes out, and phone calls generally last a painful couple of minutes before I freak out and make my excuses. But no. We were somehow - I don't know how - on the phone for the best part of an hour laughing like drains. It finished with him saying, so um...shall we go and see that 3D horror film that's coming out, later this week? You can spend a couple of hours watching a grown man cry. You know what, go on then. He is actually very funny and if nothing else comes of it I predict we will get on well enough to have a nice time regardless. He gets full marks for having the balls to call me and try again - I mean for all he knows it was a nice let-down (not, I hasten to add, that it was - my leg was BAD) on Saturday night. Brownie points for him.

Other fresh runners and riders include:

- the national championship winning accordion-playing martial arts fan who likes baking lemon cakes

- the bespectacled and really rather sweet real ale loving hat-hater

- the incredibly handsome but not-really-for-me looking-for-a-slim-athletic-type who keeps sending me emails and batting his eyelashes (I wonder if he's READ my profile? I mean hi I'm pretty but I'M FAT hello and I can't even SWIM, haha)

- the very attractive but..oh woe...LARP fan. For those who don't know, LARPing is...it's...it's...just no. NOOOO. I lived with one o' THOSE before. My ex, bless his heart, who I was with for 7? 8? years all told...he had his fair share of rubber fucking swords. I always said if I'd seen the photos of him in his fucking cloak BEFORE I slept with him it'd have saved us both a lot of time, haha. Anyway. NO.

- the 6'9" (yes...6'9"!) fella who lives about five miles away and who seems very pleasant but I know nothing of him yet (other than he's 6'9" and seems quite pleasant)

- Finally, the large, shy, utterly sweet photographer who today has sent me some of the most tongue-tied, awkward, completely charming e-mails I've ever read. Aww.

So anyway, place your bets. Lordy.

Right then and now here comes the science part where I talk about my godlike genius of a therapist and how things have been changing on quite a drastic level for me since I've started doing this. The dating, I mean. He and I were talking today about how my process is shifting; there's lots going on, stuff I'm not going to go into here, but it really is like a switch is being flicked repeatedly. I know I still have the odd sweaty attack of anxiety before I go to meet someone, and I know I'm still about a hundred times more likely to have my feelings hurt than the next girl because I still to some extent let people in too far, but what I have really been learning about is How To Say No. It's having quite a drastic impact on everything - like I said, there's a lot of stuff I'm not going to go into here, but it's making sense to me. And the Saying No is becoming more empowering, less intimidating. Who'd have thought that dealing with all these choices and my fair share of rude people would leave me feeling more positive about myself than I ever have? Not me, that's for sure - in fact I was pretty sure this was going to be a horrendous experience. Instead, it appears I have many things to thank the Heartbreaker for, because I am more certain of myself (and, as my therapist would say, my Self) than I think I've possibly ever been. It's interesting, and quite exciting.

But enough of all that. Back to the crux of the matter. Am I ever going to get laid?!!!

Haha. Goodnight all.

I should bite my tongue I know but...I'm shit at that.

I said:

Blimey, that's quite intense after one date.

I have to wonder where that came from!

His answer:

Sorry about that I just wanted to make the effort to not hurt anyones
feelings, I know it was just one date and I know I'm nothing special
and not exactly the catch of the day, I guess I'm just a considerate,
caring and sensitive individual!!!
Your a jolly nice lady and I'm damned pleased I met you and I had a
lovely nice time.

x x x

I bit my tongue as hard as I could but I couldn't help myself:

Well, okay then, I guess. I'm not going to argue with you, although I
have to wonder what your motives for being on a dating site are if
you're...not actually looking to meet anyone in case you upset 'em.
Alternatively of course, you could just have told me to naff orf
without being so polite :)

Good luck, I guess. I hope you find what you're looking for.

No. Fucking. Kisses.

Spoke too soon.

In my in-box:

Dear [insert my name here],

I do care about you but don't want you to see a future
between us that's not there.
From your perspective, this is coming out of nowhere - yet I have no
doubt its the right thing to do to protect you and your feelings from
me.
I'm not doing you any favors by possibly going into a relationship that
will ultimately end with me upsetting you and I just can't do
that.
That's why I'm telling you this now rather than later.
Every second you want to invest in me is wrong and is a second you're
not investing in finding the right person for you, every second of
time you spend with me will be wasted and I don't want to steal any
more time from you.

Sorry.

x x x x

I have to wonder what I fucking do to these men to make them all go so CRAZY after one date? Hi? Hello? Oh well I guess I won't be seeing him Tuesday then.

Man you know what?

I'm not up for going out tonight. My legs hurt, I'm tired, and I'm feeling more like watching Star Wars in my pyjamas than going out to a very loud gig and standing up all night - and you know they must be hurting if I'm saying that. Plus...I don't know. I'm not feeling this one. I shall feel a little bit bad about calling tonight off but honestly...well anyway in ANY CASE there is no point going out if I'm going to be in pain all night. So that's the main point.

Win!

In my e-mail in-box:

I had a lovely time last night.
What you doing Tuesday?
X

La la la.

In which your heroine returns victorious.

Oh hi. Well, that was a Rather Lovely Evening even if I do say so myself and even if it did get off to a horrendous start with a minor panic attack, several wrong turns and minor woe at the inner city road system, heavy rainfall and a pre-determined meeting place with no bloody shelter so my man was kind of damp by the time I got to him. Oops. Oh AND, the guy I'm going on a sort-of date with tomorrow (the sex addict, remember he invited himself out to watch my friend's band play?) bloody PHONED me when I was about ten feet away from meeting him. Argh!

Anyway we went for a drink, very nice, lovely lovely, he is very funny, I went to the bathroom an hour later to discover that the Fringe Of Doom was actually completely on end and I looked like...a complete HORROR. Haha! I shall rewind though. I had so much fret and angst about what to wear that in the end I failed completely to pull off any wardrobe stunts and went out in my favourite vintage denim panel skirt and...a t-shirt. A plain black t-shirt. I WIN. Anyway I did at least have the forethought to put good undercrackers on so I had the Shelf Of Glory, which probably went in my favour. Fortunately he showed up in a shirt and...JEANS THANK YOU GOD so it was okay. Nice jeans. Shirt tucked in. Still jeans though. Success! So we tramp through the POURING rain into the pub and collapse at our tiny wonky table. Me: Phew, well we're here. Him: Yes and aren't you lovely! PRAISE THE LORD, for apparently He DOES have mercy. Anyway. Nice drink, followed by nice meal in Vietnamese restaurant where for once he threw the food about with nerves (not me, that's my usual trick) despite my having left my trick chopsticks at A's house at the weekend. Round two to me. Meal finishes; we both look sideways at the clock, it's 10.45pm. And we're in Chinatown, and we already ate. Hrmm. What now. Are you tired? he says. No, I say. Hm. Well. Do you want to come to mine and look at my comics and I'll make you tea?

Oh my god he puts out on the first date! Tea and comics? Go on then. So that is what we did. I went to his flat, he made me a cup of tea and we puttered about and smoked cigarettes and watched telly and I was quietly amazed at a: the tidiness and b: the books and c: the clean bathroom and d: the nice kitchen with actual implements and the suggestion that he may even COOK in it and e: the heating and f: the fact he had furniture and g: most importantly - he didn't lay a FINGER on me until I was about to leave and then he kissed me bless him and put me in my car. With no shoes on in the rain. The car was FOUR FEET from the door.

I probably sound like I have no standards. Let me let you in on a few things. The Heartbreaker, who I lived with...well. When I moved in he had to buy an extra cup. He'd lived in his flat (which had no heating, hot water, lampshades or furniture) for six months and never switched the cooker on. Until I moved in he didn't know how to make the shower run hot. He never cleaned. There was no stamp of him on the place at all; it was a hovel.

My man tonight not only had a huge Frida Kahlo print on the wall as I went in (those who know me know how I feel about Frida), he has actual sugar skulls he brought back from his travels with his mates because hi he leaves the house and has relationships with people dotted around the flat. He has...carpets. And a sofa. An actual nice one that you can get up out of. And towels. He has towels. And...he owns things, which are on shelves and in cupboards. He has photos of people he loves and who love him on the walls. And most importantly....

he doesn't
have
an X-BOX.

I'm going to bed.
:)

Ugh

My hair is a fucking state. I am short and fat and today of course my skin looks awful. To top it all off, he's suggested we meet in the nice part of town which is now making me panic because the only places I can think of where you can go and eat there are kind of, well, nice, and because on careful perusal of things like his MySpace and such he appears to, well, to be quite fond of wearing a suit. Um...fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck. Let's just bring everyone up to speed here. I am a short, fat, scruffily dressed scene kid with tattoos and badly cut hair and I have a chronic condition that affects both my legs that means I have to wear compression things on them all the time so I can't DO nice shoes and a little frock. I don't OWN anything like that. I basically wear Dr Martin boots, all the time, to make sure my ankles are okay. With ankle length skirts. He was going to get my nicest clothes but they're smart(ish) casual at the very best and stood next to a man in a suit I'm going to look a complete idiot. The worst part is he's left his mobile at work and all our communication has been via email and I can't even get hold of him now to say um hi can we not...do this...thanks. I'm so stressed about it I'm nearly in fucking tears. I hate, hate, hate having anxiety about not being dressed right. It's why I barely ever go anywhere unless it's to some scummy gig or to the cinema. I don't have the clothes. I never look dressed up or pretty. I'd cancel but I can't get hold of him. Jesus I have so many other things to fucking compensate for that this really wasn't what I was hoping to have to worry my way through tonight.

SO

This evening I have the date with the Man Of The Law. I have not said very much about him really but he is very funny and seems quite nice, and also has an enormous yakuza-style tattoo which I am quite fascinated by. From perusal of his MySpace and Facebookery he seems to have lots of friends - male and female - which is quite encouraging (ie, he's not a shut-in or potentially going to be completely emotionally reliant and crazy - see Heartbreaker Ex). Man, all this dating shit is making me really quite cynical.

The thing is, as I was having to explain to N the other night after he said something in jest and I misunderstood - all this laugh and bluster is a big cover-up. I am the Girl Most Likely To Have A Broken Heart, because I genuinely have faith and believe what people say. I always think the best, secretly, or at least hope fervently for it and I'm usually the last one to get the joke - especially if it's at my expense. I knowI'm good at covering it but I'm frequently reduced to almost-tears if someone says something sarcastic or sharp and I'm not sure if it's a joke or not. I'm always the one who believes everything for the first two minutes, and then feels silly after. As A, my best friend, always says - my picker's broke. It's not just my man-picker though, it's everything. I'm genuinely bad at accepting when things ain't right. Hopeful, perhaps, should be my middle name.

Of course this all means I've got little defence against the disappointments and the hurts and the sticky endings. It's why, I think, the last one left me in such a mess; it's because he lied, and I wanted to believe him so I stayed much longer than I should have, and cheerily covered it up for myself. I know I make fun of myself and of the men I'm meeting here but honestly - honestly? It's mainly because I'm terrified and that's a good way to distance myself from the nerves.

Anyway what I was getting around to is this. I hope that if nothing else I get a better idea of how to judge people in a positive way - not to PASS judgement on them, but to understand better how to interpret how people interact with and treat me, as a person, and to value that as a lesson. I also hope to understand a bit better how my script works, as A always says - why I'll settle for certain things and why I always end up with, essentially, the same fucking guy. I'd like a bit more awareness around that. But you know, for all the sharp edges and the upset, I think I'd be sad if I stopped being all wide-eyed and dumb, completely. I think about how a lot of people - a lot of people I've been close to - are, and you know, I'd prefer to be remembered as the hopeful one and pay the price with a few upsets than the cynical one with the unbroken heart any day.

My god you can tell I've not had enough tea yet this morning, and how rubbish I am at articulating when my condition is such. Mainly, what I am trying to say is: I'd like to meet a nice one who doesn't require me to grow so much armour that I can put aside any kind of wonder and hope.

Now...how the fuck am I going to sort my hair out. I might have to wear a hat.

Bwahahaha!

Dear Diary

It is not big or clever to cut your own fucking hair the day before a weekend of dates. Thanks to my MTV attention span, this morning I managed to cut my fringe in a style that can only be described as 70s glam-rock (not in a good way, think Dave from Slade), and managed to also only shave HALF of my undercarriage. So up top I'm like the bucktoothed one that couldn't get laid and down yonder I look like the pubic equivalent of Harvey "Two-Face" Dent.

I hate my life hahaha.

According to Match.com

...this is my personality profile.

You are a NEGOTIATOR / explorer

You are a big thinker. You easily take the large, long view of almost any topic. You are comfortable juggling myriad facts. You tend to synthesize material easily and to think in webs of factors, not straight lines. You are imaginative and enjoy theorizing.

You are also socially savvy. You are good at both talking and listening. And you generally read people's faces, body postures and tone of voice accurately, so you tend to intuitively understand what people want and need.

You are also highly compassionate. You care deeply about others. So you sometimes make personal sacrifices to be a supportive friend or colleague. And you like to work to improve the world.

You enjoy new ideas and novel experiences. You are flexible, affable and open to adventure. And you admire impulsive, spontaneous people, despite your tendency to plan ahead.

You dislike conflict. You seek "win-win" solutions. And with your skill as a negotiator, you adeptly bring peace to the chaotic world around you. You are a warm, insightful and often exciting companion.

So there you go. And you all thought I was some hormone crazed loon.

:)

I think I must be emitting or something.

N, not usually the most hearts-and-flowers, frilly type, has started calling me by cutesy girly nicknames. Hmm. It's actually rather funny as he has a mad bastard Glaswegian accent (which I love) and...haha no, you're not being informed what he called me earlier but it made a little bit of tea come out of my mouth in surprise and amusement and awww.

The Man Of The Law just sent a mournful text saying he can't wait to get some time off and has been looking forward to seeing me all week.

The Sex Addict has just invited himself out to watch my mate's band with me on Saturday night.

Right then. I'll shave my legs then I guess. I have to do it eventually, looks like this is my weekend. Hahaha. I also...man. Never mind. Let's just say I have my winter coat. *rolls eyes*

Show me the love.

N has just casually informed me (after I was whining about my sore back from being away from my bed at the weekend) that he, too, is sleeping on his floor as he has seen fit to purchase a new bed and mattress, and has requested my presence to, er, come for the weekend and approve it. Haha, smooth approach there mister. Is it wrong that I am sorely tempted?! No, no it's not wrong. I get the impression he'd be extremely...er...educational.

God almighty. If this were the 1950s I'd be packed off to a nunnery. I'm off to bed to self-flagellate and beg for mercy....man, I wish. Wait, I just said that out loud. Erase that thought immediately. *facepalm*

And now for something completely different:

Click here for Charlie Brooker's take. I love Charlie B. He's basically who the Heart-Trampler would be if he'd been more self aware and had had an OUNCE of motivation. Ho hum.

In other news I am as we speak hanging out on MSN eating jelly and talking to N, as is the usual evening routine. It's been good being at A's fora few days (apart from the incessant horror of trying to move house) because - apart from some crisis quality time with the people I love most on the planet, it's also meant that the never-ending blur of hangers-on dwindled to just being the ones that are interested. Bless.

Of course...that also means Barnacle Boy Gorgeous Friday Night Boy who managed to text to ask if I was home yet as I was actually bombing along the motorway. Talk about eager. He wanted to know why I hadn't told him I was "driving past" - I said, it's because I've not seen any clean clothes, moisturiser, makeup or a BED for the past five days matey. He goes...awwww. But you're beautiful anyway. I looked in the rearviewmirror for signs of truth. I think he might need glasses. Or...to come off the drugs. Or something. Oh well, perhaps he just plain fancies me. I can't really see why, as a: I'm older and b: he's kind of...well I don't know. I just don't get it really but anyway. He's in for a shock this coming weekend if he thinks we're going out though as my dance card is quite, quite full. I've got to go out and review on Thursday, I've got a date with the Man Of The Law (obviously, I won't be telling him that) on Friday, and my mate's band are playing Saturday so um...nope.

I clearly need to set up some sort of dating protocol I think. I'll have a little ponder about that. In the meantime...N is regaling me with some sort of ice-cream related questioning so I'm going to go and pay attention briefly before I pass out.

Practice makes perfect?

I was logging into MSN earlier and this article popped up - it's from Match.com (which I am actually a member of), and a lot of it I guess is common sense. It's still quite an interesting read though, amongst all the madness....haha. Enjoy.


How To Get Asked Out
C.J. Arabia

I was recently talking to a friend (one who’s never had any trouble meeting men) and was stunned when she said she had never been asked out on a date. She’s had booty calls, hooked up at parties and even had a couple of boyfriends, but never has any guy asked her out on a real date. And when I asked around, I realised that her situation is not so rare. Why is it that some women get asked out all the time and others rarely or not at all? Here, experts offer insight on just that topic. So dust off your dating shoes, try these tips, and get ready to be asked out.

Tip 1: Insist on the best.
So, there’s a guy you like, and you’re kind of seeing him—when he texts at the last minute and wants to hang out. You wish he’d ask you out for real, but you don’t say anything to him about it. Newsflash: He likes you, and if you go along with the texting tactic, he’ll keep thinking you’re fine with it. So why would he do the extra work to call you?

You don’t have to be high-maintenance to let a guy know how to treat you. “If you settle for less or expect less, you will get less,” says Vanessa Marsot, a licensed family therapist. Stand up for what you want. You may have to say no to that next booty call, but if you hold out for what you want, you will actually get it.

Tip 2: Rid him of rejection fears.
Having a guy you don’t know start talking to you can be nerve-racking—What’s he after? Is he into me? you wonder. And while they may seem clueless, men pick up on it when our defenses go up. But instead of interpreting it as a sign that we’re nervous, they think we’re looking for the nearest exit. “Guys hate rejection,” says Steve Santagati, author of The MANual. “Our egos are a lot more fragile than women think.”

Only the bravest guy will pursue a woman if there’s a chance he’ll be shot down, so let him know you’re totally interested. To put his mind at ease, smile when he suggests an activity or the cinema and say something like, “I keep meaning to go and see that, but I don’t have anyone to go with.” It sets him up seamlessly to ask you out. Remember, guys aren’t big on subtlety, so what you think of as so obvious will just seem like a relief to him.

Tip 3: Keep him talking.
Another obstacle to old-fashioned courtship is when a conversation loses momentum. Instead of smiling their way through an awkward silence, many men take that pause to be a woman’s way of saying, “I can’t wait to get rid of you.” So think of three good, creative questions you can ask in the event that someone you’re interested in starts talking to you. For example:

Where were you born? (Good start.)
Where would you like to travel that you’ve never been before? (Better.)
Want to have a thumb war? (Home run!)

Asking questions will show even the most timid man that you’re interested and keep him talking until he asks you out—or at least asks for your number.

Tip 4: Give him a preview.
You don’t have to ask a guy out to be the one to initiate contact. Instead, suggest plans and think of it as a “pre-date”… a date to see if you want to go on a date. You can figure out if you’d even be interested in the person, and you get to pick the location and time. Do something casual like a hike, a ballgame or lunch. You get to see each other with your defenses down, and once you’ve hung out in a friendly way, he’ll have the motivation (because he’s seen how hot you are) — and comfort (he knows you’re up for spending time with him) — to schedule something more romantic. You don’t have to make the first move, but a pre-date gives him an excellent opportunity to do so.

Tip 5: Practice, practice, practice.
Making seamless conversation and dating the right way may seem impossibly foreign, but the more you do it, the more naturally it will come. “A date may not be with the man of your dreams, but it’s practice, and once you’re in the zone, it’s easy to stay there,” says Anna David, the relationship expert and the author of Party Girl. So practice getting asked out, and practice dating. Practice saying yes when you’re invited to things. You may have an awkward pre-date with someone who isn’t right for you. That’s OK—no, actually, it’s great! Practice asking questions even if you’re not interested in dating that particular person. Most important, practice saying no to people who aren’t giving you what you are looking for. Soon, the only guys in your orbit will be the ones who do ask you out, and you’ll wonder why you ever needed this article!

It's ohhhhhh sooooooo quiiiiiiet....

I am aware, gentle reader, that there has been a crushing silence at the Distracted camp for the last few days. I'd like you all to blame my best friend A, who is single-handedly responsible for the breaking of male hearts across the nation - the nation I say - by rather selfishly deciding to move house this weekend, and for flinging herself shamelessly on my mercy to beg for help. Bah! ;)

Anyway, an updatette. Gorgeous Barnacle Boy Friday Night Boy has persisted relentlessly all week with his pursuit, culminating in outright begging and whining last night at which point I said, look matey. I? Will text YOU. When I get home. Gah. He's been remarkably quiet since, which is kind of a mercy, although it's a shame it looks like I won't be getting any no-strings attention from a hot young man (which I could sooooooorely do with). Ho hum.

N, the one far faaaaaaaaar away, is sweet and lovely but...so far away. Which makes me whine and grind my teeth.

However there's a new contender in the running. He is...a Man Of The Law. He is Keen. He is Local. He has successfully negotiated a Date for next Friday night. If I had bunny ears, they'd be pricked, haha. So we shall see!

Now I must go and lie quietly and whine with tired.

ps I forgot! The Magician has been back in touch. Ohhhhhreally. Yeah. I was what can only be described as Exceptionally Cool, verging on Chilly. Blow me out and then don't call me? I don't think so, no matter how much fucking money you've got.

Sleepy sleepy

Why so sleepy, I hear you ask? Well, I somehow got into a long and involved conversation with N over MSN, which culminated in us both still being awake at 2am. I mean...well perhaps I've not disclosed this bit - we tend to have quite a lot of long and involved conversations, both over MSN and on the phone. The problem with N is that as I've said before...he lives in Glasgow. Eurgh. Anyway yes. It was long and involved. He makes me laugh.

In other news - rather confusingly - the guy from yesterday kept sending texts last night. Oh alright mate, posh bird from Saturday ditched you then? Haha...yeah BYE. I don't think so.

Gorgeous Friday Night Boy has been temporarily shelved owing to compulsive obsessive texting. He wanted to take me out this week and I had agreed in principle but I finally cracked after about the tenth message this morning and said, look, you're lovely, really lovely, but hi please get off my leg. I just...please, stop. Now.

The Sex Addict actually seems to be quite a nice chap by all accounts, or at least gives good e-mail. He's interesting at the very least. *shrug* I don't really know quite where that's going. I'm a bit confused about what sex addiction recovery entails. I mean...surely if it's like, say, alcoholism or drug addiction it means you can't...have sex? No? God DAMN it haha. I do sometimes think if there is a God He's having a bloody good laugh on my watch.

Finally, an interesting proposal. There was the Irish guy who contacted me a few weeks back - from Dublin - saying, hello, I come over to [insert my hometown here] quite often, can I take you out for dinner next time I am there? Well, he popped up on MSN last night saying, hello, I am over this week. Dinner? I said, sure, why not. Well, can't hurt. And at least this one will be local and then go far far away again afterwards if it all goes horribly wrong.

Man, why did the cute one have to turn out to be a leg-clinger? Gah. *mutter mutter*

At least he was OBVIOUS

Haha...well. Here are your Distracted Girl's Helpful Tips and Tricks For Spotting Whether He's Interested Or Whether You Will Ever See Him Again:

1. He looks you up and down (quite obviously) like you're a piece of meat
2. His opening statement is, yeah, I don't think I'll bother with Match.com after my subscription expires, I've had no luck with it at all
3. His next statement is to tell all about the date he went on last night with the really attractive rich woman.

*laugh* Well, fuck you too mate. Incidentally he was boring as fuck and I fancied him about as much as I fancy needles under my fingernails. Mental note to self: I'm not keen on ex-army.

Next!

Every night

Every night just recently I've had really vivid dreams about my ex and woken up upset and all out of place. Every night it's the same thing, or a variation on a theme - that he never really loved me anyway, that he abandoned me. My subconscious saying to be careful I suppose. Still, it's really wearing, and tearful, and I'm tired of it now. It makes me think of a line from a song I've been listening to a lot recently: I'm working hard to erase you, but I don't have the proper tools. My problem is that I don't know what the proper tools would be, or even if there are any.

Anyway, today I'm being taken for Sunday lunch by D, who is a 39-year-old electrician who keeps chickens. The boy from Friday night is driving me slowly mad, as an aside. I feel like I might have to just tell him to go away soon which is a pity but Jesus. We just went for dinner. ONCE.

And just as I was posting that

Another text - do I want to go round and "watch a film". No, no I don't. And thank god you live 40 miles away sonny.

Err

Okay, I like pretty and I like enthusiastic, but there's a limit. Thus far this morning: three text messages saying he can't wait to see me again, with a further four that say he can't stop thinking about me, and another for luck indicating that he had spent all night thinking about our date. I am going to just lay this out straight: he is attractive and nice and we had a lovely evening and I'd quite like to see him again but...er...that's it. Why can't it just be simple? See...the one that broke my heart completely was like this, after the first time we went out, and look where that ended up. Him cheating, me homeless and hardly able to breathe without it hurting. I would just like to meet...a normal one. One that fancies me but doesn't want to smother me. Someone attentive but not an actual barnacle.

WELL.

I think it is fair to say that went Rather Well. There was dinner, pleasant conversation (lots of) and, er, I may have allowed him a little kiss as I exited the car. Oh come on YOU would have. Trust me. He is A Bit Of A Stunner (tall, well-built, half-Iranian, you should see his eyes, and - as my mother always says - good teeth). I also rest my case about my not being a cross-eyed, one-legged hunchbacked freak - as previous date results would have indicated - as I hadn't even got home before the first "oh my god you are so beautiful" texts started hitting. Hoorah! He also gets full points for opening doors, turning the heating on in the car, and - bless his heart - getting in there quick and asking if we can go out again. Hmm, hard decision. Let's think. Gorgeous, funny, smells delicious...nice teeth. Oh go on then.

And another thing, while we're being positive.

Good things about being fat (number 1 in an ongoing series):

You look younger than you are, so all the boys in their early twenties are after you. Hooray for energetic - it's Mother Nature's way of sorting things out because the OTHER thing that fat girls often have is more testosterone and thus...higher sex drives...oh dear. For those that know me, just...try not to picture that.

For all the young men currently beating my door down, form a queue please. I'll be with you shortly.

All together now: going to hell, going to hell, going to hell, la la la, going to hell. [Insert guilty face here, but not too guilty. Muahaha.]



As a final note, for anyone now beginning to have worries:
1. I spent the last five or six years working in sexual health. I'm the last person anyone needs to worry about.
2. I still tell my mum and my best mate, both women who would quite cheerfully hunt you down and eat your liver if you upset me, where I'm going, what his name is, what his phone number is, and when I'm going to be home (A, I'll text in a bit, haha).

F-F-F-Friday

So. I have had a good old think about things and I am happy to announce that I'm starting 2009 as I mean to go on; it's the first Friday of the year and tonight I am being taken to a film and then dinner by a particularly attractive gentleman who is rather too young for me and sounds like enormously good fun. I'm so done with all the messing about. Lovely J - well, we courted earnestly via email and phone for nearly a month before we met, we'd both got too attached, and now there's awkwardness and hurt feelings and you know what - I'm not up for that. I had my heart quite thoroughly broken last year and I am not really up for going through that again for a while, thanks. No. Here is my thinking.

I am thirty now. Until I was twenty eight I'd been in two long-term relationships from the age of sixteen, both unsuitable set-ups where eventually I became very unhappy. I never dated as a teenager or young adult, so I figure it's about bloody time now. I don't want anything serious or - actually - even lasting at this point, unless it's something really, really special. I'd just like to go for some nice meals, have some funny conversations, catch some scary films with someone to pick them apart with after, and perhaps get the odd bit of, you know, attention. So. Dinner tonight you say? And a film? Oh go on then. It's something to shave my legs and put nice underwear on for, which in itself is a good start. I'd be more excited about it if he'd stop texting every ten minutes to say how gorgeous I am and how much he's looking forward to it, as it's approaching overkill now, but he IS younger and you know what, a bit of honest to goodness excitement at my presence is not going to hurt for once. Likewise I liked his approach: no messing about sending 500 anonymous winks and nudges on Match.com; no, one e-mail - which means he'd at least bothered to pay for a membership - saying, hello, you're really pretty and you like all the same things as me, can I take you for dinner tomorrow. Please. My response? Hell yes. Where are we going. Haha.

In other news, I received a deliciously funny e-mail from an immensely goodlooking type who lives nearby. Cor. Hello. what's the catch? Well, in the second deliciously funny e-mail he revealed he's a recovering sex addict. *bites lip* Is that bad? I am so going to hell.