I'm not usually fussed about being single. In fact, over the years, I've actually come to enjoy it. However, recently, it's started to frustrate me. Not because I need a man to make me happy, but because all of my friends are in relationships. Yes, I know I sound like a child who wants the latest toy, but that's exactly how not being in a relationship is making me feel - left out.
Prime example; there's a bank holiday coming up and I'm dying to get away for a short break. But who to go with? All my friends have plans with their other halves, so I've no choice to book for one. And do you have any idea how much extra I have to pay just because I'm going on holiday alone? It's like a single-tax or something. Talk about kicking a woman while she's down!
The other problem with being single is that your friends never stop going on about trying to find you a partner. They always scratch their heads and ask you why you're still single with a bemused look on their faces. Well, it's not like I have an answer to that, is it?
Last weekend, I was out with some friends for a few drinks and from the moment I arrived until the moment I left, the conversation revolved around my love life. Or lack thereof. Don't get me wrong, I'm not one to shy away from the topic (bloody hell, I write a blog about it for goodness sake) but when it goes on and on for five hours plus, it does become a little tiresome... No, I don't know why I'm still single. No, I'm not covered in scales. No, I don't keep a collection of toenail clippings. And no, I don't talk about ex-boyfriends to guys I've just met. Anyway, on this particular night out, I left in a strop - something I almost never do. Why? Because it all got a bit too much...
On a night out, if I've not found a charming young man to occupy myself with, I do have a tendency to text or call J. I believe this is my single-girl right. I'm not doing anything wrong, I merely want some attention from a man I know will sleep with me. Ok, I know he's 3500 miles away, but it's the attention I'm after. So, when my friends nag and moan at me for contacting J, I take offence. I mean it's alright for them in their lovey-dovey relationships, probably getting all the nookie they need. I bet they've forgotten what it feels like to crave attention from the opposite sex. Well, I haven't!
So after being told by my loved-up friends, with their disapproving looks, that I shouldn't be contacting J, I decided enough was enough and left. I can just about tolerate discussing my lacklustre love-life all evening, but trying to stop me from getting that little bit of attention I need to stop me from going mad... well, that's just taking it too far.
Is being in a relationship like joining the Free Masons? Is it like some exclusive club that I have no idea how to join and even if I do find out, I have to wait for someone to die before they let me join? At least my friends haven't reached the stage of organising 'couples only' dinners. Although sometimes I think they're not far off.
It's not that I'm not happy for my friends, or that I'm jealous of their relationships, I just wish being single wasn't so exclusive. I'd quite like to go on holiday with one of my friends or be their plus one to an event. It'd also be lovely if there was some spontaneity, rather than them having to consult the other half before committing to spending time with me.
Anyway, before I sound like some bitter old spinster, I suppose I better be grateful that I at least have a cat to come home to... Oh.
Sunday 31 October 2010
Tuesday 5 October 2010
How not to break-up with a girl
We've all had our fair share of bad break-ups; from slanging matches to devious acts of revenge, it's all part of the process to find The One. But sometimes, men can be a little less tactful when trying to break-up with us. Either that, or they're so tactful, it's actually even worse.
Case in point: a guy, MN, who I once dated back in late 2002/early 2003. I met MN on the internet, way before it was cool to do that. There was a flurry of emails, texts and phone calls before we met and when we finally arranged to go on a date, I was over the moon. The moment we met was like a lightning bolt and I remember it so clearly...
We'd arranged to meet at Angel tube station and then head to a bar. On the tube journey there, the butterflies in my tummy were unreal. As I walked off the tube and went up the escalator, there he was waiting for me — tall, handsome and with a gorgeous smile. We instantly recognised each other, despite never having met before. It was an amazing moment and we greeted each other as if we'd been friends for years.
In the bar, we did not stop talking. We covered all sorts of topics, from jobs to university, families to travelling. I liked him and I liked him a lot.
That night also happened to be the night of MN's work Christmas party, so after a few hours of chatting, MN invited me to the Christmas do. Of course I accepted, and so we made our way to the salsa bar where I'd meet all of his colleagues.
As soon as we arrived, MN bought me a drink and introduced me to his friends. They were all so welcoming and I immediately felt at ease. After exchanging niceties and explaining to them how we met, I remember MN taking my hand and leading me to the dance floor. We gave salsa dancing our best shot, but we were both so awful that there was nothing to do apart from laugh and drink more!
At the end of the night, MN was a total gentleman and made sure I made it home safely. Before we parted, he gave me a long lingering goodnight kiss. I'll never forget the way that kiss tasted. Or the aftershave he was wearing. It had been an amazing night with an amazing guy; I was hooked.
From there on, MN and I dated. We saw each other almost every day. One night we went for a few drinks in a bar in town and there was a couple on the opposite sofa to us, locking lips. MN grabbed me and told me there was only one way to not have to watch them — if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. So MN and I passionately kissed for the rest of the evening, only coming up for air or a sip of our drinks. I haven't been kissed like that since.
Public displays of affection (PDAs) weren't uncommon between MN and I. We'd regularly be caught in an embrace, so often so that we'd quite often get comments from onlookers. We were in the queue for the ice rink once and the gentleman behind us recommended we be surgically removed from one another before we attempt to ice-skate and end up seriously injuring ourselves. That was another fantastic date. And afterwards we went to Harrod's to look at the pedigree puppies and kittens before eating some of the most expensive ice-cream on their cafe's menu.
MN and I even spent New Year together. Just us. It's probably still the best and most memorable New Year I've had. By this point, I was head over heels in love with the guy. Totally and utterly smitten. Everything he said to me was perfect. Every moment I spent with him was amazing. We were glued to one another's side and we even talked about going away together. This, I thought, was love.
Then, one night, MN leave to go to work at 4am. Being a copper, he often worked some crazy hours. He kissed me goodbye and was about to leave but came back for another kiss. After five minutes of kissing, he actually had to leave for work, and so he left me in his bed to catch up on my sleep. By this point, I was so in love and so comfortable with MN, that I thought I'd stay at his place until he was due to come home.
Around the time he was meant to be back, I sent him a text message letting him know I was still in his bed, hoping he'd rush home to make love to me. But he text me back telling me I could stay but he wouldn't be coming back as he'd had bad news back home in Scotland and he was going back there to sort it out. He promised he'd call me when he was on the train, so I had a shower and made my way back to my flat.
Hours passed and there was no phone call. I tried ringing him but there was no answer. I sent text messages, left voicemails... nothing. I was so worried, I didn't know what to think. This went on for weeks. Six weeks to be exact. I was lost. From being so in love and showered with affection, to having no contact with MN whatsoever, completely broke my heart.
Those six weeks were possibly the worst of my life. I holed myself up in my room the whole time, listening to the same three soppy songs on repeat and watching the same sad bit of movie over and over and over again. I only left my room when I had to sneak to the shop to buy chocolate gateaux to gorge on. Not even my friends could coax me out. I cried so much, I'm surprised I didn't dehydrate.
At the end of the six weeks, I finally received an email from MN. He explained how he'd got his ex-girlfriend pregnant, and as she was American, he'd be moving to the States to be with her. My heart sunk. I was absolutely destroyed, but I knew there was no point in trying to convince him otherwise. I told him I understood and that I'd really like to take him to the airport to say goodbye. He agreed.
It was very early in the morning and I picked him up to make our way to Heathrow. He didn't have much luggage and I asked him where all his bags were. He told me all his things were being shipped. When we arrived at Heathrow, I parked the car and we walked to the check-in area. It was there I said a very tearful goodbye to MN, knowing I'd probably never see him again. But before we parted, we went to a photo booth to have our photo taken together. I still have those pictures in a drawer next to my bed, and whenever I feel down, for some reason, I always pull them out and remember the good times.
I waved MN off and made my way back home. I was so emotional that I ended up crashing my car into a pillar! When I finally made it home, I locked myself away again.
A few weeks later, I started to get over my first love, and so I went back to work. I used to work as a Tequila Girl in bars in London, which meant roaming around a pub in a skin-tight, red dress, knee-high boots and a leather holster belt, chatting to groups of men (and occasionally women) and selling shots of tequila. One night, I ended up chatting to a lovely group of lads. I asked them what they did and when they told me they were policemen I rolled my eyes and moaned. They asked me what the problem was and so I explained the MN story to them.
When I'd finished my story, one of the guys asked me what MN's name was. When I told him, the lads all looked at one another and smirked. I asked them what was going on and they informed me that MN was in the country. In fact, he'd never left the country in the first place. I couldn't believe my ears. At first, I thought they were trying to wind me up, but I soon realised they were serious. But how? I'd driven him to the airport, waved him off in a tearful parting... surely that couldn't have all been a lie?
It turns out that it was. MN had fabricated the entire story — having to go back home to Scotland, the ex-girlfriend being pregnant and flying to the States. And he'd made it up to dump me.
The whole thing was outrageous and it depressed me even more than had he just explained to me how he felt. I felt totally cheated, like he'd never wanted to spend all those precious moments with me when we were dating, that he'd never really liked me at all. Suddenly, I could see my heart smashed into small pieces, strewn across the floor, and I'd spend then next two years picking up the pieces and trying to put it back together again.
I understand guys can sometimes feel pressured into trying to soften the blow when it comes to breaking-up with a girl, but to go to such great lengths is cruel, not to mention totally unnecessary. A woman might initially be upset and angry when you break-up with her honestly, but you'll be saving her so much heartache in the long-run. Not to mention saving you a lot of hassle of making up such a story.
Perhaps my story is an extreme one, but this isn't the first time I've been lied to by a guy to get me in, or out, of his bed. I just hope that in the future, I date guys who are mature enough to tell me that I'm just not the one for them. It'd be appreciated far more and easier to get over than questioning as to why he felt a need to make-up such a story. I mean, am I really that bad?
Case in point: a guy, MN, who I once dated back in late 2002/early 2003. I met MN on the internet, way before it was cool to do that. There was a flurry of emails, texts and phone calls before we met and when we finally arranged to go on a date, I was over the moon. The moment we met was like a lightning bolt and I remember it so clearly...
We'd arranged to meet at Angel tube station and then head to a bar. On the tube journey there, the butterflies in my tummy were unreal. As I walked off the tube and went up the escalator, there he was waiting for me — tall, handsome and with a gorgeous smile. We instantly recognised each other, despite never having met before. It was an amazing moment and we greeted each other as if we'd been friends for years.
In the bar, we did not stop talking. We covered all sorts of topics, from jobs to university, families to travelling. I liked him and I liked him a lot.
That night also happened to be the night of MN's work Christmas party, so after a few hours of chatting, MN invited me to the Christmas do. Of course I accepted, and so we made our way to the salsa bar where I'd meet all of his colleagues.
As soon as we arrived, MN bought me a drink and introduced me to his friends. They were all so welcoming and I immediately felt at ease. After exchanging niceties and explaining to them how we met, I remember MN taking my hand and leading me to the dance floor. We gave salsa dancing our best shot, but we were both so awful that there was nothing to do apart from laugh and drink more!
At the end of the night, MN was a total gentleman and made sure I made it home safely. Before we parted, he gave me a long lingering goodnight kiss. I'll never forget the way that kiss tasted. Or the aftershave he was wearing. It had been an amazing night with an amazing guy; I was hooked.
From there on, MN and I dated. We saw each other almost every day. One night we went for a few drinks in a bar in town and there was a couple on the opposite sofa to us, locking lips. MN grabbed me and told me there was only one way to not have to watch them — if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. So MN and I passionately kissed for the rest of the evening, only coming up for air or a sip of our drinks. I haven't been kissed like that since.
Public displays of affection (PDAs) weren't uncommon between MN and I. We'd regularly be caught in an embrace, so often so that we'd quite often get comments from onlookers. We were in the queue for the ice rink once and the gentleman behind us recommended we be surgically removed from one another before we attempt to ice-skate and end up seriously injuring ourselves. That was another fantastic date. And afterwards we went to Harrod's to look at the pedigree puppies and kittens before eating some of the most expensive ice-cream on their cafe's menu.
MN and I even spent New Year together. Just us. It's probably still the best and most memorable New Year I've had. By this point, I was head over heels in love with the guy. Totally and utterly smitten. Everything he said to me was perfect. Every moment I spent with him was amazing. We were glued to one another's side and we even talked about going away together. This, I thought, was love.
Then, one night, MN leave to go to work at 4am. Being a copper, he often worked some crazy hours. He kissed me goodbye and was about to leave but came back for another kiss. After five minutes of kissing, he actually had to leave for work, and so he left me in his bed to catch up on my sleep. By this point, I was so in love and so comfortable with MN, that I thought I'd stay at his place until he was due to come home.
Around the time he was meant to be back, I sent him a text message letting him know I was still in his bed, hoping he'd rush home to make love to me. But he text me back telling me I could stay but he wouldn't be coming back as he'd had bad news back home in Scotland and he was going back there to sort it out. He promised he'd call me when he was on the train, so I had a shower and made my way back to my flat.
Hours passed and there was no phone call. I tried ringing him but there was no answer. I sent text messages, left voicemails... nothing. I was so worried, I didn't know what to think. This went on for weeks. Six weeks to be exact. I was lost. From being so in love and showered with affection, to having no contact with MN whatsoever, completely broke my heart.
Those six weeks were possibly the worst of my life. I holed myself up in my room the whole time, listening to the same three soppy songs on repeat and watching the same sad bit of movie over and over and over again. I only left my room when I had to sneak to the shop to buy chocolate gateaux to gorge on. Not even my friends could coax me out. I cried so much, I'm surprised I didn't dehydrate.
At the end of the six weeks, I finally received an email from MN. He explained how he'd got his ex-girlfriend pregnant, and as she was American, he'd be moving to the States to be with her. My heart sunk. I was absolutely destroyed, but I knew there was no point in trying to convince him otherwise. I told him I understood and that I'd really like to take him to the airport to say goodbye. He agreed.
It was very early in the morning and I picked him up to make our way to Heathrow. He didn't have much luggage and I asked him where all his bags were. He told me all his things were being shipped. When we arrived at Heathrow, I parked the car and we walked to the check-in area. It was there I said a very tearful goodbye to MN, knowing I'd probably never see him again. But before we parted, we went to a photo booth to have our photo taken together. I still have those pictures in a drawer next to my bed, and whenever I feel down, for some reason, I always pull them out and remember the good times.
I waved MN off and made my way back home. I was so emotional that I ended up crashing my car into a pillar! When I finally made it home, I locked myself away again.
A few weeks later, I started to get over my first love, and so I went back to work. I used to work as a Tequila Girl in bars in London, which meant roaming around a pub in a skin-tight, red dress, knee-high boots and a leather holster belt, chatting to groups of men (and occasionally women) and selling shots of tequila. One night, I ended up chatting to a lovely group of lads. I asked them what they did and when they told me they were policemen I rolled my eyes and moaned. They asked me what the problem was and so I explained the MN story to them.
When I'd finished my story, one of the guys asked me what MN's name was. When I told him, the lads all looked at one another and smirked. I asked them what was going on and they informed me that MN was in the country. In fact, he'd never left the country in the first place. I couldn't believe my ears. At first, I thought they were trying to wind me up, but I soon realised they were serious. But how? I'd driven him to the airport, waved him off in a tearful parting... surely that couldn't have all been a lie?
It turns out that it was. MN had fabricated the entire story — having to go back home to Scotland, the ex-girlfriend being pregnant and flying to the States. And he'd made it up to dump me.
The whole thing was outrageous and it depressed me even more than had he just explained to me how he felt. I felt totally cheated, like he'd never wanted to spend all those precious moments with me when we were dating, that he'd never really liked me at all. Suddenly, I could see my heart smashed into small pieces, strewn across the floor, and I'd spend then next two years picking up the pieces and trying to put it back together again.
I understand guys can sometimes feel pressured into trying to soften the blow when it comes to breaking-up with a girl, but to go to such great lengths is cruel, not to mention totally unnecessary. A woman might initially be upset and angry when you break-up with her honestly, but you'll be saving her so much heartache in the long-run. Not to mention saving you a lot of hassle of making up such a story.
Perhaps my story is an extreme one, but this isn't the first time I've been lied to by a guy to get me in, or out, of his bed. I just hope that in the future, I date guys who are mature enough to tell me that I'm just not the one for them. It'd be appreciated far more and easier to get over than questioning as to why he felt a need to make-up such a story. I mean, am I really that bad?
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