I am delighted to report that the powerful love potion that is rejection has worn off.
And that, dear reader, is all I have to say about that.
I no longer hate myself (well maybe a bit but that's another story for another day . . .)
Monday 25 July 2011
Friday 22 July 2011
Welcome to Dumpsville . . .
I’m not very good at dumping people.
No, I SUCK at dumping people. In my last two ‘relationships’ (I use this term very loosely) I have spent literally 2/3rds of the time with them, working up to dumping them. This is tedious for those around me, no doubt perplexing for the boy in question and emotionally exhausting for me. It is in everyone’s interest that I get better at it.
This time around it was time to say goodbye to TV man, who is a truly, truly lovely human being, which just made it all the harder. So, all psyched up following a coaching session from a friend (‘imagine you hate him’ was her excellent but, as it turns out, hard to follow advice) this is how the conversation went:
Me: I need to talk to you about something...I've been thinking and...
Him: yep, fine, yep, totally.
Me: You know what I'm going to say don't you.
Him: Yep.
Me: only I wanted to speak to you in person otherwise it's just...
Him: yeah...err are you around this week?
Me: Errr yes
Him: Shall we meet for a drink after work tomorrow?
Me: Yes, that would be...nice (NO IT WOULDN'T!!!!!!)
How the HELL did I screw that up so badly?! And yes it has been pointed out that ‘in person’ does mean face to face but hey – I was under pressure! My words came out wrong!
Anyway, I gave him an out the next day but he didn’t take it. We have yet to meet but he’s going to let me know when he’s available to be dumped in person. Crazy fool.
No, I SUCK at dumping people. In my last two ‘relationships’ (I use this term very loosely) I have spent literally 2/3rds of the time with them, working up to dumping them. This is tedious for those around me, no doubt perplexing for the boy in question and emotionally exhausting for me. It is in everyone’s interest that I get better at it.
This time around it was time to say goodbye to TV man, who is a truly, truly lovely human being, which just made it all the harder. So, all psyched up following a coaching session from a friend (‘imagine you hate him’ was her excellent but, as it turns out, hard to follow advice) this is how the conversation went:
Me: I need to talk to you about something...I've been thinking and...
Him: yep, fine, yep, totally.
Me: You know what I'm going to say don't you.
Him: Yep.
Me: only I wanted to speak to you in person otherwise it's just...
Him: yeah...err are you around this week?
Me: Errr yes
Him: Shall we meet for a drink after work tomorrow?
Me: Yes, that would be...nice (NO IT WOULDN'T!!!!!!)
How the HELL did I screw that up so badly?! And yes it has been pointed out that ‘in person’ does mean face to face but hey – I was under pressure! My words came out wrong!
Anyway, I gave him an out the next day but he didn’t take it. We have yet to meet but he’s going to let me know when he’s available to be dumped in person. Crazy fool.
Tuesday 19 July 2011
THERE'S AN APP FOR THAT.
Social networking, internet dating, kindles, ipods....fuck it - I didn't even get my own laptop until a year ago....the whole techno revolution is waaaaaay beyond me but, just as my Mum latched on to teenage slang circa 1996 and then steadfastly clung onto it FOREVERMORE, I am just about hanging on in there. That said, a friend text(ed?) me the other day with the baffling words, "like donkey kong" and I puzzled and puzzled before offering up, does that mean "won't be long"? It does not. It means "it's on" or "something's about to go down"*. Apparently. This friend is far cooler than me clearly. However as much as I cultivate a kind of modern day Columbo air about myself with regard to new-fangled technology, there's just no getting away from it. Well duh - I have my own blog for starters! And this has raised a few interesting points recently . . .
First I accidentally mentioned the blog in front of the ex/now very close friend the other day. The second it slipped out of my mouth I knew I was in trouble. I had actually told him about it before in fairness but is was roughly 2am after a very drunken party on our second date so frankly we had other things on our minds. Anyway there's no real reason not to let him see it - I tell him everything anyway - except that I'd always be conscious that he'd be reading it and I'd have to censor myself accordingly. Eventually he agreed I had a 'right to privacy' (and then said he'd google the shit out of every dating site until he found me. Sigh.). But I guess the question is - do I really have a right to privacy? This is a public blog after all.
And then there's Facebook. Ah FB, friend and foe. Comfort when you're lonely, entertainment when you're bored and torture when you're stalking an ex or potential new boyfriend. Without FB how would I ever have known that a man who I met on the internet was friends with one of my ex's childhood best friends (who thinks I'm scum by the way)? Or that when I was dating two guys at once boy 1's ex was also friends with boy 2? Eek! So yeah FB is all good for avoiding potential cross-over pitfalls and for endless perving over those who leave their photos unprotected but what are you opening yourself up to? How soon do you accept someone's 'friendship'? I've had men I'd happily sleep with but I won't be friends with them on Facebook. It's too intimate. Too public. And yes, for me, the main problem is self-censoring. And herein lies the most recent problem that's been testing my brain....so the subject of my last two posts (let's call him Flaky Boy) never made good on that drink BUT did see fit to request my friendship on FB on Saturday night. WTF? Are we 12? So, to ignore and look petty, or to accept and give him access to all my seriously unattractive photos (and believe me there are some humdingers) - that is the question! Not to mention dooming myself to self-conscious posting until such time as I pull myself together and get over this man!
I accepted.
I hate myself.
*Thank you urban dictionary.
First I accidentally mentioned the blog in front of the ex/now very close friend the other day. The second it slipped out of my mouth I knew I was in trouble. I had actually told him about it before in fairness but is was roughly 2am after a very drunken party on our second date so frankly we had other things on our minds. Anyway there's no real reason not to let him see it - I tell him everything anyway - except that I'd always be conscious that he'd be reading it and I'd have to censor myself accordingly. Eventually he agreed I had a 'right to privacy' (and then said he'd google the shit out of every dating site until he found me. Sigh.). But I guess the question is - do I really have a right to privacy? This is a public blog after all.
And then there's Facebook. Ah FB, friend and foe. Comfort when you're lonely, entertainment when you're bored and torture when you're stalking an ex or potential new boyfriend. Without FB how would I ever have known that a man who I met on the internet was friends with one of my ex's childhood best friends (who thinks I'm scum by the way)? Or that when I was dating two guys at once boy 1's ex was also friends with boy 2? Eek! So yeah FB is all good for avoiding potential cross-over pitfalls and for endless perving over those who leave their photos unprotected but what are you opening yourself up to? How soon do you accept someone's 'friendship'? I've had men I'd happily sleep with but I won't be friends with them on Facebook. It's too intimate. Too public. And yes, for me, the main problem is self-censoring. And herein lies the most recent problem that's been testing my brain....so the subject of my last two posts (let's call him Flaky Boy) never made good on that drink BUT did see fit to request my friendship on FB on Saturday night. WTF? Are we 12? So, to ignore and look petty, or to accept and give him access to all my seriously unattractive photos (and believe me there are some humdingers) - that is the question! Not to mention dooming myself to self-conscious posting until such time as I pull myself together and get over this man!
I accepted.
I hate myself.
*Thank you urban dictionary.
Tuesday 12 July 2011
A WEEK IS BULLSHIT.
So, after smileygate I was definitely not going near that boy again. Right? You’d think I’d learn – take your own advice lady.... if you don’t hear from them, they’re just not that into you! Anyway, so after a full 7 days of non-reply to my suggestion we go out for a drink suddenly I was faced with the prospect of seeing him on a social night out. “BE BREEZY!” was the command from a friend. Breezy? I am never breezy. Still, I took a deep breath, squeezed myself into my tightest jeans, donned a pair of heels and sashayed my way into the bar. He wasn’t there. I exhaled and sat down to chat to his two best friends and we were deep into a ‘who’s snogged the hottest model’ conversation (I win hands down on that one by the way) when I glanced round, caught sight of the boy and did the BIGGEST double take ever followed by some dreadful two-handed wave thing. So much for breezy.
And then things took a turn for the unexpected when at the first opportunity he tackled me and accused me of having offloaded his jacket really quickly (onto a mutual friend – this was my excuse for suggesting we meet. I know...I’m a wimp). I laughed it off, breezily. Then he brought it up again a bit later. Well, I said, you didn’t reply to my text and it’s been A WEEK! But apparently in boy land is week isn’t very long. And apparently he does want to go for a drink. And at the end of the night it was also quite apparent that he thought he’d like to go home with me too. But I wasn’t going to make that mistake again – doesn’t he realise I don’t put out (often) for anything less than an evening at Nando’s? Unfortunately this was the point at which breezy blew right out of the window and my parting, drunken, words to him were...I think we should go for that drink, so call me. But don’t leave it a week – a week is bullshit.
3 days and counting.
I hate myself.
And then things took a turn for the unexpected when at the first opportunity he tackled me and accused me of having offloaded his jacket really quickly (onto a mutual friend – this was my excuse for suggesting we meet. I know...I’m a wimp). I laughed it off, breezily. Then he brought it up again a bit later. Well, I said, you didn’t reply to my text and it’s been A WEEK! But apparently in boy land is week isn’t very long. And apparently he does want to go for a drink. And at the end of the night it was also quite apparent that he thought he’d like to go home with me too. But I wasn’t going to make that mistake again – doesn’t he realise I don’t put out (often) for anything less than an evening at Nando’s? Unfortunately this was the point at which breezy blew right out of the window and my parting, drunken, words to him were...I think we should go for that drink, so call me. But don’t leave it a week – a week is bullshit.
3 days and counting.
I hate myself.
Friday 1 July 2011
A BOY MADE ME DO IT :(
My ex had many faults, but his grammar and punctuation was excellent. It was chief among the attributes I found so attractive in him. This may tell you a lot about our relationship.
Anyway, being an editor and therefore surrounded by similarly anal word Nazis, it wasn't until I launched myself onto the dating scene that I encountered the all encompassing wave of emoticons that had entered our communication landscape.* There they are in their ubiquitous glory - winking, blinking, smiling, crying - and probably even puking. I am surrounded. I have not however, even once, given in and used one . . . until a boy made me do it.
I can't believe I caved! I've slagged them off in dating profiles and on dates (I'm a really fun date me) and I've learnt to mentally filter out the winky, blinky, tongue sticky outy smiley faces that deface the billet doux of our digital age. I no longer fume at the idea that I am not capable of deducing someone's tone without a gigantic flashing signpost pointing me in the right direction but neither have a I EVER, EVER used one. In fact I have one friend who communicates with me solely with emoticons these days just to piss me off. I claim not to understand a word he says.
So how on earth did I stoop so low? It was a boy wot made me do it. A hot boy who I never should have sent that last text to. And I NEVER should have included that smiley. And the worst of it? 23 hours later and HE STILL HASN'T REPLIED.
I hate myself.
*Yes, I am aware (thank you Wikipedia) that smileys have a rich heritage traceable back as far as the 19th century and I'm sure they're not actually the root of all evil. It's a personal thing - I fucking hate them.
Anyway, being an editor and therefore surrounded by similarly anal word Nazis, it wasn't until I launched myself onto the dating scene that I encountered the all encompassing wave of emoticons that had entered our communication landscape.* There they are in their ubiquitous glory - winking, blinking, smiling, crying - and probably even puking. I am surrounded. I have not however, even once, given in and used one . . . until a boy made me do it.
I can't believe I caved! I've slagged them off in dating profiles and on dates (I'm a really fun date me) and I've learnt to mentally filter out the winky, blinky, tongue sticky outy smiley faces that deface the billet doux of our digital age. I no longer fume at the idea that I am not capable of deducing someone's tone without a gigantic flashing signpost pointing me in the right direction but neither have a I EVER, EVER used one. In fact I have one friend who communicates with me solely with emoticons these days just to piss me off. I claim not to understand a word he says.
So how on earth did I stoop so low? It was a boy wot made me do it. A hot boy who I never should have sent that last text to. And I NEVER should have included that smiley. And the worst of it? 23 hours later and HE STILL HASN'T REPLIED.
I hate myself.
*Yes, I am aware (thank you Wikipedia) that smileys have a rich heritage traceable back as far as the 19th century and I'm sure they're not actually the root of all evil. It's a personal thing - I fucking hate them.
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