Eating from the bin......?

I've had a rotten week.

It's involved major amounts of stress at work, an altercation between my car and a white van, not wanting to let people down so being involved in things I really wish I wasn't and various other irritants.

The thing that drives me most mad is my seemingly complete inability to stop with my most self-destructive behaviour. I've recently met a friend of BJM's who reportedly said to her 'Your friend Michelle seems really together and intelligent. Why the hell is she blahblahblah?' And do you know what? She's not the first person to say that. My close friends (and now very astute people I don't know that well) have been saying for ages that things need to change in the world of Michelle (see: Rant No 1) and yet, here I am repeating the same patterns of behaviour. Over. And. Over.

The upshot is, I think, that I am shockingly bad with men. This has been somewhat disguised by the fact that I've been in long-term relationships for pretty much all of my adult life. In fact, you could say that I struck it lucky. That I ended up in relationships with men who were, in the main, decent, honest people (not counting the latter behaviour of husband No 2 you understand.....Dickhead). Now I've been let out into the big, bad world of dating, I'm a danger to myself. I love male attention. Love it. (But hey, let's face it – who doesn't?) But this really does me no favours. I'm too easily sucked in. Too keen to find my next (oh god!) true love and maybe even my soul-mate (despite the fact that I don't believe that soul-mates exist, there is a tiny flicker of hope in my mind that refuses to be extinguished). I get hooked on the fact that there may well be that perfect man out there, just for me. That man who'll really, really want to be with me – and my children – and who'll I'll be deliriously happy with. Does he exist? God, I don't know. He hasn't shown his face round here so far that's for sure....!

(I will also confess to completing every 'Which SATC character are you?' quiz on Facebook (please don't judge me....) and every bloody time, I think, 'I'll come out as Carrie. She's sassy, she's independent and got it sorted'. But no. I get Charlotte. Every sodding time! There really is no hope :( )

I was out with friends and colleagues last night and got chatting to one girl, who at 38, reported that she absolutely loves being single. She wouldn't change it for the world. And do you know what? I believe her. And boy do I envy her. (See, she's Carrie...!) Me though (Charlotte - Boooooo), I hate it. I not only hate it, I loathe it and I detest it. I said as much to J last night. My other friends who were part of the conversation were a bit surprised to say the least. They knew, they said, that I was keen on 'the-one-that-would-never-happen' but they never realised that actually, I really wanted to be part of a couple. They thought that I was pretty together, that a man would be nice, but generally, I had a pretty full life. But the sad fact is that I only really put a value on myself if I'm wanted, desired and loved by a man. (Oh God! Does that sound awful when I see it in black and white?)

Recently someone used a cracking analogy in a bid to make me see sense. They said that part of me was starving for (male) attention and that 'if you were starving for food, Michelle, you'd eat from the bin. And that's what you're doing now, as far as men are concerned; eating from the metaphorical bin'.

And she's right.

That's never good is it?

Hmmmmmmm

 

Never drink and dial

So, I've had my birthday (I survived) and with it came several nights out, all of which included alcohol. Now I have a recurring fear about these drunken evenings. I always wake up the next day with this thought; 'what the hell did I do with my phone?' And I don't mean 'Where is it? Have I lost the most expensive thing I own?' No. What I mean is; who have I sent drunken text messages or emails to? How many drunken 2am calls have I made? Have I written embarrassing stuff all over my own, or worse still, someone else's Facebook wall?

The best and worst thing I've ever bought is my iphone. I love it and I hate it. All that communication at your fingertips. It's all too easy to send some random text or email to the current object of your affections. Something helpful along the lines of 'Do you have any idea how I feel about you?' Or similar. Something that might spark a conversation that could lead to something wonderful. Or, more likely, something that is so buttock-clenchingly, watch-through-your-fingers mortifying you feel you may actually die of shame. The wonderful stuff only ever happens in films. The embarrassing stuff? Well, that happens all the time.

Most recently, I enjoyed several drink with friends (one Pornstar Martini and several thousand Cosmopolitans to be precise). The evening was not a particularly late or raucous one but alcohol – it's like some sort of truth serum isn't it? Suddenly, telling that certain someone that you think about them all the time seems the most reasonable thing in the world to do. 'What's the worst that could happen?' you ask yourself. Well, you could end up looking a complete arse for one. 'But at least I'll know' you try to tell yourself. Know what? That he doesn't feel the same and actually now you'll never hear from him again? FFS.

Anyway, back to my evening out...I got chatting to one very glamorous and gorgeous friend. We got talking about men. We've had similar recent experiences and as the evening progressed, she announced 'I'm gonna send a text!' Really? Nooooooo! Don't do it. Or just draft it. Don't send it. Or we'll chat about it and draft it at home. Don't. Send. The. Text. Just don't. No good can ever come of it. But I didn't bank on her strong will did I? By the time we arrived at mine the deed was done. She'd drafted, written and sent - all in the space of the cab ride home.

She actually looked a bit shell-shocked as we opened our bottle of wine. 'Oh God. I thought I'd regret it in the morning but actually, I'm regretting it now. Oh God.'

We sat down to assess the damage. The text wasn't that bad to be honest. It was fairly open, didn't make any demands, just stated a few facts. However, did it elicit a response at 12.30am? No. And still none at 3.30am when she left for home. Before she left, she said; 'Are you going to send a text? One you may regret in the morning?' And do you know, I'd had enough to drink to consider it. I have a lot to say to be honest. Not enough alcohol was on board though (thank God!) to blindly say 'yeah – course' and start tap-tapping on my phone. No, just enough to make me think 'What's the worst that could happen?' (other than me having to shut my Facebook account, change my email address and never show my face in public when I get rejected – again – you mean?!) Luckily, I was just in control of my actions enough to prevent any sort of iphone communication action....

Many months ago TJ said to me 'Michelle, don't drink and dial. It ruins relationships'. She learnt the hard way. Many 2am calls were made. Many text messages were sent. It never ended well. And I think that's stuck. Because like the morning after most other drunken nights (most, not all...), I reached for my phone when I woke up all bleary-eyed. And with one eye shut and the other squinting (for fear of what I might see you understand), I checked my call log. None made. Phew! 

I checked the email sent box. Both accounts. Nothing. Thank God! 

I checked my Facebook account. No horrendous posts. Mops brow. 

And finally, the most dangerous communication tool of all.....I checked my text messages. Praise the Lord!

Nothing. I did nothing. 

Thank f**k for that!

Age is just a number......Yeah. Right.

As I approach this birthday of mine, I'm thinking (obsessing?) more and more about age. I keep being told by friends that it's just a number, it doesn't matter, it makes no difference etc etc..... Yeah. Right.

Why should it matter to me? I only feel around 28 and I'm told I look younger than my advancing years (by people older and younger than me – that's gotta be good right?) Even this week I was told by a few colleagues that they thought I was 31! Yay me! 31! I can live with that... Added to the fact that I usually poll around 32 when I'm out and about, I'm concluding that I do in fact look a fair amount younger than I actually am and that I haven't been fed a pack of lies by random people. Hoorah for the good genes inherited from my young-looking mum and all the time and effort spent applying eye cream!

However, I'm going to the Year 13 Leaver's Dinner in a couple of weeks. We have the option to go for free if we're prepared to be on duty, stay alcohol-free and deal with whatever incidents may or may not happen. I think it's pretty telling that my initial reaction to that is 'God no! Why the hell would I want to be in a room with loads of 18 year old girls, all dressed to the nines without a little alcohol on board to take the edge off?'

It's not like I want to be 18 or 19 again. Hell no! That'd be awful. I am actually a grown up, self-sufficient, independent woman who still has good boobs (so I'm told – see previous blog), has good hair (well, I think so) and more importantly, has an idea about what she wants from life and the people in it. I'd hate to be 19 again, thinking I knew everything, but in reality knowing nothing. So why do I feel the need to reach for the bottle of wine at the thought of having to enter a room full of these (in the main, absolutely lovely) young folk?

Probably because they're half my age. Like I said, I'm getting a little sensitive about the upcoming anniversary of my birth.... Last year, I attended the same event, had a surprisingly really good time and on the whole, managed to hold my own pretty well I think. It's that bloody birthday making me feel all insecure, I'm sure of it.

It's so annoying, this getting older thing. I was discussing this with oldest (not elderly) friend TJ. It seems totally unfair that during those late-teen, early twenty years, you may have the body but the confidence and general life know-how isn't there. And now I'm in my (very) late 30s, I have all the bloody life know-how you could want (oh boy do I?!) and the self-awareness that goes along with that. It's just that the body's not holding it's own as well as it once was.... That is just simply unfair! A true example of 'youth being wasted on the young' if ever I saw one! This is also why I probably shouldn't date younger men. My competition for these sorts would be women in their 20s. Now, I can't kid myself that I can compete with the 20-something woman in any way, shape or form. To be perfectly honest, I don't even want to. And surely I shouldn't have to? Surely I must have enough going for myself to be able to be competition enough in whatever category I decide to enter? (Note to self: this is why all future men I get involved with should have an age that begins with at least a 3...)

In the meantime, I'll wear my new dress (yes M it is quite low-cut...!) and new heels to the Leavers Dinner. I'll have a few glasses (bottles?) of vino and I'll enjoy the fact that M will be there to give me some much needed male attention and make me laugh.  The students will be great and we'll all have a jolly nice time.

And two weeks after that, I'll be........40. Ouch.

Should I be offended....?

Earlier this week, my really rather cheeky friend Ph commented that I was 'looking pretty darn boobilicious'. He then went on to tell me that he was in fact, addicted to boobs (well, he is male) and very much appreciated an attractive pair. Now this got me thinking (once I'd stopped laughing at the inappropriate messages he sent me post-conversation...!). Should I be offended by this?

I was wearing a lowish cut, pretty tight top but I hadn't put it on because of the 'boobilicious' effect (honest) it really was the first thing out of the wardrobe that morning. However, was I upset about the result of my wearing it? Absolutely not! Maybe I should've been a bit put out by him talking to me like that? After all, I was at work, we're professional people, but honestly, I thought it was funny and really rather flattering. I mean, a girl's gotta take a compliment where she can huh?

Without wanting to sound big-headed (because I'm not I assure you. As I've said before, many body issues....) I do get the 'nice rack' type comments on a fairly regular basis and most notably in the workplace. Financial service industry office workers, they're all about the tits (in the public service sector it's pretty similar so it seems...). I spent many a happy Friday afternoon (post lunch-time drinks you understand) trying to hide my glee when my boobs were given notable mention by the men on my team. I protested of course, ''Shut up J – you're an offensive, chauvinistic pig”. You have to don't you? It's what everyone expects. 

However, many years ago, one particularly cheeky (and rather hot) manager wrote a poem for me as I left the department for pastures new. I can't remember most of it, but the ending went something like: '21, there she sits – nice blonde hair and great big......eyes! Embarrassed? Slightly. Secretly chuffed that the young, handsome boss thought I had good tits and had just told the rest of my department? Hell yes! In all honesty, I'm always pretty chuffed when the ladies get a mention. I've spent years wearing the good underwear – I'm just pleased to continue to see the results and to collect the compliments. (Is compliment too strong a word? Have I totally lost my mind along with the vaguely feminist principles I once pretended to have?)

I feel similarly about being called a MILF. Not in the traditional way, by my son's friends (he's only eight – that would be very wrong) but by random younger men. Yes, it's a bit crass but come on; you show me one mother who would rather be a mother-you-wouldn't-like-to-f*ck and I'll show you a liar.

There's one young man in particular who has been known to refer to me as a MILF and several of my girlfriends think it's awful. How dare he? What a prick! What an offensive thing to say! Really?? To be described as someone a hot, younger man like to have sex with? How can that be bad? Ever? I tried to be offended, but nah....it was just mildly amusing and to be honest, really rather flattering.

So there you are. I'm sometimes called a MILF and sometimes complimented on having a good rack and on the whole, I'm happy with both. Not very in line with feminist principles, nor is it very P.C. But seriously, who cares? As I said, show me a mother who doesn't want to be a MILF or a woman who doesn't want to have good tits, and I'll show you a liar.

Maybe I should take the time to read more Germaine Greer.....?

Good friends, good times

I can't leave it too long after my last blog post to raise a metaphorical glass to my friends. I am just about the luckiest person alive to have actually the best friends ever created. Fact.

I mentioned last time that I don't suffer fools, that I've cut people out of my world for some fairly minor misdemeanours. Ha! Luckily, my friends – old and new – do appear to have infinite time for fools....well, this fool at least. They have been so much more patient with me than I ever would've been. I am in awe at their ability to refrain from banging my head against a wall as they listen to yet another tale of ridiculous behaviour (all remarkably similar too I'm afraid). I am forever grateful that each one of them waited patiently for the real Michelle to start to re-emerge from the proper rubbish imitation I've been for a while.

Some of these friends have been around since I was a baby (honestly....Hey TJ!), some I collected throughout my childhood - at school and other such places, some through my teenage years. I've collected a fair few during my working life in the various offices and departments I worked in, some came to me as friends of friends. I've made friends at the school gates, at evening classes – just about everywhere really. And it never ceases to surprise me that, just when I think I won't ever make any new friends, that actually, I have enough already, new ones crop up. I started my new job believing I already had all the friends I would ever make.......stupid woman! There are some pretty amazing pals there too.

So, my friends are a vital part of my world. And I have so many things to look forward to sharing with them; a girl's night out with much catching up and many laughs, a sunny weekend in Cornwall, shared sangria in Gran Canaria, plentiful birthday celebrations, silliness at work, picnics in the park, brunches and lunches in Bristol, pub lunches and dog walking, chatting and tea/coffee/wine/vodka on a brand new balcony, NYC....maybe (go on, you know you want to...!) – the list is endless.

So, here's to them.

Cheers. I  you all. :o)

I think that's enough now...

Right. That's it.

One of my oldest (in that I've known her for years and years; not that she's elderly...) friends LJ said something to me the other week that made me stop in my tracks. 'Michelle, I'd like my friend back please. Where is she? I miss her'.

That, it has to be said, was like a knife twisting in my heart (yeah, yeah, I'm a drama queen. Get over it).

Seriously though, the last couple of years have been pretty tough in my world and at times it's taken every ounce of energy I have just to get out of bed. In the words of that very dear friend, LJ; at times it hurt just to breathe. (See, drama is my middle name).

Don't get me wrong, there have also been some very good times, some very fun times and some pretty exciting times. However, more recently, I think the general consensus among my nearest and dearest is that I've behaved in a rather un-Michelle like fashion. Let me explain...

I think I've mentioned in previous blogs that I have a petulant teenage streak a mile wide. Well, somehow, that's got buried under a rather passive and at times, frankly pathetic creature who's been taken for a ride, used as a verbal punch-bag and let some people treat her pretty badly. In short, I have, at points during these past two years, behaved like the sort of women I hate. Desperate, needy, weak ones. And I loathe this. Really.

Now, some of this behaviour has allowed me to regale my friends with some pretty amusing stories it has to be said (S even remarked to me one evening 'Michelle, your soliloquies are hilarious! You really should write this stuff down!' ….and so a blog was born! Ta Da! See, every cloud.....)

There are many reasons for this out of character behaviour which I won't bore world-wide-web land with now, but believe me, this is not me. Not at all. I don't suffer fools and I've cut people out of my life for much lesser behaviour (like continually buying the same clothes as me – what's that about?? or not putting enough effort into our friendship – yes really. I know. Who the Hell do I think I am eh?). And mildly amusing anecdotes aside, I'm beginning to feel pretty stupid.

Well, adding to my woes, I'm facing a pretty significant birthday which appears to be hurtling towards me at an alarming speed. I'm not impressed by this. Neither am I pleased. Nor excited. Quite honestly, I could do without it. But as my brother and the lovely H point out, shouldn't this be a turning point? This should be the time surely where I say 'no more' to being a verbal punch-bag, to being taken for a ride, to behaving as though I'm desperate, needy and weak (when in fact I am none of those things and never have been). This should be the time where I say actually, I'm about to turn the big mumblemumble-0. This is where I get my real life back. After all, this is where life's supposed to begin....isn't it?

I've also just got off the phone with EJ. She's had a pretty rough year too, but she's taking control, getting her life back in hand. Her actual words were I believe; 'Fuck 'em, Michelle. Fuck 'em all'. And I think she has a point.

And C, K, BJM, TJ, L, EJ, LJ and all my other friends (I'm very lucky, there are a lot) who keep me on the straight and narrow (well, they've tried....that petulant streak is quite strong y'know!), they all tell me I'm worth more than feeling like this. That I'm worthy of being treated with respect and love and care. And do you know what...? I might be on my way to believing them.

Well, I've thought a lot about this over the last few weeks and now's the time to say 'I think that's enough now.....'

So LJ, you want to know where the real Michelle has gone? And when she'll be back? Well, buckle up, because I think the petulant, gobby, feisty teenage version of me is about to make a come-back........Its about time.

Virtually Dating - Part Deux

So, I went back in for another round of this internet dating lark. I didn't really want to; there's a certain someone who I'd like to spend some time with but for a whole host of reasons (I've lost count now) he doesn't feel the same. I hate this but what can I do.....?

Anyway, the internet stuff.... I'm trying to put my theory of 'getting-over-one-guy-by-getting-with-another' into practice. I'm not sure it's going to work but you never know do you?

I digress. I've been chatting with several men – all of whom seem reasonable prospects. They're pleasant looking, not too many nasty items of clothing, no nasty home furnishings that I can see, so far so good......

I spent a rather fun evening in the week chatting via email and text with a pretty forward and quite cheeky guy who I found really quite funny at the time. We had a fun evening.....and he's really keen to meet up....but....and it's a big but; he is now totally doing my head in. That evening was fun, granted. But in the cold light of day, I really wasn't feeling it. Since Wednesday, despite me telling him I was totally unavailable until at least mid-week (trying to put him off – do you see what I did there?) he has texted me multiple times every day and left me messages on this godforsaken dating site. And I've replied to none. Is he a bit on the thick side or something? Is there something he's not quite getting? Now, as a reasonable adult, I really should get in touch and say something along the lines of 'sorry X, I really don't think this is going to work' shouldn't I? After all, my least favourite thing is being ignored. I just hate it. But still, I am a little mystified that after multiple ignored messages, he's still plugging away. Do people really do this? Without wanting to sound incredibly sexist and frankly a bit crap, it's a bit girlie isn't it? To keep on and on when you're being ignored? Anyway, I got the latest message late last night ('Hey, what u up 2 tonite babe?xxx' WTF??!) much to the amusement of the lovely BJM who left mine smirking to herself (but I hasten to add, agreeing with me that this guy's a pain in the ass and should be avoided like the plague!) I cannot keep up this level of ignoring for long though. The next message I receive will elicit a response – one he may not like, but hey, what's a girl to do? (I feel I must point out at this point that I can't cope with my cat being clingy and wanting me all the time. How the hell am I supposed to cope with a guy who's like it before I've even bloody met him?!)

Prospect number two seemed slightly more normal. Earlier in the week we arranged to meet up for an hour or so on Saturday afternoon in a fairly local pub. I was a bit nervous, it's fair to say, but up for meeting a new man (to help me get over my preferred man). He pulled up into the car park in an immaculate Audi A4 with personalised plates.....next to my filthy dirty, dented and scratched Corsa. Hmmmm.....how was this going to go? He did take a sideways look at my car, I immediately felt I should apologise for the state it was in, and he pointed out that maybe I should wash it and that there was in fact a car wash across the road. OMG! So, I was at my prickly best... We went to the bar where there was this whole scuffle about who would pay for the drinks. This bit gets on my nerves if I'm being honest. I offered to buy them, it's fine, I'm a working girl, I can afford a couple of drinks. But he did make rather a big deal about it proclaiming it to be 'a first'. I rather rudely (perhaps? I'm not so sure) suggested that maybe he was dating the wrong type of women....... And what did he look like? Well, he wasn't bad looking at all really. He was fairly inoffensively dressed. I didn't like his shoes and his hair needed work, but generally he was OK. (I know, I know)

And the chatting part wasn't bad really. (However, he had a very strong Midlands accent that I times, I'll be honest, I couldn't understand. I answered questions I couldn't really hear properly, so good knows what I've told him....!) It was OK until he told me he had dated someone I used to work with and who I know reasonably well. Now this woman, in recent months has had a rather tricky experience with a guy she met online and I spent the rest of the time with him going over in my head whether or not he was the man in question..... That rather took my concentration away from trying to decipher his accent, so in fairness, things went a little downhill due to my distraction. (My deductions were that he wasn't said nasty man, but I will be contacting her to get the low-down!) I also had in mind the thing that my good friend C always says. She reckons that if you can't see yourself shagging them, you probably shouldn't go back for a second date. So of course, that was on my mind too! And would I? Yesterday? No, I wouldn't. It's not looking promising is it? L and BJM however, think that I may be killing it too soon. Maybe, if he wasn't horrendous, he's worth a second look? I dunno. I'm sort of with C on this one. There has to be that spark I think and I just wasn't feeling it. C did actually refuse a second date with someone she admits was a perfectly nice man.....but she couldn't wake up to his chubby face everyday! (That's right isn't it C? I hope I'm not mis-quoting you!) And I really know what she means!

The date ended with a hug and a kiss and that was that. I have no burning desire to see him again and I suspect he feels the same. I sort of felt like a scruffy, tomboyish little (well big seeing as he's younger than me) sister with my dirty car and the paying for a drink and stuff. I'm just not sure I was feeling it.

So there you go. I am officially crap with men. I don't really know what I want (except the guy I can't have, obviously  :(  ) and I have no idea where to start looking. I'm still not feeling the love for the on-line dating. It still feels contrived and planned. I'd like something more spontaneous, more romantic really (and yes, I am a closet romantic. Where has all the romance gone? I'd love a grand gesture – not an expensive one, just a lovely don't-you-realise-just-how-much-you-mean-to-me sort of one.....sigh). As per my last blog; yes I probably am too fussy, yes my feelings for the one-that-won't-happen are probably fairly strong, no I'm not afraid of getting hurt - again. I just want something lovely to happen to me - I want someone to fall in my lap (so to speak) And yes, I know, I know, I'm living in a total dreamworld – we've been here before...

Anyway, if this men stuff doesn't work out (which is looking increasingly likely!) C and I have a plan. We'll live together with lots of cats, lots of Chinese takeaway, lots of trash TV and the occasional casual dating/sex experience....! And right about now, that doesn't seem such a bad idea!

Hearts and flowers? Pah!

So, I'm alone on Valentine's day......again. (Now, before you get the violins out, I guess I should put some context around this. This is actually only the second time since I was 15 that I've been alone on Valentine's day....that's not bad, right?)

Anyway, I'm alone. And I'm pissed off. I can't work out if I'm more pissed off that I'm alone or that I seem to be surrounded by people that have fantastic romantic plans for the day....when I don't. I get into work this morning and my lovely friend Phoenix (please don't be alarmed, this is not his real name, it's just a little thing we have. He's Phoenix – I'm Pfieffer. It's the small things.....) shows me some hideously soppy photos of matching egg-cups and heart-shaped lights his girlfriend presented him with that morning. (He thought it might make me hurl. He was, in fact, correct). The students have been mooning around all day looking star-struck and in love (I've thus far resisted the temptation to tell them that their heart will be ripped from their chest and trampled on right in front of them many times before they get even close to meeting 'the one'.......if 'the one' even exists that is. I feel it's fairer for them to discover that level of heartache for themselves...) Even the Head wished us all a 'happy Valentine's day' during our staff briefing – I mean, FFS!

Valentine's day is actually Husband No 2's birthday (in fact he chatted to me for ages whilst picking up the children earlier, no doubt waiting for the obligatory 'happy birthday'. He didn't get it - he's a dickhead remember). And as it's his birthday, Valentine's never really got a look-in, so in fact, I haven't really celebrated (is that really the right word? Hell!) it since 1996. So why do I care? Why does the whole thing make me feel so utterly miserable, lonely and rejected? Because it's rammed down my sodding throat that's why! It's on TV, it's in every shop I walk into and it's everywhere I turn at work. So clearly, if I'm not with someone celebrating Valentine's day, I must be a sad loser of the highest order, mustn't I? And when I'm in a relationship and could get a lovely card and some flowers or chocolates or whatever (as long as it's not a cuddly toy. What the hell is that about? I've never got the women who appreciate cuddly toys. I actually think they're either a bit dim or have the emotional age of around 14) I don't give a shit. It's ironic isn't it? Valentine's only actually becomes a meaningful day in the calendar when you're not in a relationship.

Which brings me back to the whole being pissed off because I'm alone. Which I am. Pissed off that is (and alone, clearly. I think I've mentioned it haven't I?). I don't even want a capital 'R' relationship with a man who's calling me and texting me all the time, doing my head in. No, at the moment, I think I want something fairly low-key that doesn't involve my children, doesn't involve us being around each other all of the time (God, I'm far too busy for that!) and does involve nice drinks and dinner out, dvd's and wine in oh, and some good sex. It can't be that tricky to find can it? I'm not that hideous am I?

I went to see Avenue Q the other day (bear with me, it is relevant - honest) and, to my horror, found myself identifying with a puppet. (Yes, I've sunk that low). The puppet in question was Kate Monster who sang (in a song called 'It Sucks to be Me'. Uh....yep!), and I quote, “I'm kinda pretty and pretty damn smart. I like romantic things like music and art. And as you know I have a gigantic heart. So why don't I have a boyfriend? Fuck! It sucks to be me!”

Now, aside from the 'kinda pretty' bit (body-image issues.....you understand), that sort of sums me up. I have people telling me all the time that I'm a really good catch, that I'm funny, witty, intelligent, attractive, that won't be alone for long, that there's loads of men dying to go out with a girl like me, blah, blah, blah. And actually, a fair number of these people are real-life men. And sometimes it's even single men who are in the right age-bracket, not two-headed monsters, not complete assholes, who say those things. So, if that's the case.....WHY THE HELL AM I STILL ALONE??!

It could of course be that I'm just a little bit fussy (not that there's anything wrong with that. Fussy is definitely good if there's potential for the exchange of body fluids). There's no doubting that I could've arranged a number of online dates (God, how big-headed does that sound?) but honestly, if you'd have seen their details......... And plus, as I've said before, I hate that whole on-line thing – it feels so contrived. So that's not it.

It could be that I'm not as 'out there' as I think. That I have sub-conscious fears of being hurt and rejected........again. Actually, that's really not it either. I'm willing to take my chances of pain and heartache. It's what life's about surely? (plus I have masochistic tendencies, clearly. That, or a very short memory).

Some of my friends would argue that I still have feelings for an ex-beau and that in itself is a barrier to meeting someone new. This may or may not be true. (It's certainly not up for discussion here anyway.....confirmation in itself no doubt :o( Dammit!)

No what I'd actually like is for a lovely someone to just fall in my lap (so to speak). It's happened before, so it could happen again eh? It would certainly make life easier wouldn't it? To be pursued? And I've been pursued before, why not again? I'm sure I'd love it as much as I have in the past (and I do really love it - it's the best bit!) Hmmmmm......can't see it somehow......*Sigh*.

Ah well, until I'm prepared to put a bit of effort in, I'll just bear in mind the one Valentine's gift I did get today. A heart-shaped lolly that arrived during my tutor time with a note attached that said 'Dear Mum, lots of love from Poppy xx'

Love you kids :) <3

xx

Good on paper

I'm beginning to think that 'good on paper' rarely equals good in real life, particularly when it comes to men. It's puzzled me for some time....why the 'good on paper' guy rarely delivers. Now, I know that sounds harsh but let me explain...

I've looked for that 'good on paper', so-called ideal man at several points over the years. You know the one, handsome (yep, still shallow!), sexy, taller than me (by at least 3 inches – a girl does have to wear heels sometimes you know), doesn't take himself or life too seriously, reliable yet knows how to have fun, good in bed (well, obviously), I could go on...... Now, I'm not completely stupid. I understand that compromise is the order of the day. It's like buying a house. You may get the good sized garden, but it's likely that the kitchen needs updating or the bedrooms are poky – especially if you have a limited budget. And I do. I'm not kidding myself that I am attractive enough, witty enough, clever enough to snap up the perfect man but what I don't get is the ones that would look amazing on a 'man CV' but actually turn out to be a little bit disappointing. With men, you may get the handsome face, but they're dead dull. Or they're super-cool and witty but you just don't fancy them. The combinations are endless.

Take my first husband for example. He was popular, friendly, generous, good company, good-looking, fit, sporty, reliable(ish), knew how to have fun etc, etc– it was hard to find anyone who didn't like him. But...... and it's a fairly big but...... he just didn't do it for me. It took me a while to figure this out – I was only 16 when we met and 24 when we split, so you can cut me some slack! The fact that he didn't do it for me, despite all the wonderful attributes, was incredibly confusing. I mean, what was wrong with me? Several people questioned me on this. Had he done something terrible? Had I lost my mind? He was lovely, handsome, still popular, still generous, still loved me so what the hell was I thinking?! I couldn't answer that.

My hot, single friend P is another case in point. He's seriously good-looking, has a defined and toned bod, he's kind, he's generous, he's chivalrous – he's an all-round really nice guy. However, for me, he just doesn't have it. I can't explain why. He's lovely to spend time with, to have a chat with but I just don't fancy him – he just hasn't got the sexy thing. (Believe me, if he did, I'd be turning on the charm....big time!)

Of course, it also happens the other way. I've been involved with men who clearly aren't 'good on paper' but who I've been unreasonably attracted to. The most recent not 'good on paper' was a personal favourite of mine. It was never going to work of course, he was much younger, funny, very sexy and probably totally unsuitable for me and my life. (Plus the fact that none of my friends who knew him seemed very keen. That can't be good can it?) However, to me, my friends not totally sharing my affections for the unsuitable one was really the only fly in the ointment. I really liked him, we kinda 'got' each other and all in all had a jolly nice time together (well, I did. I can only assume he felt the same....)

Husband number two wasn't Mr Perfect on paper either. He was fine and all but when we got together, I think it's fair to say that not many people had us down as the 'ideal couple'. We met at work; I was Little Miss Sensible (and 24 and married – pretty boring I guess, to be fair), took my career pretty seriously, chasing promotions, working overtime etc... Him – not so much. He was younger (is there a theme here?), keen on beer, smoking, football and sometimes, frankly, being a bit of a loud-mouthed lout. (In the less-offensive sense you understand. I'd never have gone out with someone really common.) No, the thing that I really liked about husband No 2 was that he was funny, witty, humorous and just about every other word you can think of. He made me laugh out loud – all the time. And so did unsuitable younger man.

Now, I've done a lot of thinking about this...... and I've come to the conclusion that sometimes, 'good on paper' doesn't matter. The traditionally held belief that a man who's tall, dark and handsome, solvent, generous and so on, will be the perfect one for me just isn't true. I've worked out that for me to really want to be with a man, he needs to be sexy (well d'uh!). And sexy for me equals funny. And to be honest, you can't be a bit thick and be funny (I know, that's not really a very nice thing to say – but honestly – have you ever met a funny, thick person??) So (drum roll please....!) it's only taken 30-odd years for me to work out that for me; sexy equals funny, funny equals clever. Simples!

So the 'good on paper' guys I've mentioned; husband number one and hot, single friend P....? Are they not funny? Actually, no they're not. And clever? Husband number one? No, really not that smart (sorry, but it's true). Hot, single friend P? I don't know really. I've never asked him for his GCSE and A Level results (no, before you ask, he didn't go to university). I suspect he's not all that clever though if I'm being honest (so sorry if that's wrong P).

And husband number two? Is he clever? Yes, he really is. And witty, sharp and frankly at times, hilarious! (Damn him – he's also a complete dickhead you understand). Unsuitable younger man? Ditto. Clever, articulate and hysterical.

So, now I've worked that out it should be easy huh? I know I have a limited budget (but I'd like to think I was just a little bit funny and maybe a little bit clever). I know I'm not gonna get the lovely kitchen, the huge bedrooms and the enclosed 100ft garden. But just the kitchen will do...oh...and maybe one good-sized bedroom. I just check out the clever, funny ones right? And don't waste time with the not-so-clever, unfunny ones? Yep, that's a great plan Michelle. But they come is disguise don't they? Dressed up as good-on-paper so I get confused and everything (Hell, I even married one of these people – what hope is there?) What should I do? Get them to perform a comedy routine for me before I decide they're worth my efforts? Not sure that's gonna work... Nah, I guess what I do is keep looking, keep trying to ignore the good-on-paper thing and trying to remain more open-minded (eeeew....and maybe I may even have to rethink the 'no-nasty-clothes, no-hideous-home-furnishings rule....? eeeek!)

Hmmmm.... Maybe I'll go down the 'clever' route instead?

Anyone got a spare Mensa questionnaire I can photocopy.....?

Shoes

So sometimes, adult conversation retreats into the world of metaphor. I have no idea why this is but the other Sunday was one such occasion. K, A and I went into Bath for a bit of fresh air and a coffee and a catch up. My single love-life (or mostly lack thereof) is always of interest to the happily married K & A. They seem to enjoy my 'hilarious' (their word, not mine - not much of my love-life is that funny to me) stories of the things that happen in my world and, in return, they love to regale me with their advice. (NB: I will point out at this point that ALL my friends, without exception, like to give me advice. Most of the time I quite like it. Sometimes I listen, but a lot of the time I don't - I have a petulant teenage streak a mile wide). Anyway, this sunny Sunday was no exception. K advises me, as we drink our coffee in some chic pavement café (well, you never know who might be paying attention), that I should view dating like buying shoes. I should try on lots and lots of different pairs before settling on the most comfortable fit – apparently. Hmmmmm.

'I think what you need Michelle, is a nice, sensible, reliable pair of Clarks shoes. You know where you are with Clarks', K tells me.

'Uh.......no I bloody do not! WTF?!'

'But when was the last time you looked in Clarks?'

'Um – never? And can I just say that I'm more than a little insulted that you think that Clarks is remotely my style?'

'Michelle, Michelle.....it's not so much that Clarks is your style....I'm just trying to suggest you wear something more, well, appropriate. The last pair of shoes you wore for any length of time were totally unsuitable. They may have looked nice, but they gave you blisters and bunions galore. The heels were too high, they were far too pointed and frankly, you would never have been able to wear them for long. You know that. No, what you need now is a sensible, hard-wearing pair of shoes. Comfort is paramount.'

Now, I don't really find this funny. She's right, the last pair of shoes I was trying on weren't wholly suitable. But for the time I wore them, they felt pretty damn good actually and I really, really liked wearing them. Plus, they looked damned fine. And, if I'm being honest, I was kinda hoping I may just be able to break them in to being more suitable, a bit more reliable, certainly more comfortable and more my style, or I'd become theirs... such is the dreamworld that I often live in. I rather foolishly got more attached than was recommended to the inappropriate shoes and I know that K's talking sense.

Even so, the thought of Clarks.....are you serious?

A chips in at this point:

'Michelle, it's not so much the brand or design of shoes that you're considering. It's the fact that we're concerned that you don't even try them on. You see them in the window, think they look nice and suddenly have them on your feet preparing to do a 20 mile walk in them'.

Well....OK...maybe he has a point.... Obviously, I've never meant to do that. I'm a grown woman who's been around for, let's face it, a little while and shoes are shoes after all. They don't last forever and you only wear certain styles for certain occasions. I thought I knew that....but it's becoming apparent that I may not. I thought I was able to see the pretty party shoes for what they were, fun to wear on the odd social occasion but no use for everyday wear (unless of course, you're willing to put up with the painful blisters and frankly, I've had enough of those to last me a lifetime). Even so – Clarks? Really? Is this all that's left for me now?

I'm beginning to tire of this 'shoe' conversation (and by the way, why exactly are we talking like this? Is it somehow easier to tell me off about my shocking choice of men if they don't actually say the words? God knows, but I appear to be going with it....!)

'OK, OK Michelle. Maybe Clarks would be a bit too...well....old and boring' (Uh – yes it would thank you very much!) 'But how about considering a Timberland or a Rockport? Or maybe something like Dune – they have some lovely boots?'

'Just remember Michelle, you don't have to keep the first pair you try on. There are plenty of pairs of suitable footwear available for you. You have really lovely feet – any shoes would be lucky to be worn by you'.

I think we may just have gone too far now. There really is no reason for us to be talking in riddles about shoes – we're not spies. But for K, A and for me, it seems somewhat easier to give and listen to this sage advice if it's said in code. What is with that?? Maybe the words 'Michelle, you're frankly, just a bit crap at this 'men' lark' are just a little too brutal?

I've been left with some food for thought. They both have a point, nerves have been touched etc etc. I assure them that I'll bear it in mind the next time I'm 'shopping'. And I will. For a bit anyway. The draw of beautiful, uncomfortable party shoes is somehow a little too great... What I can assure myself (and everyone else for that matter) that I won't be doing however, is gazing longingly into the window at Clarks.

As for those inappropriate shoes that were too pointed, with heels that were too high, that gave me blisters and bunions galore....Would I wear them again?? Given the chance (which I won't be – nobody panic!) of course I would! Every time! Like I said, I have a petulant teenage streak a mile wide.... :)

Virtually dating.....or not

Online dating. Seriously? I mean, is this what it's come to? I don't really like it and frankly, I'm rubbish at it. I'm no good at sifting and, in honesty, am completely shallow. I routinely reject men based on their photos and for the simplest of reasons. I mean, is it really wrong to refuse to reply to a man because I don't like the sofa they're sat on or the T-shirt they're wearing? I don't think so. How could any sane woman date a man who thinks Next is OK or who allows ditzy floral print cushions a la Laura Ashley into his house? I rarely start conversations with anyone who is wearing bad clothes, has nasty wallpaper or who, in all honesty, just looks a bit thick or a bit dull. I also have pretty unreasonable criteria that I subject my potential online suitors to. Apart from the pre-requisite decent clothes, nice home furnishings, normal-to-handsome appearance, height 5ft 10 and above; ideally, they should also have no kids, not want any kids and be prepared to put up with my kids. Too much to ask? I'm not so sure, but let's face it, it is rather restricting. As a consequence and as you can imagine, my online dating life is really rather limited. I did however, spend a very pleasant few weeks last summer emailing and texting someone we'll call A. His profile was quite appealing, he had his own car, own house, decent job. Photo showed him to be nice looking, inoffensively dressed and with pretty standard wallpaper. So far so good. Then, he did the unthinkable and asked me to meet him. FFS! I was enjoying the chat, the flirting and now I actually had to meet him? In real life and everything? So I stalled (obviously) – on the pretence of trying to sort out baby-sitters naturally (well, why else have kids?). Only I stalled for too long and he only went and met someone else..... I got a very sweet text saying he thought he may regret it as I, and I quote, 'sounded fab' but that he didn't want to date two people at once. (Seriously? What's wrong with him? Me, I'd have had no such problem with keeping a few on the go while I made up my mind but, whatever....). I did the grown up thing, thanked him for his honesty and told him I hoped it worked out for him. (Obviously, the last bit was bullshit. I actually hoped she turned out to be a vile bitch who made his life hell). Anyway, I deleted

his number, forgot about the online dating world and got on with my summer.

Anyway, months on and no online dating to speak of, 2011 rolls around. Lovely single friend C and I plan to think positively and give the whole online dating thing another shot. Well, more accurately, C does. I just talk about it (people who know me well will know I'm really good at saying the right things, whilst doing absolutely nothing about it. All talk and no action I believe they call it and it generally gets me into all manner of trouble). I kept looking but it was no good, too many nasty sofas and hideous T-shirts (why oh why would someone wear a T-shirt that says 'I'm on Holiday – Fuck off'?). Until that is, I get an email from A.... Yes, he's back! (See, being grown up sometimes pays). His photo's not as flattering this time if I'm being honest, but I thought he was quite hot before, so..... (I'm desperately trying to overlook the fact that he's wearing a fleece in his photo. A fleece? And it's navy blue! WTF is wrong with this man?) We chat some, his relationship didn't work out (ha!) and he thinks it would be cool to meet. I remember C and our plan to give this a proper go, so I take the bull by the horns and arrange a date for the following Sunday afternoon. And now I'm scared.....what if he looks at me and thinks I'm hideous? What if he actually runs away? I spend hours agonising over the whole thing with C and she promises to coach me in the ways of, let's face it, blind dating. Up until this point of course, I assume that he'll hate me and think me horrific....that is until a conversation we have, something about Noel Edmonds and not dying his hair, ooh and by the way, talking of hair, how do I feel about grey hair on guys? Fucking hell! Grey hair! And a fleece! Am I about to go on a date with my dad? This bloke is younger than me – I was not banking on grey hair as well as a fleece. (And before you ask, the lighting in his photo is clearly suspect – his hair looks to be a regular shade of brown). I'm seriously reconsidering at this point. I've spent a week and several evenings of getting reassurance from exasperated girlfriends preparing to go on this date ('he won't hate you, you're lovely', 'he's lucky that you're interested in him' etc etc. Even hot, single male friend P tries to convince me I'm a really good catch. P is, of course, completely perplexed by my fleece aversion; 'seriously Michelle, a fleece is warm and practical'. Hmmmmm. P suddenly not quite so hot...) and now I have the curve-ball of grey hair and a navy fleece (yes, really am that shallow – sorry). C convinces me that he sounds like a really nice man, grey hair can be hot (I'm trying to keep Matt LeBlanc and George Clooney in mind here) and that I'll probably have a perfectly lovely time. Hmmmmm. I drag my reluctant body out of my bed on Sunday morning and lie in the bath for an hour and a half texting girlfriends and begging for an excuse, any excuse that I can think of to get out of the grey hair, navy fleece date. (And yes, I already have a text drafted for C. It says 'Abort, abort!' and it's standard first date stuff. I only have to press a couple of buttons during the date and she'll come up trumps with the standard 'you have to come quick, something bad's happened!' call. I may well be needing this...) Whilst lying there pruning up, I decide just to check the online dating site to make sure I've not missed any messages....and there it is. An email from A. My damn phone isn't configured properly (or something) so I can't open the bloody email. Shit, bollocks, shit! Now I have to get out of the bath, go downstairs and boot up the laptop. (I must just clarify that by now it's midday. I'm due to meet him in Bristol at 1.30pm, this email can't be good). Email opened......he's only sodding cancelled!!! With 90 minutes to go! Wanker! How dare he?? I never even got to tell him I didn't really want to meet him with his sensible outerwear and his grey hair, that I had to be gently talked into it be the ever-patient C. Prick! He cites a hangover from hell and really hopes we can rearrange 'if you'll forgive me'. Uh....no, we most certainly cannot rearrange YOU DICK!

I decided that the only option for me at this point was to hang my head in shame and wallow in the misery of being rejected by a man I haven't even met yet (really, does it get any worse?) in the only way I know how – at the pub with wine. C and I spend a rather pleasant afternoon over-analysing everything that's gone wrong with us and men over the last, oh I don't know, 5 years or so and I return home feeling much better and if I'm honest, really quite relieved.

(It may also interest you to know that I received a couple of grovelling emails from A......good! I clearly haven't replied – I do have some pride you know!)