To text or not to text? That is the question

Arrggghh, I hate texting. Gone are the good old days when you had to phone potential love interests if you wanted to communicate with them. Now we have texting which is open to all sorts of interpretations.

We’d be a tad annoyed, I guess, if a guy phoned us every day after only just meeting. But if they don’t text for a couple of days we start to have panic attacks.

I haven’t heard from Chappy since Saturday - four whole days - and don’t know what that means. In theory it’s my turn to text first as he text last but I don’t really play those sort of games.

I want to text him. Let’s face it I have nothing to lose and if he says no or doesn’t reply then at least I know where I stand. And I’m used to rejection so that’s no problem. But I need to have something to say to him. I hate it when a guy sends a pointless text asking how I am ‘cos the answer is only ever gonna be “Yeah, I’m fine thanks, you?” Riveting conversation it is not.

I don’t like dilly-dallying in pointless chit-chat because it achieves nothing. Let’s face it, I want to see this guy again and preferably jump his bones, but I don’t want to waste all my text credit if he’s just gonna dip out of a date again, like he did on Saturday.

So, I’m free Friday week and am thinking of asking if he wants to hook up. He can only give me a yes/no answer and it keeps things simple. If he says no, then I’ll move onto a fresh victim. And if he says yes, then we can engage in a bit more texting and I can get nervous about meeting up with a guy I had random sex with a few weeks ago. God, I hate dating.

A work mate suggests not giving men too much credit for their texts or lack of them. “They’re all stupid,” she said. “They don’t know what they’re supposed to do when dating so we shouldn’t have high expectations.” No problem there. I’ve been let down plenty of times and never get excited until it’s safe to do so. Which isn’t very often.

So, I’m gonna text Chappy and suggest hooking up. Hopefully he’ll give me a straight answer ‘cos I can’t be doing with lies. My brother will never tell a girl the truth: that he’s just not that into her, but instead has a list of reasons which he thinks are acceptable - just got back with my ex girlfriend, not ready to commit to a relationship, too much work going on at the mo etc. I would honestly rather know the truth. It’s fine if they think I’m fat and ugly (well, it’s not actually, I’m exaggerating) as long as they’re honest. We can’t be interested in everyone we meet or date so it’s okay to say “Sorry, this just isn’t working for me.” It’s truthful and perfectly acceptable. It’s only fair to let potential love interests know you’re not interested and at the earliest opportunity. That’s just good dating manners me thinks.

Right then, need to knock out this text…

FYI I am not on the turn

A “friend” this week skimmed through my holiday piccies on Facebook and made the strangest of assumptions. He thinks that because I went on holiday with three other girls, and because our holiday snaps don’t show us sucking the faces off some Spanish bullfighters, that I must be on the turn. In other words, he thinks I might be a lesbian.

I am a little offended. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a lesbian, if that’s your thang, but women don’t have the right plumbing for my sexual tastes.

Who are us single girls supposed to go on holiday with anyway? Our parents? I think not. And me and my girl pals have all reached a certain age where pulling random strangers on hollibops isn’t very cool. Therefore our holiday photos show four girl mates having a jolly good time, without the aid of the male species. Yes, I know, shocking isn’t it. But it can be done.

This “friend” - a male in his 40s - also makes reference to me “blow jobbing” a bottle in my Facebook profile pic. Sorry to disappoint, but I was simply taking a swig of Corona. Maybe this guy needs glasses!

Where there’s a wedding there’s a way

Hoorah, my four months without sex have ended. I think four months is the longest I’ve gone without a bit of bedroom action, apart from a long term relationship I had which involved sex twice a year for a couple of years. Who says a boyfriend equals sex?

Anyway, it’s not that I have a huge libido, I don’t. It’s more a personal challenge thing and I usually set a maximum three month period to go without. Beyond that and I start to get the urge in a major way and although no single girl should be without a vibrator or three, there’s no substitute for getting jiggy with Mr Biggy.

So, after four months without a Mr Biggy in sight, I managed to pull a cute chappy at my mate’s wedding the other week. I had a really good night with him actually, and although the sex was quick and generally not very good because we were both so pissed, I had muchos fun-os. We danced, we talked, we laughed, we chatted with each other’s mate and his arm barely left my waist, which was lovely.

He’s five years younger than me, which usually I’d see as a problem; I’ve always had a thing for older guys and find youngsters a bit less mature. And ,as I’m approaching a certain age, young guys - so my brother tells me - view us as desperate to settle down and trap a guy into a relationship. Kinda true I guess, but not altogether fair. Give us a chance guys!

So, Chappy came across as fun, intelligent and had good manners. Buying me a drink is always good manners in my book. The fact that by the end of the night I’d sunk enough Pinot Grigio to drown an elephant did take the edge of things slightly. I threw up at the end of the night (Chappy doesn’t know this and I did a good job of  getting rid of the evidence - sink stains, bad breath etc) so when he came up to the hotel room we had a fumble and although I don’t consciously remember making a decision to have sex, that’s what we did. It was awkward ‘cos we were in a single bed, we were very drunk and also pretty tired by this point. But hey ho, it’s broken the seal and I’m good for another three or four months.

If it hadn’t been for the booze I don’t think either of us would have slept much. Chappy is quite a big guy and a single bed is no place for two people to enjoy a restful night. We both felt like we’d slept on the bedside table and I’m sure Chappy fell out at one point although I pretended not to notice.

I felt like poo the next morning and made my exit at 8am, doing the walk of shame through the hotel in floaty dress showing a lot of cleavage, and four inch heels. A little over-dressed for breakfast! I kissed Chappy goodbye and left him my number for good measure, not really knowing what to expect or if I was even bothered.

But, Chappy text me later that day and after a week or so of texting we arranged to meet. He was gonna come to my place for a chilled night in last night - and a bit of fumbling if I was lucky. He’d already warned me he was on call and may have to go to work, but that it hardly ever happened, and I had my pre-date afternoon planned - showering, shaving, moisturising and fishing out the candles and matches.

About three hours before he was due at chez moi, he got called to work - two hours away from where I live. Damn it. He was apologetic, bla bla bla, but part of me can’t help wonder if he’s lying and maybe he just chickened out? I don’t know. He has already suggested rearranging for sometime soon but I don’t like to get my hopes up. Guys let girls down all the time and I find it best not to get too excited. It’s a negative viewpoint I know, but the lower the expectation, the less the disappointment.

Anyway, watch this space. I hope me and Chappy hook up again, he was good company. And he looks pretty cute in his Facebook pictures. Thank God I wasn’t wearing me beer goggles that night!

No holiday romance

Just got back off hols and no holiday romance I’m afraid. Last year I met a guy from Holland called Sasha and had a drunken snog. Stupidly gave him my phone number and when he called I had to pretend I couldn’t understand him. Wasn’t far from the truth to be honest. And the year before that I slept (almost anyway, he couldn’t get it up, so we just rolled around the bed a bit) with a fit English builder who was having a week’s hols with his idiot mates.

This year I couldn’t be bothered. There’s something a bit naff about a holiday romance. In fact, there’s no romance involved; it’s usually a holiday shag or a holiday fumble. Hard earth moving. As me and my three mates strolled through one of the more lively areas of southern Spain we were put off by the number of English yobs pushing to the bar, stumbling around like drunken fools and asking women if they could feel their boobs. Just so they could check if they were real or not, you understand. Class.

The four of us had a relatively chilled holiday which included not one hangover. I got drunk a couple of times, but not madly so (still scarred by this experience I think and don’t EVER want to repeat it) and we generally just chilled in the sun and worked hard on our tans.

I did get one snog, kinda, if you can call it that. Us girlies were about to pile into a taxi when a drunken guy asked us for directions to somewhere we’d never heard of. His accent suggested he was from Birmingham or Wolverhampton and I commented as such. “Miles away,” he said. He was clearly lying. Then he leaned in, asked me what I was doing tomorrow and told me to come find him on the beach. He leaned in for a kiss, our lips touched and I pulled away. This guy was actually very cute but he was plastered. There was no way he would remember me if I strolled up and tapped him on the shoulder the next morning and pulled a sun lounger next to his. Random.

So, no holiday romance for any of us. Best Mate (BM) is seeing a guy at home anyway and has been for three or so months, although she’s not calling him her boyfriend yet. She’s too scared to have the boyfriend/girlfriend talk in case he runs a mile but is fed up with being the one organising dates and texting first. We rehearsed a few lines and suggested they both got drunk before she broached the subject.

Mate number 2, LJ, is also seeing someone back home. She lives in England, he lives in Wales, which is a bit of a problem and they’ve only seen each other twice. But he seems normal and she seems interested. They met at a work event and I think they’re hooking up next week. Am impressed they’re making the effort but the negative (or realstic?) in me thinks it may not be a sustainable relationship with so many miles between them.

Mate number 3 is actually one of LJ’s mates but I’ve met her a few times. She’s cool and she’s single; even cooler, we’re a dying breed.

As for me, the only flicker of romance in my life is a guy I met at a buddy’s wedding a couple of weeks ago. Read more in my next blog post…

The ultimate sin

I committed the ultimate sin on Friday night. I’d arranged to hook up with an old flame (a guy who dumped me to concentrate on his career, yeah right!) for a friendly drink as we’d been texting a bit over recent weeks.

I don’t know what it is about this guy ‘cos he isn’t that good looking but there was something about him that attracted me. However, rather than come across as a sexy and confident woman who he’d been a fool to ditch, I got way too pissed and clearly left my dignity and my brain at home.

I pulled my mate from bar to bar trying to find this guy (lots of confusion as to where we were meeting) and basically made a fool of myself. My memory of the night is very blurred but to cut a long story short I ranted at him quite a lot, got agressive, abandomed my mate who had no choice but to chat to my ex’s chubby but cheerful pal, and clearly offended him so much that he stomped off and refused to talk to me. That’s the end of that then.

Although a tad embarrassed about what I may or may not have said to him that night, I’m not too worried about losing him. I never had him in the first place, his job will always come first and he’d lost a lot of weight since I saw him which made him considerably less attractive. I have been referred to as a chubby-chaser before now - I prefer my men with a bit of meat!

What I am embarrassed about is that I became the type of woman I hate. The type of woman who aggressivly won’t let go, who argues for the sake of arguing and bascially comes across as a bit of a nutter. And the ultimate sin is swapping what could have been a good night on the dancefloor with my best pal, for a night spent chasing a loser guy, all for nothing. This is so out of character for me and I feel utterly ashamed.

I’d be the first to shout at my mates for abandoning their friends to chase a guy and I did just that. My poor old mate had no choice but to follow me as I pulled her around in pursuit of….in pursuit of what? I don’t even know! I honestly didn’t want to get back with this guy, and don’t think it was even an option, but just wanted a bit of friendly male company I guess? But I, more than anyone, know that it’s impossible to stay friends with an ex, no matter how hard you try.

There are always issues when relationships end and mine clearly surfaced after a few too many glasses of wine, shots of God knows what and a glass or two of Southern Comfort and coke. No wonder I leapt out of the taxi 100 metres ahead of my front door and hurled all over the pavement. Disaster all round.

My mate has been great, bless her, but nonetheless doesn’t feel guilty about sloping off half a day earlier than expected to go and meet a guy of her own, and I don’t blame her. Usually I would frown on friend abandonment, but I owed her one. She said she had a good night anyway, but I don’t know how. It was pants and a complete waste of a Friday night.

And I still feell terrible. I crossed a line on Friday and although losing the guy isn’t the issue, the way I acted is. Not attractive. Note to self: do not act like that ever, ever, ever again - or I face a lifetime of singledom.

With no male prospects on the horizon and a distinct lack of boys’ phone numbers in my address book, I’m feeling unloved, unattractive and pretty depressed. What does a girl have to do to get a boyfriend? My mates can manage it, and those who are single still have dates.

Three months without bedroom action is the longest I’m prepared to leave it, and this is now month four. Serious dry spell! Anyway, I’m gonna work on a few things in order to make myself more attractive - need to stop eating shit so a detox will start tomorrow, and I’m not going to drink so much when I go out. If it turns me into the monster I was on Friday night then it’s really not worth it. I pride myself on being a regular girl and that’s not who I was on Friday. I was Idiot Girl!

Bad advertisement for the male brand

My date for the last wedding I attended was hunted down on her hen night and I was hoping to do the same thing for my mate’s forthcoming nuptials. No such luck.

Nearly 20 of us hit the streets of Nottingham at the weekend, dressed as Pink Ladies a la Grease, and armed with dare cards and peg. The peg game rocks - the first girly to get rid of her 10 allocated pegs (the wooden washing line variety) by attaching them to guys without them knowing is the winner. The fun isn’t in getting rid of your pegs first but in the hilarity of unsuspecting guys hanging at the bar with their mates, completely unaware they they have two dozen pegs attached to the back of their shirt. Most men take this in good spirits and are happy to play along when their pals get pegged.

Anyway, yes, I was hoping that maybe the streets of Nottingham might throw forth a decent looking male who I could swap numbers and invite to be my wedding date in a month’s time. However, the streets were not paved with gold. Although there were at least three other gaggles of attractive hen parties strutting around the bars of Robin Hood terrotory, the good looking guys were clearly having a night off.

This is what we found:

• A guy who thinks Milton Keynes is a - and I quote - “shit hole” because it has lots of roundabouts. When asked why lots of traffic islands makes a place a “shit hole” he couldn’t answer. I think his brain stopped working at this point. Never trust the opinion of a guy with less than a dozen teeth in his mouth, that’s what I say.
• A guy who asked if I was a personal trainer because my calves were huge. Not sure if this is a compliment or not. The jury’s out.
• A guy that thought anyone wearing a Pink Ladies jacket would be up for a cuddle. Back off Mr Tactile.
• Two complete scumbags, clearly off their heads, who starting spitting at some of the girls in our party because an attack of paranoia meant they thought we were laughing at them. They must have been real tough guys threatening a bunch of girls wearing pink sparkly eyeshadow and limping home in their high heels. Losers! In all seriousness, they were incredibly threatening, had one of the girls in fits of tears, and were a terrible representation of the male brand. So we dobbed them in to the sexy looking coppers who happened to drive past a minute later. Ha!
• Lots of ugly guys who probably spend their weekends looking for hen parties to prey on.

So, all in all, not a successful night on the talent front. However, it succeeded in the girly bonding stakes. We shared jokes about men, swapped make-up application tips, expressed sympathy over the agony of wearing killer heels, danced in a variety of crazy styles and sang cheesy dance tunes until we could barely speak. You can’t beat a good girly weekend, even if it does result in a headache from hell and spending the better part of a gloriously sunny day sleeping off the effects of a heavy weekend.

But the dilemma remains - no date for the wedding! Maybe I’ll remain true to my single buddies and go it alone?

Another one bites the dust

I’ve got a hen weekend this weekend, signalling the official loss of another single mate. In fairness, I didn’t know her when she was single but she’s not your average bride-to-be anyway; she still comes out, still gets drunk and is still just as much fun as us single folk.

So, this weekend will consist of alcohol, girl power. laughing and dressing up as Pink Ladies from Grease. And there will probably be a water pistol wily or two thrown in for good measure!

I do love hen weekends, although there are good and bad ones. It’s always a risk when a group of girls, who don’t necessarily know each other, go out. Will they get on? Will they stick to their little groups? Who will the bride-to-be stick with?

Sometimes they’re the ultimate night out for single girls - loads of male attention that you can act on, a chance to dress up and get a lot of attention (alongside bridey of course) and generally a good night out/weekend away. It’s usually the actual wedding that makes you feel a bit sad abut your single status - will that ever be me?

The last hen weekend I attended was brilliant from start to finish. We hit the town dressed in Moulin Rouge outfits - hotpants, fishnet tights, stiletto heels and corsets - perfect for attracting male attention, and we ended up chatting to some friendly coppers who were walking the beat. Turns out one of them was a Chief Inspector, and a pretty cute one at that.

At the end of the night my mate and I tracked him down and I handed him my mobile number, never for one second expecting him to use it. But he did! To cut a long story short, he ended up being my date at the wedding, much to the amusement of the girls on the hen night.

The bride had a huge noticeboard pasted with photos from the hen weekend in situ at the wedding reception and Mr Chief Inspector was on a lot of them. I only saw him once after that - he was cute, successful (I love coppers!) and a great kisser but he lived too far away and I find that once a guy starts sending saucy text messages, that usually spells the end of a relationship.

Men are often keen to swap naked photos and dirty sex talk but not so keen to take you out for a drink. Game over! And a Chief Inspector with a sock covering his crown jewels? Bit of a turn off!