Not a good investment?

Tall Guy has been in contact so I should be pleased although I’m not really that fussed. Firstly, when I asked if he still wanted to come over this weekend he suddenly remembered that he can’t see me any weekend ‘cos he works in a bar Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights. “I hope this won’t be a problem,” he writes.

Er, well, yes, it is a bit of a problem as I work Monday through Friday full time, as I’m sure he would have realised if he’d put his brain in. I have no objection to him coming over in the week but am reluctant to take time off only for him not to turn up. Which will most likely be the case.

So, although I would love to get my hands on Tall Guy’s athletics limbs once more, I’m not sure it’s a good investement. For all the time and effort I’ll have to put in just to organise a damn date probably won’t be worth the investment. I just can’t be bothered. It will never turn into a relationship and one night/two night/three night stands are more effort than pleasure.

But, apart from Tall Guy, there are no other guys on the scene. Not one. Not one single love interest, small crush or regular flirtation. I need to get hunting for a new victim!

Raise your hand if you hate couples

I love the view of the lake from the window of my apartment, it’s fabulous. No matter what the weather or time of day I love gazing out at the baby swans that float across the water, the windsurfers gliding towards me and the ducks being fed by passers-by. There’s just one thing that ruins it – couples.

Sadly, my lakeside apartment appears to be a haven for loved up couples and I find it most depressing. They’re either strolling hand in hand, walking the family dog, cycling with their 2.4 children or smooching on the grass. It makes me sick. Maybe I should start spitting at them from the balcony?

Okay, so I’m single, but I really don’t need reminding of it every time I look out the window. And it is every time I look out the window. Every time! Do they know I’m single and gather outside my pad just to spite me? Do they pull on fake smiles and loving looks every time they walk past my window, just to make me envious of their coupled-up happiness? It’s starting to feel that way.

I never see single folk going for a stroll; the occasional jogger perhaps, but generally people travel in pairs. It reminds me that my apartment is so wasted on one person. It’s really a home for two (certainly financially) and I’ve yet to have a member of the male population through the door. I can’t really count the Sky man of the telephone engineer can I?

Lately, I have been pining for a boyfriend. And I get angry when I do that ‘cos I should be independent and happy with my single status and not reliant on men for an ego boost. But I do. I’m home alone on a Friday night and watching TV would be so much better in the arms of a hunky guy.

My ideal Friday night would consist of:

• Coming home from work to find hunky boyf cooking up a treat in the kitchen. It smells fab. He’s also tidied up.
• Crack open a bottle of Pinot Grigio and share a pre-dinner, candle-lit bath with boyf – massage aplenty.
• Over tasty dinner (eaten in our his and hers dressing gowns) we engage in intelligent conversation. He asks me about my day and how I’d like to spend the weekend.
• Move to the sofa where the dressing gowns come off and we engage in a bit of…you know what…I don’t need to go into details. He hits all the right spots, says he loves my body and we orgasm together.
• Curl up on the sofa for post-sex DVD and cuddles before retiring to bed. His arm doesn’t leave my waist all night.

A girl can dream. My actual Friday night consists of:

• Work late and then head to TK Maxx to buy nothing in particular and return home with two vests, a pair of shorts and some flat shoes. Random.
• Put a load of washing on and empty the dishwasher.
• Catch up on emails and bill payments. This somehow runs into a couple of hours.
• Tuck into microwave meal for one. It’s low fat so tastes of nothing.
• Pour glass of wine from bottle that’s been open for two weeks. It’s yukky and I can’t be bothered to open a fresh one.
• Crave chocolate but the cupboards appear to be sugar free. A mug of hot chocolate takes the edge off.
• Cut toenails and paint them.
• Retire to bed. Alone. Read book and fall asleep to live Big Brother.

Line up the single folk and pick your victim

It was a mate’s significant birthday over the weekend and as well as promising us cheap booze, a finger buffet to die for and plenty of cheesy dance music, she also highlighted the number of single men on the guest list. Excellent news, fresh victims, I thought.

There were a few single gals at the do, all stunning as is always the case, and three or four single chaps. Trouble is, you kinda assume that all single people will be drawn to all other single people and that’s just not the case. You can’t just pick your guy and go home with him. Shame.

So, when two of the guys stated a preference for my lovely blonde mate, my heart sank. There were single guys in the room and they just weren’t interested in me. My self confidence is nose diving a bit at the moment and I’ve come to realise that I’m just not that good looking. I ain’t ugly either but with so many single stunners out there, us average folk don’t get a look in. Depressing stuff.

As much as I enjoyed the party I was a tad miffed that none of the guys took a shine to me. I even wore a dress. Me and another mate sloped off into town after the party and drowned our sorrows. Not helped by the fact that we were joined by her foreign friend and Mariah Carey lookalike. She stopped guys in their tracks and, quite rightly so, lapped up the attention. Us two stragglers were defo the ugly friends that night!

I did manage to smooch with a guy called Gavin who took my phone number, reluctantly, so I insisted he shouldn’t feel obliged to use it. He hasn’t. To be honest, I can’t really remember what he looks like. Alcohol’s way of saving you from the trauma that he might well have been a minger.

Take the hint pal

Another random date from the past MSN-ed me last night. He gets in touch every now and then but we dated once and only once. He was a great guy but way too short for me and although I kissed him goodbye, it was more a sympathy kiss than a fancy kiss.

Anyway, every time he gets in touch he reminds me about my three date rule, something I must have mentioned to him before our date. The three date rule? Don’t sleep with a guy until the third date, basically. I don’t stick to this rule at all, let’s face it, but I like to pretend I have standards.

This guy was desperate for the third date to come around so he could jump in my pants. As if it’s that easy! Well, on occasions it is, but this guy didn’t get a second date. Take the hint pal.

He suggested meeting up again and I wasn’t too hesitant in saying no way, never, not on your life. I even told him he was too short for me and he didn’t take this as the insult it was intended to be. Ten out of ten for effort, nought out of ten for reading between the lines.

Blast from the past

I went on a date with a guy last year, just the once, and he randomly contacted me via MSN last night. This one date wasn’t horrible or uncomfortable, he just wasn’t the guy for me. And, as I had set myself the challenge to date at least one new guy per month in my quest to meet Mr Right ( a New Year’s resolution which proved sheer hell) I didn’t have time to waste on non hotties.

I met this guy, an Accountant, through the internet and he’d lied on his profile a bit. Ticking the “athletic build” box does not include being in possession of man boobs. A six pack, perhaps. Moobs? Certainly not. He was very tall, which I like, but Cupid’s arrow didn’t strike. Accountant was also a bit boring and kind of a know it all. Oh yeah, and he was a bit ginger. Am sure in his profile pic he was mousey.

Anyway, he contacted me via MSN, perhaps desperate to chat to someone online. And he chose me. So, we chatted. He spoke mostly of himself and it reminded me of one of the things I disliked when we were first MSN-ing last year – he never gives you time to reply before he’s writing his own comment. Hold fire boy, do you want an answer to your questions or not?

Last night he seemed to know more about the area I’ve just moved to (he lives two hours away) than I do, more about the taxi fares from my place into town and more about having to budget when you own your own house. He probably knows more about what’s in my wardrobe and how I like my hair cut as well. He also had to drop in the fact he works for a large firm, the pay is great and he doesn’t work long hours. I didn’t ask any of these questions and I felt he wasn’t engaging in conversation but merely talking at me. He also droned on about the terrible state of the economy, the impending recession and struggling to pay the bills. How very depressing. Pass me the rope. 

He mentioned he was house sitting for his parents in Leicester in a couple of weeks’ time, the city where we had our one and only date. Was he asking me to meet up with him? Well, I wasn’t biting. Our last text conversation involved him saying he’d enjoyed our date and to get in touch if I wanted round two. I text back saying “thanks, will do” and never got back to him. Why would he think I’d changed my mind after more than a year?

Even when I signed off stating it was time for hot chocolate and bed, he said he’d got “posh hot choc” and was going to do the same. Well, I can’t compete with that. He wins, he’s better than me. Knob.

A tall order?

I don’t think there’s any longevity in my relationship with Tall Guy but as he’s keen to meet up I’m not going to waste a chance to get my hands on him once more. His FB pix are seriously hot!

There are many downsides to seeing Tall Guy and the girls at work think I’m a bit of a cradle snatcher and laugh at my latest conquest. Am I too old to be smooching with cute university students after a cheesy post-tournament disco? Nah, I don’t think so.

So, the down sides are:

• He lives about three hours away
• He’s seven years my junior
• He’s a university student (plenty of young totty for him to be chasing there)
• He’s foreign

And the plus sides:

• He is 6ft 6ins of sheer hotness
• Very toned arms and stomach
• Cute baby face
• He plays volleyball, just like me
• His degree is in marketing, not too far away from my own profession
• He’s keen and says things like “sweet lips” and “taste so good”
• I’d be quite happy to be wrapped up in his long limbs for an evening

Tall men make me melt

At the top of my “must have” list when it comes to men is height. I will not date a short man, I absolutely refuse. I was disappointed to hear a few weeks back, courtesy of Trinny and Susannah, that the average height of a guy in the UK is 5ft 8ins. That’s one whole inch shorter than me. And believe me, inches are important.

Height is a “must have” for me, for several reasons. I do not want to be the bloke in a relationship and the traditionalist in me says men should be taller than their girflfriends, and preferably wider too. Do I want to roll over in the night and crush my boyf to death because I’m twice the size of him? Do I want my toes to be further down the bed than his? Do I want to bend down to kiss him? No, no, no! I want to feel protected by a big, tall guy; I want to look upwards to gaze into a man’s eyes and I want to stand on tip toes so I can kiss him. Tall men make me melt.

So, at the weekend-long sporting tournament/social event I attended up north I was distracted somewhat by a very tall guy. His baby face suggested he’d be a few years younger than me – seven to be precise; he is only 21 – but he was cute and tall to boot.

Our eyes met at the bar on Saturday night and the dribble down my chin probably indicated to him that I fancied him a little. No, scrap that – a lot! He asked me and my buddy if we were enjoying ourselves before he made his way to the dance floor. Our eyes met a few times after that but I didn’t think he’d make a move – men are often slow to react in these situations I find.

But, towards the end of the night our feet danced their way towards each other and we did a bit of grinding to some R&B number before I walked him back to his caravan. I should point out that he did have good manners and offered to escort me back to my tent but I thought, being the older and wiser, I should walk him home. It also put me in control of any “situation”.

Long gone are the days I can get pissed up, stumble home with a guy on my arm, fall into bed and wake up feeling shit and embarrassed. Hmm, apart from a few weeks back at my mate’s wedding that is (see this blog post). We all have our weak moments, and to be fair I was gagging for it at that point, but I’m defo getting too old for that kind of behaviour. But there’s nowt wrong with a snog and swapping numbers.

So, this tight chested 21-year-old is as sporty as I am and at 6ft 6ins tall I imagine he’s a lot better at volleyball than I am. He’s foreign (don’t usually go for foreigners, but his English was good and with that height he could have been Saddam Hussein for all I cared.) He had amazing arms and when he pulled me towards him for a round of kissing, it sent shivers down my spine.

Oh, I’ve still got it. I took his number (half thinking he may have given me the Flirt Divert number) and when I managed to tear myself away from his lips I text him as I walked home. He’d given me the right number, yay!

I didn’t see him during the next day’s sporting events – wind and rain aren’t a good combination for a seaside volleyball tourament - and as I was wearing a waterproof jacket with just my eyes poking out I don’t think he’d have recognised me anyway.

But, on returning home to hot showers and sand-free accommodation, we exchanged texts and he wants to see me again. He lives three hours away though, that’s the problem. I’m not sure anything will come of it but we’ll see. Not sure why a lithe young man like him would want to liaise with an old duffer like me when he can surely have his pick of the university chicks? Did I mention he was a student? Bless. And that he’s 6ft 6ins tall? Melt.

I don’t understand!

I don’t have a problem with a one night stand and never ever seeing or hearing from the guy again. Life goes on, shit happens. But I do have a problem with a guy asking for your phone number, engaging in text conversation for a couple of weeks, asking to see you again, requesting you be his Facebook friend - and then cancelling at the last minute and refusing to reply to your texts from then on in.

What’s that all about? If you don’t want to see me again don’t take my number. I text Chappy in the week to rearrange our cancelled date and he hasn’t replied. It’s not that I’m bothered but I what was the point of all that texting? I just don’t get it. When I crept out of his hotel room early one Sunday morning he had my number, I didn’t have his. He didn’t need to use it if he wasn’t interested.

This keeps happening to me lately. Why are boys happy to text but go no further? Waste. Of. Time.

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!