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!

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!