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.

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.

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!