Category: Love

My five simple rules for dating

I’m nearly 51 years old. It has been around eight years since I’ve been in a relationship. I have only really ventured back into the world of dating in the last 12 months because it took me that long to feel ready again after aforementioned previous relationship. I have learned more in the last 12

To my dear future husband… I’m sorry

Dear future husband,

I have no idea who you are, what you do, what your name is or what you look like. I don’t know the circumstances of our meeting, who approached whom or what attracted us to each other. Was it a look, a smile, a word, or just plain instinct? I don’t know if we will even like each other at the start; will we be an instant chemical reaction or a slow burn?

What I do know is that I need to apologise in advance for a few things. These things will explain why I am the way I am and why I do what I do. This post will help you understand my motivations and drivers and flaws – and will hopefully help you prevail and persevere in the face of my occasional difficulty but frequent awesomeness.

So here goes.

I’m sorry that I won’t make things easy for you when we meet. You are going to have to do some serious work to get past the razor wire, glass shards, land mines and vicious guard dogs that protect the precious and fragile real estate that is my heart. I have met too many fucktards and/or twats to give you the benefit of the doubt and just let you in. My position is to assume you too are a fucktard and/or twat, and it’s up to you to prove to me how awesome you are and why I should let you past the razor wire, glass shards, land mines and vicious guard dogs that protect the precious and fragile real estate that is my heart. I’m sorry the fucktards and/or twats have made life difficult for you. You don’t deserve this, and unfortunately you are the one who pays the price for all their fucktardedry and twatiness. It’s not fair, but that’s just how it is.

No small thing

Recently, I almost, very quickly and without much thought, fell in love. He was a man I had met a number of times, and when we crossed paths this last time, something just clicked into place. Suffice it to say I was swept off my feet with his attention; his openness and warmth; his wanting to get to know me; and his heady promises of an awesome future. He seemed so authentic, so genuine, so real and so different from all the fucktards I’d recently had the dubious pleasure of being involved with.

And he was authentic, genuine, real and different until he was faced with the situation* of choosing between his ex-wife and me.

Needless to say I wasn’t the winner.

And this man, who seemed so authentic, so genuine, so real and so different from all the fucktards I’d recently had the dubious pleasure of being involved with, retreated into the distance with nary a word. So much for “I can see a future with you” and “I’m so into you” and “Honesty and trust are everything” and “I really, really, REALLY like you” and “This is the last trip you’ll ever have to do on your own” (I was just about to head off to Japan for three weeks).

Head fuckery, an epiphany and a calling out

I was going to publish this post last week, but I didn’t. Instead I wrote about kindness; however, I was not treated kindly or respectfully in return. And I’m in no mood to be generous. So screw it: published it now is.

Regular readers will know that I’ve been having an “interesting” time over the last few months, romantically speaking. Of course, the phrase “romantically speaking” assumes that romance is involved, which it isn’t, although I thought there might have been. But there wasn’t. All I got was a Big Fat Head Fuck.

Let me recap for new readers. Last year, I got myself involved in some Christmas shenanigans. Clearly learning nothing from this episode, and at the same time ignoring one of my very own Golden Rules i.e. Never Get Bitten By The Same Dog Twice, I got myself involved in post-Christmas shenanigans of the plot twist variety. Foolishly. Stupidly. Who ignores their own rules? (Me, apparently.)

Why? Who knows? Despite my hard-nosed approach, I am a big softie and I want to think that just once – once! – I’m wrong (or is that right?) about someone. (Call it a faux emotional investment and sunk cost fallacy, but I do tend to give people I’ve slept with more than one chance to prove themselves. For a smart girl, I can be pretty dopey. Which is why I’ve made a pact with myself.) But my irrational brain keeps supposing: surely, it’s not too much to ask? I want the fairy tale ending, even though I know fairy tale endings belong in fairy tales, of which my life – as fascinating as it is, with all its eclectic characters and plot twists and intricate mysteries and page turning narratives – is not one. Thanks for nothing, Fairy Godmother that is my irrational brain!

The pact I’m making with myself

Following last week’s post about biting dogs and do overs, I’ve been doing some soul-searching and navel gazing. The same(ish) gnawing doubts have resurfaced around the intentions of this man, despite the fact that he’s overseas. I’ve re-examined the events of the week and realised I missed key inconsistencies between words and actions, as well as things in his conversations with me that just didn’t add up. I glossed over those red flags because I got swept away. I am – after all and to my detriment – quite the romantic. I want to believe that I can have that An Officer and a Gentleman moment Hollywood has promised us! What girl doesn’t?

But my life isn’t a Hollywood movie. Not even close. There will be no man who, on realising the error of his ways, strolls into my cubicle and sweeps me off my feet with his promises of that Happy Ever After, Fairy Tale Ending. But what I have worked out is last week’s particular episode wasn’t so much an interesting plot twist as me needing to learn a valuable lesson. About myself.

On biting dogs and do overs

One of my favourite sayings – and hence one I say an awful lot because it is a part of a veritable litany of Very Wise Stuff I Say – is Never Get Bitten By The Same Dog Twice. Not Getting Bitten By The Same Dog Twice is the ultimate in protective behaviour. If someone has done something once, they are bound to do it again because humans, if nothing else, are generally consistent. Being wary of the dog (human) that bit you once means you are less likely to be bitten by that same dog (human) again. It’s a metaphor that suits all manner of situations: the manager to whom you give helpful information and who proceeds to promptly bite your head off. That “friend” who has a chronic tardiness issue and can’t seem to get their act together to meet you on time. That Italian man you know you really shouldn’t have given a second chance, but – because you believe from the depths of your soul that it was Meant To Be – ends up breaking your heart.

Yeah. About that. Hold that thought – we’ll come back to that in a minute.

My patched-up, blue-tacked, soldered-together heart and my 50 years on this planet gives me (what I like to think of as) practical experience in the Romance Department. I’ve had my fair share of short-term lovers, longer-term boyfriends and de facto relationships. Hell, I was even engaged once. I’ve had relationships where I’ve been excruciatingly, unbelievably happy, and relationships where I’ve been excruciatingly, unbelievably miserable. I’ve been in relationships where I have been so lonely I thought I was living solo on my own island, and relationships where I felt so crowded I wanted to implode. I have had sex that simultaneously curled my toes and made me melt, and sex which was cold, mechanical and alienating. I have kissed enough boys and men to know that kissing is an excellent indication of said boys’ and men’s attention to matters of an intimate nature. Good kissers are invariably good in the sack.

[From the archives] Deal breakers: 5 things worth staying single for

This post was first published on 4 December 2011. Given that I am trying online dating again, this is a timely reminder to self. These deal breakers still stand, but I’m a bit more relaxed about smokers now than I was when I first wrote this post. I was talking on the bus with a

I need me a game plan…

Last week, and despite recent What’s my type? and It’s not me, it’s you and Very Wise Stuff I Say posts, I broke my own rules and I hooked up with someone* – something I don’t do very often at all. But hell, it was Christmas, I’d had a few drinks and it had been

Looking for Mr Right for me

This post was first published on 27 March, 2012. Nothing’s changed, except I have moved jobs, where I come into contact with more men BUT the issues are more or less the same as when I wrote this post originally. I did get stalked by a Texan sociopath in Greece, though. I have been single