How to be a better girlfriend

I am furious. My blood is boiling. I cannot see straight.

I have just read an 'article' (the quotation marks are a representation of me doing bunny rabbit ear fingers, with a tone of extreme sarcasm in my voice - I thought I'd better let you know, as these things sometimes don't come across in the reading), this 'article' is all about how to be a better girlfriend. This is a horrific enough concept in itself. Sure, I am all for improving relationships, with... Oh, I don't know, some new age concept, such as communication, but, this 'article' seems to have been written at some point during the 1950's. If it was, we could read and have a giggle and say 'How stupid we were back then, haven't we come a long way?' and then go back to waxing the cat. However, this was published TODAY. I will not direct you to the 'article', as it deserves absolutely no traffic. I will, however, share with you some of it's highlights....



5. Stock your fridge with beer. Never run out of beer when he comes to see you. A mediocre girlfriend will go out and buy beer once he comes over, but a fantastic girlfriend will have the beer already waiting.

Good Lord, imagine being only a mediocre girlfriend. The kind of stupid bitch who goes out to buy beer every time her man comes over. Presumably because she is spending the rest of her time writing poetry about him, or embroidering a portrait of him into her lacy bedspread. Now, that's the kind of unthinking woman who deserves to be shown the back of his hand to remind her who's boss!


6. Keep making the effort. Even if you two have been together for a year, don't start dressing like a slob and all of a sudden put on an abundance of weight. Of course women can tend to yo-yo, especially after the holidays, but if you gain too much — as superficial as it sounds — he is not going to be happy.
Try to maintain the way you were when you met him. Or better yourself because you are so happy to be with this man that you love to look good for him. Dress up at least once in a while. He will be pleasantly surprised and turned on!

That's right - you are so happy to be with the man, that you should be in a perpetual state of discomfort. You are so happy, that you should feel the need to 'better yourself'. Because, let's face it, somehow you fooled him into liking you for who you are, (well done on that witchcraft by the way!) and God forbid he finds out that you are human under that perfect body! May I recommend plastic surgery? Because, the truth is, you are bloody lucky he is with you now. In a year or two, he'll be having sex with his secretary and you'll only have yourself to blame.



 
9. Wake up with a smile. Men love a positive woman they can wake up to in the morning with the glass being half full instead of half empty. What will score you more points is to let him lie in while you make breakfast or serve him coffee in bed. 




Great tip! Maybe I should also iron his shirts, make his packed lunch and use this time to do my hair and make-up. Because, as in handy tip number 6, if he wakes up and I look like a normal human being, he'll probably pour scolding water on me, like I damn well deserve.


12. Remember: Food is the way to a man's heart. You do not have to be a gourmet chef, but if you have a few exciting recipes in your repertoire, then you will look even better. This is especially useful when he has his friends around. Give them their guy time and make food. If cooking is not your thing, have a great array of take-away menus at your disposal.


Yep. Make food for him and his friends. Don't talk to them though. They've been doing man things all day. They don't want to hear about periods and babies. Back in the kitchen, Sweetheart!



13. Learn his language. When he's thirsty, he's thirsty. When he says "yes" he means "yes" and not "no." When he says he's hungry, well you better get some food in his stomach soon. Also note men don't like to walk around when they are hungry looking for a restaurant as us women will do.

Yep, when he says he's hungry, you'd better get some food in his stomach, as is your job, in fact your only reason for being.
And man, us women are such stupid bitches, looking for restaurants when we are hungry. We should be happy to lick the chewing gum off the pavement just like he does!



 
I feel I've learned a lot from this 'smarticle'. I now know EXACTLY how to behave in a relationship and I will damn well make sure not to mess it up by in any way having a personality.

Phew. Now, if you'll excuse me, I really shouldn't be wasting my time writing, which is a task that really should be left to a super clever man, I'm going to go and curl my hair and bake a delicious apple pie to see if I can bag a husband.

Ghosts of boyfriends past

Everyone has some of those old photos that they would rather disappeared off the face of the planet. Reminders of a bad choice, be it a dreadful haircut or really really horrific outfit. 

These days with Facebook, these photos are even more accessible and even less burnable. Sure, you can untag yourself, but somewhere out there is an awful reminder of that hideous fur catsuit you were convinced looked amazing when you left the house. You were Naomi Campbell. No. You were in fact RuPaul. 

There was a horrific period, if you recall, in the nineties when lime green and fluorescent orange was for some reason deemed to be acceptable. And not, as it should have been, an arrestable offence. If you don't recall this period, I can only assume that it is because your brain has blacked it out for your own protection. 
During this time, I owned a bright orange skin tight Lycra shirt with a black collar. Feeling this wasn't ludicrous enough, I would often couple this with some Boyzone dog tags. Hell yeah I was a stylish chick. Without any friends. This outfit is etched onto the back of my eyeballs as a mistake that should not have been made. Why did no one do anything? Like push me down a well?

Luckily, there is no photographic evidence of this atrocity. Maybe because people who even attempted to look directly at me would have their retinas burnt. 

I have a friend who used to wear foundation two shades too pale. She looked like a lost Parisian mime. Did I do the honourable thing and tell her? No. No I did not. I let her carry on scaring children and dogs as any good friend would. 

This hall of shame is not unfortunately limited to clothing or awful haircuts. We can add into this mix boyfriends who shouldn't have been. 

Ah yes. The 'what-in-God's-name-did-I-see-in-you?' Museum. 

Everyone has at least one. I, unfortunately have several. 

There's the one who ended up in a mental hospital. 

There's the one who become a monk. 

The four, five or six who turned out to be gay. (That I know of). 

The one who left me for someone else because God told him to. 

I wish I was making this up. I really do. But I'm not. Well, at least I got some good writing material out of it. And some stories to laugh at with my therapist.

And I suppose in a way, we have to have these awful relationships to prove to ourselves what it is we really want. 
But do we? Do we really? I mean, I don't need to drink a bucket of vomit to know that I would actually rather have a cake. 

And yet, somewhere along the way, I really wanted to be with these idiots. In the same way that I was happy to be dressed like a children's entertainer on ecstasy.

They say love is blind. Sometimes I think it can be deaf, mute and quite frankly a little bit slow of learning. 

I guess all we can do is pat ourselves on the back for burning those outfits and ditching those awful men. This is what makes us become complete human beings. Right? Yes. Let's all tell ourselves that... 

As for that shirt, I have no idea what happened to it in the end. I must have seen sense and thrown it out. Maybe Lady Gaga has it? Maybe it is being used by woodsmen to protect themselves from bears. Who knows... Who knows.... 

I will not think about you naked. Promise.

A question was posed to me a couple of days ago. A question of the sex and relationship kind. I love a good question of the sex and relationship kind. And once a question is posed to me, I like to have a good old ponder. And then an ice cream. And then a further ponder. And then I like to share my views with you stunningly beautiful people. You are, you know, each and every one of you. Except you. Put your clothes back on.

The question went thus - 

'Can a straight man and a straight woman ever have a completely platonic friendship without either of them thinking of the other in a sexual way, ever?'

My first reaction to this was - Absolutely. Of course. I have many straight single male friends and there has never been even the slightest question of anything more between us. 

And then I thought, 'Really?... Really? No question at all? Really?' and then I thought, 'Hmm, maybe you're right, Second Me... The more I think about it, the more you could be right...'

If I think of my straight male friends, some of them did, of course, come with the initial thought of 'Oh hello you... Would you like to put your head between my breasts?' but then we become friends and heads in breasts is just considered a faux pas.

And for the ones that it has never crossed my mind to think of in that dirty dirty way, not at all, not even once, not even if I had had a bath filled with tequila, how can I be completely sure it has never once crossed their mind. I mean, look at me. I'm hot. I would. 

Narcissistic comments aside, I think that a purely platonic relationship is possible.

But maybe only if the two people involved are very unattractive. Or have got to the stage where the relationship is very close and it would be like getting down and dirty with your brother or sister. The thought of which has made me vom in my mouth a little bit. 

But in any friendship, at some stage, bumping uglies will probably cross your mind. But I guess, it then depends how that thought makes you feel. If it's a bit vomey in your mouth, then it's probably not right.

Getting back to nature, we should really all be having sex with each other all the time. To, you know, populate the planet and that. It's only boring society that says that that's not acceptable these days. So maybe these thoughts are always there and we are just constantly filtering them out of our heads just to be able to get on with our lives. It would be pretty tough to get any work done that's for sure, if we were just having to have sex with everybody. And when would we get time to eat? Think about it... These are the dangers of non platonic relationships. Take note kids, Just Say No.

Good good good GOOOOOD vibrations

Today, a film will be unleashed on the public. A film entitled Hysteria. You may have heard of it. And if you have, you will realise that this is a film, I simply cannot let slip by unnoticed.

It is a film about an ordinary everyday household object. And the origins thereof.

Yes. I am talking about a woman's best friend. Anyone, at this stage, who is thinking - 'Iron', is going to get a swift kick in the ankle from me.

I am of course referring to a single woman's solace, a married woman's guarantee of joy, a husband's nemesis, The Vibrator.

Any woman who tells you she has never owned or used a vibrator is a liar or a nun. It is the equivalent of a sixteen year old boy saying 'I can use my right hand for WHAT?! How very dare you?! I would never! I have exams to think of.... The very idea....'

These days they come in so many shapes, sizes, colours and creeds, the choice can be as difficult as deciding which chocolate to take in a big 'ol box of Milk Tray... You can even buy them off the shelf in Boots. (The shop. They aren't wearing boots, I think you have to go to a very specialist store for that).

They even come in a lots of different animal shapes. A menagerie a trois if you will... (sorry... couldn't resist) for the....umm.... discerning animal.... ahem.... lover..... 

There is the Rabbit... of course. Yes, we ALL know about the rabbit, but were you aware of the dolphin? The whale? And Oh My God I Wish I Was Kidding.... the HELLO KITTY VIBRATOR. 

Those three words sum up why the Japanese need to be stopped. Now.

The vibrator is no longer a tool for the sad single spinster. They are enjoyed by couples, frequently as 'spicing up' type equipment. Men even have their own fun jiggly rings of joy. 

Whilst it is becoming more and more common for women to discuss the latest in buzzing technology, it still remains a thing of great fear and excitement to men, a bit like a roller coaster, costs a lot, it looks fun and colourful and there's lots of screaming.....

But, one thing that scares them is, what if it does a better job? Will they be demoted? And why is it so much bigger than their own appendage? Isn't that just a rubbery smack in the face?

Well, they have no one to blame but themselves.

The vibrator was invented by doctors in the Victorian age to 'cure' women of 'hysteria'. The usual method of this was for the doctor to stimulate a women's vagina with their finger until they reached 'completion'. Men mixing their laziness with their love of toys invented a device to do the job for them. Which meant it was developed with a very male take on what women would find stimulating. Hence the supersized phallus.

If it had been invented by a woman, it would probably resemble a sort of tiny Ryan Gosling and would project pictures of shoes on the wall during usage.

It wasn't long before women were taking smaller versions of this 'cure' home, and funnily enough, hysteria suddenly became a very common complaint.

I am sure that no man, unless truly confident in himself, will believe me when I say no woman would choose a plastic wobbly device over a real, living breathing human. And why should he believe me, when he is told time and time again that that is not true?

Sex and the City, and any female orientated show is constantly digging away at masculinity and telling them all that they are useless and will never live up to the treasures that are nestled in Ann Summers. But it's okay, because it's always meant as a bit of fun, a little emasculating joke. 

Why can't we just tell them the truth? We would chuck out our rabbits, our tingletips and our black knights for just one evening with the man of our dreams.

But not Hello Kitty. You will have to fight me to get that one. 

Is Romance Dead? Or in a coma? Should we poke it and see?

So for those of you not yet aware, which is anyone without a computer, phone or indeed within shouting distance of my face, I am currently residing in the beautiful city of Venice in Italy.

 

This was not an 'Eat. Pray. Love' finding myself type decision, it was more a 'we will pay you to eat' type decision. 

 

So here I am. In what I believe might actually be the most beautiful city in the world. Add to that pizza, ice-cream and yummy Italian men. Or that was the idea. Unfortunately Venice is not full of thirty something dark haired lotharios called Lorenzo who would love to eat gelato off my naked body. Nope.....It is full of tourists. 

 

Tourist couples. (I threw up in my mouth a little bit when I wrote that).

They've all flocked out to have a wonderful romantic four days on gondolas, holding hands on bridges, kissing in corners and generally getting in my way on my way to work.

 

Initially I wanted to throw each couple off the Rialto and into the Grand Canal, but to be honest that would be a little too time consuming and I have better things to do with my time. Eat Pizza. Scowl. That sort of thing.

 

So instead I have observed. Like a sort of pervert spy.

 

Romance is a big business here. This place is a sort of Groundhog Valentine's Day. Gondoliers sweep young couples up and down the canal under some of the most stunning vistas ever to have been built by man. Rose sellers accost you at every turn with their huge bunches of reminders of your singledom. You can eat ice cream and playfully put some on your lovers nose before kissing in a sort of Rom Com type way. This was the city of Casanova for goodness sake. How can you not get swept up in the greeting card life? Even I forget sometimes and start holding my own hand as I wander over bridges and wonder what romantic restaurant I will take myself out to this evening.

 

This would be an ideal place to have such a unique experience, if you weren't sharing it with 6543 other couples.

 

As a result the city is packed with couples forcing themselves at huge expense to have a good time. 

 

Women scowling at boyfriends who didn't buy them that rose despite the fact that it was 3 euros and he's already sold his clothing and teeth to take her to the opera and eat a sandwich. (It's an expensive city).

 

I go on my little vaporetto up the river and watch couple in gondalas. And do they look like disgustingly happy newly weds who need to get a room? No. They look embarrassed as people gawp at them from passing boats and the banks of the river. And, depending on the weather, a bit wet. And not in a good way.

 

Call me cynical, (I won't answer because it's not my name), but I think that this forced romance actually sucks the romance out of a relationship.

 

Maybe I'm just bitter, but I can't see how you can feel ardently in love with your partner when you are fighting through crowds of equally ardently in love couples and rose sellers.

 

I can't help but feel a little smug as I sit in my quiet little corner with my book watching couples argue over maps and who got who lost.

 

But maybe I just don't know what romantic means.

All strings attached.

I have been deliberating for a long time over the topic of this blog.

There is a huuuge amount to talk about on this subject. This will probably take a good ten blogs. It is the first time I have ever had to do research. By research I mean chat to friends, lazily use Google once and watch Desperate Housewives.

The subject that I am attempting to broach is infidelity.

I'm sure it is not a coincidence that the word infidelity starts with the word infidel. 

Actually it is a massive coincidence.  

Is it inevitable that a partner will cheat? Film and TV say it is. And why would they lie? Everyone is at it. It would appear. No relationship is complete without a good old fashioned affair.

Unfortunately, what with the nature of cheating being all sort of secretive and that, the statistics can't really be trusted. But research would suggest, that somewhere between 30 and 60% of all married individuals will be unfaithful at some point.

Let's start with the basics. What constitutes cheating? People's opinions on this vary MASSIVELY. I think we are all pretty much agreed that any form of contact with another persons 'special area' is cheating. But there is a divide on kissing. I know a married woman who thinks snogging another guy is acceptable. And a bit of harmless fun. But then, I also know a man who was married but had a full blown affair for ten years. But the way he sees it, he was completely faithful. To two women. 

Both of these people, I think, are just telling themselves what they need to tell themselves to stop the guilt. The same way that I tell myself that if food is free, then it doesn't have any calories in it. Which is why my current diet consists of me rummaging around in bins outside Tescos. Seriously, I am only eating 300 calories a day. I don't know why I'm not losing weight.

In this day and age, there are all sorts of ways to get your kicks, that don't involve actually touching another persons yoghurt gun or panty hamster.

There are all sorts of websites dedicated to watching a complete stranger perform acts of rudeness on themselves. And if you're feeling in a generous mood, then you can show them your private no pants dance too.

If you engage in this behaviour whilst in a relationship, is that cheating? There are very clear arguments on both sides.

It is as harmless as porn, you will never meet the other person and possibly most importantly, you are not, nor ever will be in an emotional relationship with that person.

But, it is another person, and it is just the two of you involved. And your partner may understandably feel hurt that you have had to go elsewhere for your one man tug o' war. 

I should probably stop now, seeing as I having only managed to talk about what constitutes cheating so far. 

I have lots more nonsense to spout on this subject. And will do so at a later stage.

One's company. Two's stealing my bloody quilt.

Hello World. Or part of it. Hello.

I would like to continue the discussion I was having with myself a few weeks ago that you were listening in on because you are nosey bastards. The one about how relationships come about.

So let's say that you managed to maneuver your way around the war zone that is the first date relatively unscathed. But not, I imagine without the scars, the night terrors and the profuse sweating. No one can escape that.

No word of a lie, I once had a haircut coincidentally booked on the day of a first date, and so I went straight home and washed it and restyled it to look more 'normal' so it didn't look like I'd 'made too much of an effort'. This is the sort of idiocy a human being has to deal with when on the hunt for a member of the opposite sex. Or same sex. Or let's just be honest. Sex. Or is it? Perhaps it is more a sign that I am a mental person. You decide. 

Anyway, so let's say hypothetically you have had one, two, God forbid three dates with another human who doesn't make you want to peel your own face off slowly and deliberately with a toothpick. 

What then?

Now it's the truly difficult stage. The 'Letting someone ruin your life' stage.

I'm not being melodramatic here. I couldn't if I wanted to. My cape is being dry cleaned.

Now is the stage where you decide that you are willing to surrender all of those things that make being single wonderful. 

Lying sideways across your massive bed. Dropping everything to go to the park with friends and wine. Watching whatever you want on telly no questions asked. No judgement. Eating chocolate spread on digestive biscuits for breakfast, lunch, dinner and elevenses. Not having to subject your body to the torture it has to go through to convince your partner you were just born this naturally soft, hairless and smelling like an ice-cream factory.

Is it worth it? Really? What do we get in return for giving up our precious spare time, and all that money for all those dull-but-let's-pretend-they're-super-fun-activities-until-we-have-been-together-for-a-year-and-then-I'll-admit-I-hate-bloody-theme-parks-and-horror-films?

Umm... Sex I guess is the obvious one, and cuddling, and umm.... help to build Ikea furniture?

I'm sure there are lots of things. Probably.

I suppose if someone is worth it then you let them crowbar their way into your life with their stupid face and the annoying way they chew.

I know a lot of you who read this are in relationships, and may sometimes feel a bit green eyed about the lifestyles of us singletons, and I'm not surprised, I have to admit it's a pretty fantastic life with no one to answer to. But I hope this also reminds you that you have met someone who was worth leaving that life behind for. And that's not to be sniffed at.

Sorry. I got a bit schmaltzy there. I don't know what happened. I'd best go outside and kick a puppy.

In the beginning, God created man. It went downhill from there.

Having been single for an extraordinary amount of time (the last relationship I was in, we had met at a party celebrating the remarkable discovery of fire) I have started to think about how difficult it is for a relationship to actually start. How do they come about? Anyone? I can't bloody remember.

Upon occasion, you meet a gentleman and he may ask for your number. 

Hurdle one - completed. 

Yes, this has happened, even to me, so I know it is not something that only happens in films. 

This is a nice stage, I am comfortable at this stage. I can sit and daydream about this guy and what our life will be like together. Sure, it might be a difficult life together with me having to try and work out what his name is, because I can't remember, I'm not sure he ever told me, I was too excited to be talking to an actual man, but a life together it will be nonetheless. 

Then you come across hurdle number two. The initial texts. What if he writes like a dick? Spells like a four year old? Or worst of all worses, he uses the term 'lol'?

Hai Bayby, u r hot ;-) wanna meet sum time? LOL!!! ;-) 

Yeah. That text is gonna get an 'I think you've got the wrong number, this is an STD clinic' response. 

So let's say, theoretically, hurdle two has been leaped and bounded over and you've had a few lovely, gentlemanly, grammatically correct text messages, with the use of only one smiley face when entirely appropriate. 

Now it's the horrific car crash waiting to happen that is the 'first date'.

Who invented this system? This shitty interview for the position of girlfriend?! Whoever it was, I would like to tie them to the back of a high speeding elephant. 

You spend, days and weeks, deliberating over what to wear. You realise you have absolutely NOTHING suitable in your four wardrobes worth of clothes. You are starting to consider cutting up a waistcoat and a pair of jeans to makes a sort of dress thing. Why are you even doing this to yourself anyway? He's going to hate you and realise that he should probably be going out with your sister. What's the point?! Then after nearly being sick with nerves, you have a couple of Gin and Tonics and you start to think about wearing the pyjamas you have on, because actually they look pretty sexy. 

You look goood. 

You stumble to the venue of choice.  And there he is. Now the fun and games begin, what do you order to drink? Nothing that makes you seem like the sort of lady who loves to end her evening in an alleyway, and certainly nothing that is prone to making you end the evening dancing on the table with your (or anyone else's) knickers on your head.


You take your seats and stare at each other for a bit. What if the conversation doesn't flow? Horrid stilted small talk -


'So, do you have any brothers and sisters?'
'Where are you from originally?'


It can all feel a little like you are in a GCSE French class.


How do we as human beings manage to get past these stages? And how do we decide whether or not we want to spend a little more time with that particular human?

Spark I think it's called. But how do you know if that's there under all the awkwardness and drink?  Oh and if it does go well, don't go home with him. Because even if he has fallen in love with you instantly and believes you are the woman he is meant to marry. It will change his view of you - because no matter how much we try to change things, apparently it is still the 1950's.


It's all a bit of a boiling pot of idiocy. You dip your spoon in and hope for the best really. I like to think of it as a sort of lottery. I guess if you don't buy a ticket you aren't ever going to win.


Still it's worth a try. And the one time it does work out, then it's got to be worth the hassle right?


Don't ask me. I have absolutely no idea.

Two's a couple, and they can shove it.

Hello Children.

'What are we going to talk about today Auntie Suzy?'

That's a good question William, let's find out......

I am going to talk about being a lemon. Not the fruit. The outsider.

I have a pet hate, that I am sure (in fact know) I am not alone in. 

Spending time with the dreaded 'couple'.

Now, there is a huge difference between those people who are in a relationship and the 'couple'.

I have many friends who are in relationships who I could spend all the time in the world with. If it's the three of us, it feels like the three of us. There are certain couples I know who make you feel like you are spending time with some form of two headed freak with no interesting conversation. Fun. These people have pet names that they use. ALL THE TIME. They only seem to do everything together. They sit together, fondle each other and only talk about things they have done, are doing or will do together.

They seem to think that the love for each other is so amazing that everyone else will want to hear about it all the time. We do not want to hear about it all the time. We don't even want it sent in a yearly newsletter. Get your hands off each other or get out of my face.

The fact is that with these clingy couples, you are more than happy to spend time with him on his own or her on their own. it's actually quite fun, you have a lovely time. Together it's like they have morphed together and their two brains combined somehow melt into a sort of cheese fondue but with less personality.

What to do? Avoid? Or wait until they are so sick of each other that when you spend time just the three of you they are talking through you?
 

'Suzy, can you tell Neil that if I wanted to hear an annoying grating voice telling me how worthless I am I would call his mother'

'Suzy, would you please tell Kathryn that I have no interest in her dull sarcastic comments and that if she wakes up dead in the middle of the night, it wouldn't have been me that did it, as I am at the back of the queue. Behind everyone she's ever met.'

This generally makes it worth having to go through all the initial lovey dovey stuff I find.

But what about me? What have I been up to?
 

I met a boy. I know. An actual boy. A boy that makes my toes tingle and boobs purr. But don't worry faithful readers, I haven't acted on it. Oh no. In fact the opposite. After a few stumbled, idiotic girly conversations where I couldn't speak in sentences, I bumped into him outside my local large generic food store, wearing a tracksuit, dishevelled hair and no make-up. To top it all off I had been caught in a shower. A very large shower. Making me look a little like the girl from the ring but in an awful tracksuit combo.
 

I saw the fear in his eyes.

We ignored each other.

The steps I take to stay celibate.

A date? I can't I'm afraid. Because I hate you.

Hello Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, Groovers and Shakers, Twisters and Makers, Surprisingly Flexible and Firm as a Planks... How are we on this fine day? Don't answer that... It's rhetorical. Idiot.

I am well (I am aware you didn't ask but I went ahead and answered anyway to make up for your rudeness).

I have however just tried to breath using mainly rice. I thought this would be an interesting experiment to try in my 28th year on this earth. The results of which were watery eyes, and a red face. If any of you wish to partake in a similar experiment to see if we get corresponding results, feel free.

Today's subject is a fairly serious one. But don't worry I will throw in a few knock knock jokes to shake things up a bit.

My topic is unrequited love.

This is a pretty painful subject. Regardless of which side of the fence you find yourself on. I for one, am pretty sure that unrequited may well be the only type of love I have experienced (boo hoo

sucks to me tiny violinist sob sob get over it). But I can in no way claim to be an expert in it or how to deal with it.

Recently I had to tell a gentleman that there was no future in us. He has always been a massive flirt, and delights in sending the odd (very odd) inappropriate text. Which is fine. They were quite amusing and I would be able to say 'Hoho! that's just Martin. Oh silly Martin!' Obviously not his real name.Martin is an Old man's name. But recently, after 5 years of this, he started revealing his true feelings and how he genuinely wanted to go out on a date. I am sorry to say that I am not attracted to this man at all. So the answer was no. Also, I feel partly responsible for this, because at no point during these 'ridiculous' (so I thought) texts, did I say- 'Honey, you're lovely and all but you just ain't my bowl of beans' (In case anyone was wondering that was said in my cowgirl voice). So I felt almost as though I had lead this guy to think that I may be interested. But I think that when it comes down to it, you can't be held responsible for other people's feelings. If we spent our entire time trying to second-guess how a person is feeling or holding back in case people get the wrong impression, then we would lead very stilted lives. 

Of course I would also say you can go a bit too far in the other direction by maybe sticking your hands down a man's trousers and thinking ' I'm sure he won't get the wrong impression, he knows we're just friends'

Having frequented the un side of unrequited love I realise too that sometimes you are asking to get hurt. I was involved with a gentleman who was a lovely man. We both agreed and knew from the outset what the relationship was. We were 'lovers' (In case you were wondering this was said in my sort of Mexican/french voice). It wasn't a relationship, we enjoyed each others company and would have fun but without having to answer to each other or anyone else. And yet, I went out of my way to find out about other people he was seeing. I can't explain why. I knew what this was and neither did I have any hope of it becoming anything more. But I had to be alpha female as it were (I know that doesn't work, you snobs). I needed to know that even though he had other women about, I had to the best. It's an odd situation to have found myself in really, jealousy starts like a tiny black dot on the brain and it spreads like branches, until it slowly encompasses you and you start doing things you can't explain, looking for more reasons to be suspicious. In the end it was only to hurt myself. I had no ground to stand on as we had agreed what the relationship was and therefore really, I was the one who was being untrustworthy by being very two faced about the whole thing. I think I am not made out to be a 'lover'.

Now, these are the two sides of unrequited. The yearning and the heartache are incomparable. But I witnessed the most wonderful of phenomenons recently. 

True love.

Having discussed unrequited love, it happens to us all at some point in our lives, in some cases much more than once, so it really makes you appreciate what a rare and incredible thing it is when a person truly loves a person and that person truly loves them back (not a title for a song I don't think)

I went to a wedding recently, I am friends with the bride, so I know all too well how much she loves and worships the man she married. I have spent a little time with the groom but not enough to have the old deep and meaningfuls. He is a lovely guy and I do approve.
It was wonderful though to attend the wedding and see the groom cry. As soon as the bride arrived, and pretty much right through the service. Even in his speech. He was so overwhelmed with happiness. He felt like the luckiest man on the planet and he got us guests to thinking that he probably was too!
 It made me think, if my husband, (whosever that may or may not turn out to be) feels that lucky to be with me on my wedding day, then I would be due for a long happy life.


Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Smee.
Smee who?
Smee! Writing a blog!

Thanks for reading.

Hair of the bitch

You don't want to be subjected to the ramblings of a hungover wreck so I will avoid this. But I would just like to point out that whilst it is completely my own fault that I am in this mess (along with the aid of the lovely people at the friendship fund for supplying me with wine) I think it is entirely unfair that I am sat next to a girl at work who is also hungover who keeps running off to be sick and whining that she sent a guy that she has slept with once, who then told her that he had a girlfriend, a picture of her boobs last night. I don't need that. Maybe I will kill her. I think this is the only option available to me.
I'll do it later. After lunch. I can't be bothered to get up right now.

So today I was going to discuss hope. Not in an entirely broad sense. Like a philosophy student. 'We can't touch hope does that make it real?' 'Is it hope that sets us apart from the animal kingdom?' If you have ever eaten a bag of crisps in front of a cat you would know that that isn't true for a start..... silly cat. You won't be getting any crisps from me. Now go and make my dinner.

I met a man. A lovely guy, a friend of a friend. We had a nice long conversation about his new boyfriend. He has waited for so long, 5 years, to meet someone he likes, ney, loves who likes, ney, loves him too. To have that feeling of happiness, ecstasy, sickness and fear that love brings. And to know that the other person feels the same. His new boyfriend is a handsome doctor. As an actor that is of course brilliant news for him! And I was warmed.  Warmed and delighted to hear this tale. It is so rare to hear it. So often I come across 'I'm seeing someone, he's quite nice' or 'I am seeing someone, and it's going quite well' or 'I am seeing someone, possibly, I think, well when I say seeing, I mean he knows who I am' And it makes me wonder, why? I mean sure it's nice to have someone about. And we all like a little bit of sex, but if that person doesn't make you want to laugh and cry and dance and be sick and scream all at the same time, then what is the point?
Speaking to this guy, gave me hope. It made me think, 'oh yeah, that's what love feels like' I'd forgotten. You do. In the whole, Ok, this guy is quite attractive, he has a good job, he makes me laugh. I'm sure I could spend some time with him. You forget that that isn't love. It is a fake sudo-love. A sort of love placebo. And what is this bullshit about how you can learn to love someone? Or how love grows over time. Bollocks. Sure it grows, but it has to be there to begin with otherwise, that is fondness. Or alcohol.

So I was pleased. Thrilled. Full of hope.

I was.

Until I was informed by the friend who introduced us, that this guy 'falls in love all the time'. Ah. ok, that's fine. Maybe not so hopeful.
But I still think it exists. True love. I've seen it. I've felt it. So many of my friends are lucky to have found it and I am so happy for them I could burst. Sorry. I've gone a bit greetings card.

On the other hand. Anybody who thinks that any sort of relationship is a good idea, should watch revolutionary road. Bad idea. Bad bad idea.
After seeing that film I was quite happy to eat my meal for one, and stretch myself across my double bed and think 'Thank God'

Yours, probably still drunk, always.