The Dating Game

The dating game is exhausting!
I am very new to this world and I am already about to throw in the towel.
Men claim that women are confusing, when they say no, they really mean yes, when they say yes, they mean no. When they say 'I'm fine' it normally means they're not....
I am clearly not a 'normal' woman. No means no to me. Yes means yes. I'm fine, normally means I'm fine. You would know if I was not fine... By my facial expressions, my body language and the sounds that come out of my mouth which would hopefully form the words 'no, I am not fine'.

So, thinking this how most people operate, I enter the dating game.
And it really is a game.
I hate games.
Either you like me or you don't.
If you do, that's great.
If you don't, say so, I will move on.

Date 1: Dr F
Yes, Doctor. Not like a GP type thing, but he had a PhD.
Intelligent men are attractive. Intelligent, funny men, rock my world.
And, if they are as sarcastic as I can be, then you will fit into my life.
So, Dr F had it all. We couldn't meet straight away as I was on holiday for ten days, so we spent two weeks 'getting to know each other'. Which was odd, as we hadn't actually met. It's kinda descended into that 'how was your day?' chat by the end of the first week. You know that sort of comfortable, expected texting or calling everyday stuff. Again, a bit weird, as you get to know someone a lot more intimately than you imagine.
So, first date - expensive bar, expensive restaurant, expensive wine. Great.
It was one of those dates you walk into with only a combination of three words going through your head....
Fuck, shit, fucking fuck fuck, shit, shit, fuck, bollocks.
That's only happens when you 'think' you like someone enough to make you nervous to meet them.
A hello kiss on either cheek and a little hug. All good. Looks like he should do according to the photos. Which is clearly a bonus in this online dating world!
Had already ordered me a champagne cocktail.... That's a definite tick in the box!
We chatted, we smiled.
We went for dinner. It was very posh. And I can do posh. I love a bit of poshness. I like being treated like I'm actually pretty important. Not all the time though. And probably not with someone I am meeting for the first time.
Dr F is clearly accustomed to the finer things in life, is clearly not short of a penny or two, and along with that comes the unmistakable slight arrogance of success. Which can be, and quite often is, also attractive to me.... but it's got to be in combination with some sort of modesty, some sort of vulnerability, at some point.
We ate nice food.... and as we ate the nice food, the amazing pianist played. She was amazing. But I have never seen such a miserable person playing such beautiful music.
At the end of the meal, the strange waiter presented us with chocolate truffles on a very small little white dish. They looked lovely, but I didn't partake.
The waiter tried to convince me, rather too aggressively to be honest.
He walked by again, and flicked, yes, flicked, with his finger, the truffle across the white table cloth, towards me, leaving a trail of coca powder. And walked away!
What the fuck?! Who does that?! And this is a pretty posh restaurant remember!
He then walked back, picked it up from the table and ate it himself!
Seriously... Who the fucking hell does that?!
Dr F paid... I offered. He refused. I like that. I know not all women are ok with that. But I am. For a first date anyway.

We went for a wander, a chat, and then back to the train station.
A kiss on either cheek, a hug and a goodbye.

I was left confused. Maybe because I was expecting more. Not more as in 'let's get a hotel room and fuck'.... But more as in, more personality, more warmth, more like this guy you apparently were for the last two weeks. The guy you were in the texts and the long phone calls. That guy!

In short, we went in a second date.... Day time date. It was one of those, I'm just double checking that I don't actually want to see you again dates. But don't spend 20 minutes on the phone to your ex wife talking about the kids! And don't then continue to talk about her after.....
Shame.
And.... don't be a douche about it after. Say thank you (I paid this time) but no thank you.
Don't do that disappearing act that  men are so well known for....
Nine times out of ten, us women also have the same feelings about it all.

Lessons learned so far:
1. Don't believe all the chat before hand.
2. Don't continue to date him if he is in contact with the ex, ON THE DATE!
3. Don't think he will say thank you.
4. Expect the disappearing act

On to the next one........

The Wall

There is a brick wall....
It has increased in size over the years. I tend to re-arrange it every so often.
Sometimes the wall is really high, but narrow. Some people have noticed that they can peer around the sides of it, see what is happening, say hello, stretch out a hand.
Sometimes the wall is low, but wide. Some people have figured out that they can look over it, wave, give advice, smile.

Sometimes the wall is wide and high, but has small gaps and spaces in it. Some people have managed to sit close to the gaps, talk, hold my hand, be there. Some people have attempted to put more than a hand through the wall.

Sometimes the gaps are big enough for people to see right through, not enter, but see.

Sometimes I give a brick to someone. I give a brick to someone when I know they will look after it, treasure it, keep it close. That they will never throw it away, that it means as much to them as it does to me.
That's pretty rare.

Sometimes I really want to give the bricks to someone. But I am unsure about how they will be treated. If the bricks are lost, broken or damaged, then how can I go about finding them again, to repair them and put them back.

I want to give someone all the bricks that make my wall.... I want to know every single brick is as precious to them as it is to me.

I want to give someone my bricks one by one, until eventually they have them all, and there is no wall left.

I don't want them to build their own wall with the bricks. I don't want to have to build a wall again either.

I want the bricks to make a path instead. A joint one. Leading in the same direction, being shared.

I don't want to know where the path is going, but that it's wide enough for both of us. That it is long, that it is filled with happiness, joy and understanding.
That it won't be destroyed. That a wall cannot be built from it again.

I don't think I am asking too much. I believe it will happen. One day.

Four years

That's how long it's been!
Four years!!

I'm back!

Nearly...

Just say NO!

Up until my cousin got married in 2006, I hadn't been to many weddings and I certainly hadn't been an important part of them. My cousin and his wife to be, asked me to do a reading. It was the only one in the short ceremony. It was a poem.


They gave me the poem a few weeks before the wedding. The only problem was, that the poem was talking about...well.... having sex. I definitely don't have any problem with talking about sex, partaking in sex, watching sex, anything about sex really, but when it comes to my cousin and his wife to be, I felt a little perturbed.


I visualise most things. It's how I learn. I am a visual learner. Being able to visualise things is fantastic, when applied correctly...

Please Johnny, go faster...

Driving an Aston Martin db9.
Laying on the beach in some far off hot sunny country.
Johnny Depp... ermmmm....popping round for tea... (or something similar).
Being on stage in front of millions of adoring fans because I AM the coolest, most talented chick in the music industry.

I struggled with the images of my own, cuddly, lovely, caring cousin, fucking his wife to be... and to add to this, the poem contained words such as 'breast' in it. Which again, I usually have no issue with.

Apparently, the best breasts in
Hollywood!

I like breasts. I have two of them. They are my best assets. I like other breasts that don't belong to me. I often look at the breasts that don't belong to me. I dream about having perfect breasts. About those belonging to Jessica Simpson. But I didn't want to be thinking about any of this when reading the poem on my cousins wedding day.... mainly because I know that I would indeed look at the breasts of my cousins wife to be. Slightly inappropriate on their wedding day standing in front of an audience.

I rather stupidly discussed my issues with my other younger cousin and sister. They found this highly amusing and laughed every time I read the word 'breast'. This was not good. How very fucking mature of them.





I did, however, stand up on the day, look defiantly at the registrar (her breasts were not on display) rather than either the bride or groom, or any of the other 60 guests sitting staring at me and read the poem. I sat down sweating an unusual amount and swore to myself that I would NEVER, EVER be an important part of another wedding.

So that lasted all of one year. I was asked to be a bridesmaid AND do another reading. FUCK, FUCK, FUCK. How can I say no. I really really did not want to do either.

Now, I want you all to imagine the worst possible thing that could happen to you as a bridesmaid.

Are you thinking about it....???

The last thing I remember being told, as I was linking arms with the other bridesmaid, was 'mind the little step down into the room'. Blah, blah, blah....

Oh, how I wished I HAD minded the little fucking step down into the fucking great big room full of fucking people looking at the bridal party.

With a little noise, which I can only describe as a cross between a monkey's mating call and a peacock, (seriously) I fell down that little bloody step, and landed on all fours... in the aisle, behind the bride, and nearly took the other bridesmaid with me. She obviously managed to stay on her feet (what a BITCH).

EVERYONE, and I mean ALL 100 guests, the registrar, the bride, and all the fucking hotel staff, turned and looked at me.

If you have ever wanted to die, that would have been a perfect time.

I then did what any other IDIOT FUCKING BRIDESMAID would do, which is stand up, thank everyone, wave a little, tell them I was ok, then proceed to laugh uncontrollably for the entire ceremony. I wasn't alone with uncontrollable laughter, this applied to most of the guests and the bride and groom.

You would have thought that would have been more than enough, but no. I then had to stand up half way through the ceremony and come face to face with all those people that had just witnessed me acting like a drunken baboon on nitrous oxide. I had to do the reading...

My opening line was 'now let's hope this reading goes somewhat differently from my walk up the aisle.'

It was a great recovery from utter despair. Everyone loved me! Now, that's how you up stage a bride on her wedding day!

More wine please

So, my rule of thumb is to NEVER, EVER agree to be part of any wedding ever, under any circumstances.

I'm not good with weddings unless I am a drunken guest with no responsibility at all. I like this.


By the way, the bride and groom actually thanked me for my 'display'. They said it helped to break the ice and it was the best thing that could have happened, as it was all a bit tense before that.

I am inclined not to believe them or to agree with it being 'the best thing that could have happened'.


And NO... no one caught it on video or camera. Not even the two cocky, male professional photographers, that started to fuck me right off. There was no You Tube'ing of me at all.

Hahaha...BRILLIANT!

KLF said it best with 3am eternal

-Wearing red lipstick

-Eating olives

-Making mince pies

-French braiding

-TaeKwon Do training

-Always turning the hot tap off first

-Reading Enid Blyton books

-The smell of fresh tabacco
-How to knit

-Lollies solve all problems in doctors surgeries & hospitals

-Saying the letter H (Haitch rather than Aitch)
-Creating a blog!

-How to read music and play an instrument

-Swimming for Southern Counties

-Wearing skinny jeans

-The smell of new books

-Drinking Jamesons Irish Whiskey - straight

-Making sure CD's are in the correct box

-Rubbing my foot on the bed/significant other to help fall asleep

-Expansion of my music parameters

-Dislike of loud bangs

-Importance of cuddles

I find it intriguing how people can enter your life and can influence you without even realising. Without YOU even realising.

Everything with a mass has a force of attraction, right? We would not remain on earth if it wasn't for forces of attraction, the planets would not orbit the sun, the moon would not orbit the earth and the tides would not exist if there were no attractive forces. We are just molecular structures with a mass. Our mass is small. Our forces of attraction between each other are weak and have little impact.... or do they?

Do our paths cross because they are destined to? I am not sure I believe in destiny, but are the choices we make and the chances we take irrevelvant because science would have figured it all out anyway?

If you are wondering about the list above, it is about all the silly little things I would never ever have experienced or learnt and become important to me, if it wasn't for the people that have entered my life and had some kind of impact on me.

People that are very near and dear to me, people that are fleeting moments, people that are not still here to advise or guide, people that are no longer part of my life, people that are sporadically part of my life, people that are a daily part of my life, complete strangers.

People that know they have an impact, people that try to have an impact, people that have absolutely no idea of their impact.

I wonder if I have any impact or influence at all on other people. People in my past, the present and even in the future. I wonder if I have added to someones life even in the most minimal of ways. I wonder if it is positive or negative.

I have just re-read this post. I wrote it at 3am
This is what happens when you can't sleep in the middle of the night. Far too serious for a Sunday. In fact, far too serious for ME. Fuck it. I'm going to publish it anyway.

Birthday Celebrations in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne.

It was my birthday last week. I am now.... older. BOOOOO.
In celebration, we decided to visit some friends up north.
I honestly had no idea that Newcastle-upon-Tyne was such a nice place.

As a proper southerner, I imagined that being that far north would be more than just grim. I was wrong.

The River Tyne

The River Tyne with some bridges

The Tyne Bridge

The Gateshead Millenium Bridge

After a 5 hour drive, with so very little sleep the night before, I was thinking that I would not be able to deal with six fingered northerners with accents so broad I would have to concentrate so very very hard to even grasp the general idea of the conversation.

My ability to concentrate is limited at the best of times. It's not that I can't, it just that I sometimes forget to listen. I tend to daydream. If you interest me, fascinate me, then you got me for as long as you want me... otherwise there is little chance that I will be completely focused on any conversation.

We must have spent ages looking for this bloody 'Angel of the North' We knew it was on the A1 SOMEWHERE...

We found it. This was the best picture I could muster up.
I KNOW! I could definitely win awards with that!

We sung 'Fog on the Tyne' as we drove across the bridge. Haha. Watch this if you don't know what I am talking about....

Paul Gascoigne, what HAPPENED to you?! Where are you?

We were shown around the city and surrounding area's by a friend we used to work with, that decided to move back up north.



Whitley Bay

We were shown the delights of Whitley Bay. Beautiful!

And the nearest Royal Marine Commando base.

I considered calling the number to see if I could be recruited. Just for the day.



I met up with another friend who I think was surprised at how impressed I was with 'The North'. He claimed most people come up to get pissed.

He isn't wrong. If you have ever watched an episode of Geordie Shore then you will understand. It's Newcastle's answer to Jersey Shore. If you're not orange and if your skirt is more than two inches long, then you stand out like a sore thumb.

Well, not us, oh no..... until Friday. The night before a 5 hour journey back home.

So incredibly STUPID.

We fell upon a bar, next door to the hotel. They charged us £4.20 for a double vodka and a double gin. WOW!! The next round went down to £3.20... I was NOT complaining. Then we discovered that trebles were two for £5.

This is the only place I know where the drinks get cheaper throughout the night.

I don't really remember much else.

I apparently sent a few random drunken texts at 1.26am... 2.42am.... 3.08am. Hmmmm..... now that hasn't happened in a long long time!

This was one of them...

so meeker I can't atbt
lp
Rpnpy
)3.90
For
Double. Shotss
Of
Vodka not good .9

I am pretty impressed with being able to spell the most important words correctly. Predictive text is brilliant when drunk.

I also found this photo on my phone.

NOT GOT A CLUE.
I must have found this very amusing at the time.

I also discovered that I had written, in toothpaste, on the mirror in the bathroom of the hotel room.

'Love you long time xoxo' 

Highly unlike me. I would never write xoxo on anything.

The 5 hour journey home was, to be honest, probably not legal. I can only describe it as horrific. I cannot talk about it anymore. It makes me want to vomit, even now.

That Angel of the North has a lot to bloody answer for! I am pretty sure that she was laughing as we drove home!