…Which was sadly one-sided…
Hello dear readers! When I first broke up with my boyfriend I spent a good three months crying to Sia whilst chugging vodka. Yes, it was my decision but surely even the executioner can feel sadness for his work? Emotions aside, this cocoon of tears allowed me to emerge a beautifully seasoned drinker. Seasoned here means I can drink vodka but no longer taste it, a superpower reserved for the worst Marvel reboot (Coming 2020: The Alcoholic V.S. Responsibilities). I’m not actually able to hold my liquor though, quite the opposite, I can hold my drink as well as J-lo can hold down an acting career. Unlike Pavlov’s dogs I refuse to learn my lessons and although tequila will give me the confidence of a rhino, it grants me the grace of one too.
There is a point to my poor ms paint skills. I was ready to start dating again but needed to know how to pick the right guys. Clearly my emotional stability (or lack thereof) required me to find people who weren’t in it just for the sex, hiding your face in a pillow isn’t sexy when it’s stained after you leave. I eventually learnt a phrase to weed out my potential suitors when they asked me “how are you?”.
My clever response was “I’m super full”.
Top tip #21: Scare people off by mentioning casually that you’re making poo…
I’m not sure why I did this, possibly an emotional barrier to prevent people from actually making me move on? Maybe a grim attempt at finding a feeder? We’ll never know, but it did weed out guys who were just in it for a fuck.
This culminated in a dinner which unfortunately paired some sweet genuine guy with me, a raw nerve of emotions covered in Sia induced tears. He took me to this fun little tapas place and by fun I mean that they used wallpaper that looked like brick wall rather than buy bricks, it was cheap and cheerful. He wasn’t my type but he wasn’t ugly either, the perfect man to haul my emotional baggage until I eventually left like a parasitic wasp (I’m rarely the hero in these stories).
In preparation for the date I fasted like a monk attempting to self-mummify (google that creepy shit), I think my aesthetic was Children In Need meets Stripper In Need. He was actually a very nice guy. He politely pretended to listen to my ramblings, a miracle considering they must have been purely about how I’d recently become single. When I wasn’t throwing out more red flags than a generous matador I was drinking more sangria than humanly possible. This usually isn’t a problem however my only sustenance had been roasted peppers, I needed to keep in line with my ‘send me money and blankets’ style.
Top Tip #34 Become a scary sangria vampire to inspire fear and dominance.
Unsurprisingly a diet composed of nothing but vegetables and fruit isn’t very healthy when you’re washing them both down with wine. My low tolerance alarm bells rang but I antidoted that with even more sangria, it did not end well…
I woke to a voicemail but very few memories of leaving, great.
“Hey, I’m not sure we should see each other again, I guess I’m looking for someone a bit more permanent”
More permanent? I could understand “less crazy” or “more stable”, watching someone slowly poison themselves through Spanish cuisine won’t exactly inspire confidence. “More permanent” confused me, providing there are fruit and cheap wine, a sangria fuelled vampire could live forever! Through a series of the worst hangover flashbacks, I learnt what actually transpired. Whilst waiting for a taxi to take me back to my coffin, I had thrown myself at him but not in an endearing old Hollywood way. Him being a gentleman, (or fearful… that is a solid possibility) refused which made me more adamant. It got to the point where he chucked me in the closest cab and promised to see me tomorrow, a lie which he thankfully didn’t follow through on. He must have confused my ‘let’s get to know me… intimately’ mood with someone looking for a one night stand. Seeing a person clearly ready to have sex but not for more conversation (well AA could help) labelled me as a ‘no strings attached’ kinda gal and he lost interest. The joke’s on him though, I can be creepily sexual and in a relationship, it’s one of my many selling points.
He did call the next day, but only to confirm that we wouldn’t meet again, ouch…
So my sexys, this week’s lesson is: Don’t force yourself on dates with guys when you aren’t ready. This is especially true if you’re only planning to use them as emotional bellhops, or at least don’t get so drunk that you scare them away…
Good luck out there!
Exercise: I played ‘Just Dance’ but I’m not convinced it counts…
Cigarettes: I ran to three different shops to find my brand of tobacco, draw your own conclusion
Dates: One offer to have my feet licked (not followed up on).