…This began so happily…
Hello dear readers! I’ve found it hard writing this post, I had my first second date in forever and I’m a little bit thrown by it still. My taste in men has always been questionable and Brad certainly adds to my eclectic mix of partners. When I first started dating I envisioned three months of meaningless sex, one terrible fling and then jumping back into another long relationship. It turns out dating isn’t simple as I imagined it would be (shocker, everyone else wasn’t just trying to make it look hard). When you’re in a relationship it’s easy to watch the single people run around, scoffing at everything they’re doing wrong, after all you’re sitting pretty on a four-year engagement and it wasn’t hard for you. Then that engagement starts to sour and you see how much fun the single people are having. Slowly you’re more and more tempted to throw in the towel and join those cocktail waving sirens in the warm waters of freedom.
The trouble with being in a doomed relationship is that you have to constantly act like everything’s rosy. It’s like you’re wearing a really bad toupée… You walk around pretending you’re okay with the situation and people are certainly happy not to open up that parcel of sadness on their doorstep. Your close friends might kindly point out that “you haven’t been the same lately” but you’re not ready for reality and on stays the hairy crown of lies. Even at home you can’t admit the obviousness of the situation, you’ll take off you clothes, makeup and smile but still climb into bed with that crappy toupée.
Two years ago I was ready to accept my relationship wasn’t working and was so excited to start being happy again. Now don’t get me wrong readers, I’m much happier single and I’ve earned so much self-worth from being in my own company but, how long am I supposed to be single?! I’m not expecting to wake up married however it has taken two years to get a second date. TWO YEARS! At this rate I’ll be a pensioner before I’m even close to settled again, fuck I’ll be in my coffin before I even see another ring (well, a ring you can show your mother). I initially thought that I’m no longer desirable, twenty-five came around and BAM it’s time to put me down, I’ll never race again. I was at peace being an aged spinster until I watched daytime T.V. and noticed that if Brenda the Human Mudslide can have six men chasing her, I deserve one. Honestly readers, if you ever worry about your appearance affecting your chances of love just watch any morning chat show. There are people on there who look like what humans would evolve into if they spent the next thousand years locked in a crack den, and they have multiple partners!
If not my looks then what is making me so undateble? I did what any good beaten wife does and blamed myself, my standards are keeping me from staying with men (side note, obviously you shouldn’t beat your lover unless they explicitly want it and have a safe word *wink*).
Top Tip #157: Standards are like boobs, everyone’s are different but they all drop with age…
Calling out my inner ‘picky eater’ didn’t make sense though. Looking through my previous ‘dates’ there are plenty of times I should have said:
“No. I’m single, sexy and self-confident, I don’t deserve to be fingered this badly.”
…And yet I suffered like a kinky Jesus. You could argue that I was being complacent but I view it as refusing to quit, I’m already naked and one of should get a good time after the amount I’ve waxed (I’m not a werewolf I promise). Not to mention the guys I have been seeing aren’t exactly Adonis…’s. Currently I’m seeing men who are more Chris Pratt before the sexy transformation, adorable but definitely fixer uppers. Hell the guy I’m dating at the moment plays Warhammer. Warhammer. Despite loving the artistic ideals it encourages and making these people actually see other humans once a month, it’s pretty tragic. Do you know how much energy is expended pretending to care about someone’s imaginary world? Let me give you a clue, have you ever been cornered by a Jehovah’s Witness and had to wait until there was a polite break in the conversation? That, but I’ve chosen to go on these dates with these awful conversations, I’m the one asking questions so that they think I’m attractive and fun! Why?! Why should I bother wasting my time for people who aren’t polite enough to ask me about what I like? Standards, my darlings are not the issue here.
I figured out why it’s taken so long for me to finally go on a follow-up date, it’s the men. Maybe I’m picking them wrong but they’re all at a point in their lives where dates are the means to an end, the end here being sex. I’m at a point where dates are the first step towards at least an angry divorce, we’re just expecting different things from each other. The only person I’ve come even close to dating is Hank and that’s because I gave him a blowjob once. Now he only messages me to find out when I’m out but never invites me on a real date, which lead me to these possibilities:
- He is suffering from some bizarre reverse of the curse from Shrek, ‘by night one way, by day another’ and is actually an ogre during the day.
- He’s a horny dick who thinks I’m easy when I’m drunk (previously true).
Which do you think readers? Personally I love a fairy tale ending but I think Hank’s after a happy ending. It’s the only thing I can actually blame my loneliness on, and it is loneliness. I’m not co-dependant but I find myself missing the small aspects of dating someone, a hand on your waist, an affectionate peck in the morning, simple things. You can go without these small gestures if you’ve never had them but I’ve been spoiled for seven years. Even when my relationships were at their worst I’d still wake up with an arm resting behind my neck and that’s what I’m craving now. With any luck the next date will be one step closer to another messy break-up, with some lovely moments thrown in between.
This week I was supposed to write-up my date with Brad and I will do that soon (ish? Maybe? Who knows?). Sorry this turned into a rant instead of a story, hopefully you learnt that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, if not just watch Jeremy Kyle.
Diet: I gained two pounds in self-confidence… and fat, but the self-esteem has to be stored somewhere right?
Cigarettes: Drunk Sam spoiled me this week and I woke up with three packets! It would be a shame to waste them…
Dates: One to be written up, contrary to this rant it didn’t go terribly, stay tuned…