This really should start with a brief thank you. Thank you for kicking the living shit right of me. It wasn’t only that I didn’t expect the way you treated me – it’s that I didn’t deserve it. You have taught me what I do deserve, so thank you.
I deserve not to have a man chase me for months only to throw me aside once you have finished with me. I don’t know why you bothered. Do you have some yearly quota that you have to fill? Was your bed head becoming a little low on notches? What was the point in calling me ‘baby’ on our first date? For introducing me to your friends as your girlfriend after a few weeks? What was the point of the affection, the attention, the attestations if you would only retract it all so soon.
I know that you cheated on me when I went overseas. You may protest to the contrary but a women’s intuition is rarely wrong. How else to explain the sudden lack of interest, care, communication. What happened to the soul that you used to be? You didn’t even answer my fucking phone call after I landed at the airport or in the 24 hours that followed. Busy, watching rugby. Longest rugby game I’ve ever heard of.
Sure, the sex was good, but it was unlikely to be bad when you have no soul. I have never been with anyone that is able to be so disengaged during making love. Looking back now, I am actually scared. Not only scared at the vacant depth behind your eyes, but also that fact that I strangely enjoyed it. I guess I should be thankful, because there was never any true emotional connection there for you to severe when you ultimately decided to leave me.
Speaking of the break up – hats off to you for making it truly one of the most heinous in my life. Call me crazy, but nobody likes to be asked to leave their boyfriend’s apartment moments after making love, then followed, in tears, onto the street where they are told in no uncertain terms that you just can’t see a future together. My only regret is that I didn’t slap the living shit out of you as you stood there with that smug look on your face. I respect that not every relationship is going to work out. But there is a time, and a place and a manner in which it is appropriate to dump someone you have known for over 7 years and dated (quite seriously, might I add) for four months. The way that you did it is not one of them. For someone allegedly so much older and wiser and more mature than me, you have so much to learn about human decency.
What about that day, before we got together, when we walked through the back alleys to watch the local AFL game, and you held me and we talked about how many kids we would have. You would raise the boys and I would raise the girls because I couldn’t deal with teenage male hormones. You gave me your hoody when the wind picked up, and kissed my forehead and promised me a future. What I haven’t been able to reconcile is the man from that day with the man that left me with a plethora of unrealised expectations.
I am always the first to admit blame. I have lost myself in relationships before and not known who this whinging, pathetic woman is staring back at me from out of the tear streaked mirror. But I didn’t do it this time. I was confident, independent, loyal to a fault. All the things you told me that made me attractive to you in the first place. Alpha female, remember?
I no longer wish you harm. I did initially. So much harm that I woke up in hot sweats after picturing placing your smug smiling face on the pavement and stepping on the back of your head. Those fantasies have been replaced by a general longing for you to remain lonely, alone. It’s not like I want to race you to the alter or anything but I truly don’t think you deserve to be happy. While I wish for a swift retribution, I’m comforted by the fact that Karma, that ever vigilant equaliser, will deal with you in her own sweet time.
If I saw you now in the flesh, I still don’t know if I could find the appropriate words to express how I feel, all these weeks later. I still don’t know if you would even react or respond to anything I said anyway. If I said that I was hurt, would you say again how it was only a trial run? If I said that I wish you had the decency not to dump me on the street, would you say again how you hadn’t expected it to happen like that? If I said that I missed the man I fell for, would you say again how I can demonise you all you want, but you were just being honest?. Maybe, but I can promise that I won’t ever give you the satisfaction of finding out.
You are nothing more than a ghost.
Dead to me.
I’ve had a minor hiatus. I wish I could say because it was of a glamorous overseas adventure, or that I fell madly in love, however alas it was a illness which has largely kept me off the dating scene (the Kissing Disease, no loss. How apt).
Fret not, I wasted no time in getting back onto the dating horse after making a full recovery.
Unfortunately, it seems that the time I took off dating made me momentarily forget that most men are selfish c&*#$ that will do and say almost anything to get you into the boudoir.
My latest mistake took the form of a good friends brother. I know, rookie error, right off the bat. He chased me for weeks, and I finally succumbed. I let the little voice inside of me that had doubts that it was a BAD FUCKING IDEA be silenced because. Man. Hot man.
I let the little voice that told me that he was 35 and single for good reason be silenced.
I let the little voice that told me that his disengaged mannerisms and flammable anger would be different with me.
LOVE CONQUERS ALL RIGHT?
So I dived in, lured by his promises of ‘happy ever after’. There was even a heartfelt declaration on the street. Much to the dismay of the little voice in my head, I believed him.
I sacrificed a friendship for a man. The ultimate betrayal.
Karma was none too pleased. So where I thought I had found my prince, I was rewarded with a demon.
After 4 months together (in which we fought little, but always about his sister), he pulled the rug out from under me. In the most despicable way (which will come to light, I’m not yet able to talk about it. That’s the level of devastation we’re talking here).
To say I’ve learnt my lesson is an understatement. But the lesson here was not ‘don’t date your friends brothers’. Instead, it was don’t silence the little voice. Your intuition is not often wrong. I thought, as so many ladies before me have, that I would be the one to change him. To soften him. To settle him.
I certainly have my regrets. And he was the ultimate demon.
I recently ran into a friend from university. Twice. In one day. Having been ‘alone’ for a while I took that as an invitation to end up in his bed. Not overly proud of it but, hey, girls just want to have fun, right!?
Normally, my golden rule is to bring the man to yours: always play a home game. There are multiple bonuses to this strategy: having your beauty products at the ready the next morning being one of them. (Not having to do the walk of shame another).
When I awoke the next morning I was suffering something much worse than ‘buyers remorse’. I had a tongue that could sand a table. My lips were caked in skin cells. My contacts had shrunk into my retinas. On top of that, my head throbbed and I couldn’t find my underwear (withhold judgment, please).
I couldn’t find anything remotely sexy about the situation. The previous night might have been loads of fun but the morning light was just far too harsh. My dear old companion didn’t seem to have so many qualms about his appearance – while I shied away from all human contact he was begging for round two.
I was infinitely concerned that he was thinking he’d gone to bed with a 10 and woken up with a 2. I wish in that moment I could be photoshopped into the woman I’d been on the dance floor only hours earlier.
I retreated to the ensuite and utilised the minimal arsenal I had in my clutch – bronzer, lip balm and contact drops. No transformation is complete without the old ‘toothpaste on the teeth’ trick. I emerged looking only slightly less dishevelled that I had been going in.
My friend quipped that I hadn’t taken long to which I wryly replied “you can’t polish a turd”. Classy.
There is a reason I never play an away game and my appearance that morning was it. As my friend so gallantly drove me home, I couldn’t even bring myself to give him a kiss goodbye. That furry feeling I had coating my teeth and the taste of last nights tequila didn’t the ideal kissing situation make. If he misinterpreted my cold farewell as a lack of affection I don’t blame him – I’d have been confused too!
If I’ve lost a potential date because I didn’t have access to baby wipes and a decent BB cream I’m going to be seriously pissed. And Beyonce – I blame you!
Again, this topic has reared it’s ugly (but only because it’s true) head in the media. Are we willing to accept that the hook – up culture so dominating in today’s Tindering society is, and should be, the status quo? Reading this piece gave me chills and almost, I mean almost made me cancel a drink date tonight with a man who suggested some casual after work drinks. I now want the first day with all the frills, dammit!
An annoyingly accurate blog post has arisen on Huffington Post overnight here
Is the necessity for constant excitement and interaction making it impossible for Gen Y’s to commit to stable, long term relationships?
I’d like to blame my stubborn Taurean horoscope, but perhaps I’m so determined to find Mr Perfect that I’m overlooking Mr-Could-Make-Me-Happy.
In a world where woman are told that they can, and should have it all, I’m not willing to settle in any aspect. But am I throwing the baby out with the bath water? Is failing to respond to a text after three dates because he “fist pumped” me too often a bit harsh? I mean, bit of a minor flaw?
Not settling? Keep at it, Gen Y. Why not?
My gorgeous flatmate lamented tonight as I drove her to meet a young chap keen to woo her, that dating was exhausting. Echoing Charlotte York’s sentiments:
I’ve been dating for a decade, I’m exhausted. Where is he!?
I wholeheartedly agreed with her. I go, on average, one date a week. Sometimes two. I’m by no means a slut and I barely kiss many of these men. In this day and age and at my age and use by date, it’s just what is done. You got to be in it to win it, winners never quit, and any other sporting metaphors which can apply to dating, insert here.
Yet like that elusive marathon we’re all incessantly training for, dating can be exhausting!
Which is why I’m constantly fining myself justifying the thought of reuniting with the dreaded “ex”. Sometimes you just want the familiar. It’s all to easy to get caught up in the thrill of the new. But like your favourite pair of jeans, an old lover can be an easy change of pace.
I’m quite lucky my most prominent ex lives overseas, so there is no danger of a relapse, but I’m not immune to imagining “what if”. An other ex works on the same floor at work and it takes a lot of self control after a few vinos on a Friday to reconvince myself of why that is not such a good idea. Doesn’t usually take long, but it can be easy to fall into familiar patterns. Any others that I’ve date have usually Ben erased from my life within days of it ending so contact is barely possible.
Making a habit apparently takes only 3 weeks. 21 days. So when you’ve dating someone for months or years, it’s easy to see how it becomes second nature very quickly.
As my mind flits back to my many exes, and flirts briefly with the prospect of a reunion, I have to remember what they were missing the first time round: the X factor.
Should it be tempting to open that proverbial can of worms and take a trip down memory lane, take a moment to think of the risks vs the rewards.
Risk: it’s not as good as round one, and that can only be awkward.
Reward: it’s not as good as round one, and you can confidently walk away (again), safe in the knowledge that you have no left stone unturned in your quest for love.
Risk: you fall for his old tricks and burned (again). Damaging to the ego.
Reward: confidence boost. Who doesn’t want to know they’ve still got it!?
Risk: having to explain the conscious recoupling to your friends and family. If they hated him the first time round there’s a sure fire chance those feelings won’t have abated.
Reward: sex with someone that won’t increase your tally! Winning!
Risk: you end settling.
As exhausting as it might be, I got to believe that dating is worth going the distance for. No pain, no gain, right?