Category Archives: Love

“But you’ve got your demons and she’s got her regrets” – New Person, Same Old Mistakes, Tame Impala

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.


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.

Tagged ,

Hey I just met you, and this is crazy, but here’s my number…

Stage 5 clinger. Bat shit. Intense. Stalkerish.

Chance are if you’ve broken up with a man, you’ve been called one of these. If not to your face, then assume its been muttered behind your back. It’s the horrible truth that because women, you know, feel, that we can sometimes be labelled emotional. As emotions are the work of the hysterical female psyche, they are bad. Hence, when you show them, even totally justifiably, you are automatically banished to the kingdom of crazy.

A brilliant article by Harris O’Malley on the Huffington Post says it better than I ever could:

The trend of labeling women “crazy” is part of the culture that socializes women to go along to get along. When women are told over and over again that they’re not allowed to feel the way they feel and that they’re being “unreasonable” or “oversensitive,” they’re conditioned to not trust their own emotions. Their behavior — being assertive, even demanding or standing up for how they feel — becomes an “inconvenience” to men and they’re taught not to give offense and to consider the feelings of others before their own.

You can read the article here.

It’s absolutely the worst catch 22 in any relationship. The second you protest that you’re not being ridiculous or overreacting, you start being ridiculous and overreactive. I couldn’t even count the amount of times an ex berated me with this argument. On more occasions than I’d care to admit, he would ask me to leave the house and not re-enter until I’d changed my attitude. Classic example of how my feelings were second to his. My concerns were bothering him, so he’d simply ask them to stop.

In hindsight, probably should of told him to stick it, but fear of being the crazy chick stopped me.

I barely ever go after a man I truly like for fear of the dreaded C- word label. If a girl even thinks about texting after its obvious it’s over then she gets smacked with the clinger stick.

So I propose a change. Let your freak flag fly ladies. Don’t be afraid to express your genuine feelings. Men will just have to learn to handle emotions as they come.


Tagged , ,

“Love Me Tinder”

Internet dating has a stigma. Hiding behind a LCD screen allows a person a certain amount of anonymity not afforded in the public sphere. After a short lived foray into Internet dating (in the name of research, of course) I’m starting to understand why that stigma is warranted.

For those that have been living under a rock, or, say, in a relationship, Tinder is a dating application that works on a very simple, brutal premise. Swipe right for yes; left for no. That’s it. Five photos which stand between you and your potential soul mate.

I entered the realm of the unknown after a few too many margaritas. Buoyed by a friends’ positive experience with several young gentlemen she had been “matched” with via the app, I brazenly picked 5 of my most worthy pictures and set up my profile. To be judged. And to judge. Damn, was it addictive! Suddenly the power was back in my hands. After years of sheepish, coy glances across the bar, waiting for texts and taking the back seat in the dating game, it was finally my choice, my swipe, that gave me the opportunity to potentially pursue.

There were a few good men, but one particularly caught my attention with a few cheeky exchanges and, after successfully stalking his Facebook page agreed to meet up. For all those attempting to Internet date, let what happened thereafter serve as a guide:

Always meet the match with a friend in tow. That way, if he is a serial killer, at least someone would have copped a look at his face. Small comfort.

Remember photos can be photoshopped, cropped, filtered, darkened, lightened and just downright fake. Grain of salt when basing your opinion on the photographic variety of evidence.

Speak on the phone before you agree to meet. Wittiness can be manufactured over text, but is very difficult to replicate in real time conversation. Once you’re on a boring date, you’re stuck there for what feels like eternity.

While a few drinks under your belt can help with the old Dutch courage, being blotto is not really advisable. And under no circumstances should you follow my lead and meet up after midnight. Nothing good can happen after Cinderella’s curfew.

The second a guy admits his baby blues are due to contacts: run. Briskly, towards the nearest exit.

While the power of the swipe was certainly a thrill, I’m not sold. Nothing can recreate that first rush when meeting someone in the flesh. Back to the meat market for this little Miss Piggy.


Tagged , ,

It’s not over til it’s over…

… Til I’m over you.

Relationships are, by their definition, definable. Clearly definable. Friend, sister, aunt, colleague, lover, grandfather. But what if the boundaries are blurred. What if there was never any definition. What then, when the relationship is over?

I’m in the midst of such a redefining, if you will. The fling has ended. The tryst is over. However, for circumstances out of my control, we can’t let go. Not because there is any feeling there, but because we work about 100m apart.

It’s hard to have complete closure when it was never really open. Usually, a break up is dramatic and painful but it’s final. Kaput. Dunzo. In this case, it’s not that easy when you’ve not really got anything concrete to finish in the first place.

I never like letting things fizzle. I have gone out of my way to end things with dignity and respect even when they may not have been a Facebook- status worthy relationship. That’s just common dating decency. But I’m out of luck on this one. Short of leaving him a post it note thanking him for the random drunken hook ups but it’s now over, I don’t know how to end something that was, well, nothing.

I guess I’ve just got to wait till the fat lady sings.

Tagged ,

“Is it amnesia? Amamaemonesia” – Chairlfit, Amamaemonesia

I recently had the (ahem) pleasure of running, literally, into an ex lover twice in one day. Both encounters were uncannily cheery: as though there was no love lost between us. Or never any love at all. What was the scariest part about it was that it was not an unusual scenario for me. I have managed to remain ‘friends’ , or for the large part amicable, with every lover I’ve taken. Quite seriously, a long term boyfriend of 2 1/2 years is one of my closest confidantes. We catch up every 2 months or so and speak fortnightly on the blower. There has never been a relapse on the sexual front, and pretty much every major life decision gets run past him first.

Which got me thinking. Either I am the most forgiving person on the planet (move over Dalai Lama) or I have a serious case of relationship amnesia.

Bryan Adams might have implored his lovely lady friend to please forgive me: and it seems I do just that. I’m not trying to contend that I’m some sort of saint, rather I think I’m just lazy. Isn’t it easier to forgive and forget than to harbour the hate?

I have taken back a boyfriend after cheating.

I saw the same scoundrel for a year despite many a public and drunken bust-up.

I have gone back to an ex after a long hiatus (and a lot of I-hate-us).

Yet still, if I ran into any of these men in the street, I wouldn’t hesitate to be genuinely friendly. I’m by no means a doormat, I just think I might have a very selective memory of the things people do to me. Especially the shitty things.

An ex has a very black and white view of his relationships with others. His good opinion once lost, is lost forever. His own mother even crossed the threshold. Harsh? You bet. But effective in sorting the wheat from the chaff? Correct.

Short of making a list of all the crap things people do to me and reminding myself of that daily, I really don’t think there is a cure for my relationship amnesia. As JET strum, it’s such a waste to always look behind you, you should be looking straight ahead. Yeah, I, gonna have to move on, before we meet again. I think they were onto something.


“It felt right, it felt right. But I stumbled when it came down to the wire” – Haim, The Wire

The old saying often goes that, in relationships, timing is everything.

Right man, wrong time.

In another lifetime.

If only I’d met him when I was single.

But I think it’s more than that. More than simply meeting someone when you’re open to the possibility of love. It’s also a case of not fucking it up. See, I’ve met plenty of eligible guys during my (many) single years. Nice, charming, relatively funny and relatively hair-free guys. But often it’s that final moment, the leap of faith, the take off – where I fail in flying colours.

Courtship is easy. Flirting is second nature to most humans that haven’t lived under a rock or been home schooled. However making something out of nothing is the hardest. So many times I’ve been on the cusp of a relationship only to falter. I’m not sure whether it’s the fear of commitment, or thinking (often mistakenly) that something better is just around the corner. Whatever my problem; I’m a serial dater, which is only a couple of rungs up the ladder from a serial killer. I know plenty of girls that are always in a relationship, and jump straight from one long term monogamous partnership to the next. I envy that. I can’t fall in like that easy.

Maybe I’m fussy, although I prefer the term discerning. It often feels, as Haim so eloquently sing, right. There is no fault that I can put my finger on. Doesn’t matter: ill slink away from a potential relationship faster than Miley Cirus’ dignity. Maybe I’ll be cursed with being on the brink of something awesome, and never truly realising the potential.

Always keep your heart locked tight
Don’t let your mind retire

For now, I’ll be OK anyway.

The AB x

Tagged ,

“Oops, I did it again…” – Britney Spears

I don’t mean to flirt with men I’m not interested in. It’s just sometimes easier than starting a friendship with them. See, friendships take time, nurturing, mutual affection and trust. I rarely find that with men these days. Truth be told most of them are slightly abhorrent to me, being so cynical and all. Which is why friendships are tossed in the too hard basket. Which isn’t to say I don’t foster them at all. I have some long running friendships with lovely men, and often their partners too.

Which leads me to why its easier to have a flirty relationship with a man than a friendship. It’s meaningless, to you at least. I have been flirting with a work colleague lately. He is attractive, single so it’s hardly a crime. I have no intention of ever going there (based mainly on my newly formed don’t-shit-where-you-eat policy) but he doesn’t know that.

In fact, I think he thinks he’s in with a fighting chance. And I’m not really too bothered to change his mind. From where I sit, it is easier if he fancies me. Interactions will be smoother, I’ll illicit the desired response from him in the workplace, and it’s socially acceptable for us to engage in flirty banter in public given our age, genders’ and availability. I don’t want any more male friends, I’m just a girls’ girl.

Does this make me a flirt, a dick tease? I don’t really give a shit. It’s hard enough to be a woman in a professional capacity, whatever the industry, so using all the tools in your arsenal is advisable. Preferable even.

Once he works out that I’m good for nothing more than some occasional witty repartee, he’ll back off. And maybe once the dust has settles, if he’s proven worthy I might just strike up a real friendship with him. If he’s unlucky.


“Drop me like a sun roof” – Lil Wayne, Hello

Those who say they’ve had an easy break up are, quite simply, full of it. I’ve had plenty, and none of them are pleasant. I preferred having 4 teeth removed in one sitting.

My cruellest break up? Boyfriend of little over 6 months. Going well, or so I thought. I was ‘saving’ myself for a special night, which as you can probably guess from the post thus far, never came.

As I’ve said before, I’m a massive fanof ending relationships with the same dignity with which you started them. So, unless you’re entire relationship was played out online (like a particularly creepy flatmate of mine once did, shudder), then end it face-to-face godammit.

This guy had the right idea, wrong execution. A nice leisurely Sunday breakfast with papers and coffees, then back to empty pad. I thought we were going to make out. He had (seriously less exciting) ideas. I get girls being dumped for being ‘slutty’. I mean nothing says “I love you” like sexual partners in the triple digits. But dumped for being virginal? Novel.

But this bloke did a brilliant job. I got to listen to his anguished monologue about how he didn’t sign up to date a 19 year old virgin, and therefore he thought it was best if we didn’t see each other anymore. Except for every Thursday night at Greenwood (the place for teenagers to cause absolute carnage) for here until eternity.

I managed, some many years and a couple of sexual partners later, to go round two with this bloke. Yes, I had amnesia and a lobotomy.

This time, he chose a much more subtle way of ending things when he got too emotionally attached. I simply didn’t wrangle an invite to his housewarming, whilst 40 of our closest friends managed to make the cut. To make things suitably awkward, I texted him and asked whether he was worried I would steal his cutlery. No reply.

Guess I should have listened to him the first time round.

Never should have said hello, never should have let me eyes turn back!

Tagged , ,