Drunk in love

Oh, Lorde

“I came in like a wrecking ball, I never hit so hard in love” – Miley Cyrus, Wrecking Ball

My approach has always been softly, softly. Like standing on the edge of a 1950s dance hall, waiting for a chivalrous hand to lead me to the floor, I’m never one to initiate an encounter. Call me old fashioned, but I believe the man should make the first move. Chasing is unbecoming of a lady.

But does that mean that nice girls are finishing last?

If Miley’s chart topping film clip is anything to go by, brash is back. Perhaps I should take heed: plenty of times have I left a night out disappointed because a guy I fancied didn’t make a move. Maybe if I’d been more forward I’d have snagged a date. I’m not shy, not socially retarded; I’m just not overly a fan of having to pursue someone for their attention.

On one particular night I did make the first move. The end result? My first (and last) one night stand. Being forward is not my forte. I always feel, well, so tawdry.

I currently have a crush. I speak to him. Email even (serious stuff). But I’m so petrified that I’ve mixed his signals that I’m scared to even add him as a friend on the old Facebook. What if he is legitimately just looking for female friend. Whilst strutting around in flesh coloured underwear and gyrating on mechanical equipment might make my intentions pretty obvious, it’s not the usual way to go about the courtship thing.

For now, I’ll just have to hope he enjoys the chase, because I’m not running in his direction.

“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

“Why’d you only call me when you’re high?” – The Arctic Monkeys

I actually think Alex Turner penned this song by hacking into my phone records. You see, I’ve been the unfortunate victim of drunk booty call dialling twice in the last 8 days. From the same repeat offender.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m no prude. If you’ve established the type of relationship where calling each other after 9 Bacardi Breezers in Kings Cross is acceptable, then by all means call away. Hell, I’ve been known to shoot off a cheeky SMS after the socially acceptable cut off of 11 pm enquiring as to the whereabouts of a certain gentleman. But when I do so, it’s always safe in the knowledge that the sentiment will be returned. Or they are also out. And also annihilated.

I don’t, however, send that message out into the universe without the slightest indication as to whether the booty call will be favourably answered. Its called class. This is where my recent booty caller went so awry. Having known him for only a few short weeks, we had yet to establish that kind of repartee. Sure, the witty banter existed and yes, not going to deny there had been some flirting, but he was being totes inapprop when he called at 11:23 pm last Friday and asked whether I would like him to come over and snuggle. About as subtle as a brick to the face. I politely declined.

That didn’t stop him again, a week later, dialling my number at midnight, then 1 am, before finally sending a cryptic text message as follows:

Who the fuck are you? I have a girlfriend

Needless to say I didn’t feel the need to respond. However I did feel the need to confront him about it. So this evening, I ran into him in the city, and asked whether he had enjoyed his Friday night. He blushed, so my strategy was working. I then asked if his girlfriend had got her hands on his phone during the course of the night. He point blank, black and blue, hand on the bible swore he didn’t have a girlfriend. Little did he know I’m a black belt in shit sniffing so I was onto him.

With the flick of my hair and a turn on my heel, I cheerfully suggested that maybe he should put a a pin lock on his phone.

Or invent an app that breath tests you for being an arsehole before you dial my number.

Either way, don’t think I’ll be hearing from that sly dog again in a hurry. Or at least after midnight.

“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.

Summer’s in the air and baby heaven’s in your eyes..

TheAB x

“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!