Must have been the tramp stamp

I went to a party of a former coworker the other night. Now we believe every good party has to be a theme party and this was no exception. The theme was evil/clown (Hosted by kind of a weird satanic couple, really into clowns) so with that theme in mind, I came dressed as a sorority girl. I'm talking poofed hair, heavy makeup, slutty clothes, heart-shaped jewelry, and yes, even complete with a giant butterfly tramp stamp tattoo (I would have gone with a fake tan but that costs money and this isn't Halloween!). Not exactly what they were expecting but everyone got the metaphor.

Somehow when we have these parties, it usually ends up with me and the clown couple drunk as can be while everyone else takes off. This party was no exception and I had already planned on staying the night. She kept handing me drinks, because she "wanted to make it a dance party." I didn't know how me getting drunk was going to make it a dance party, but I obliged. Hey, the girl is good with tequila. Apparently a dance party was not what she was after, she was trying to lower my inhibitions! As the last person was leaving she sits down next to me on the couch and looks at me sweetly. She suggests a threesome.

Now I can't give you the specifics of how I was solicited for joining the clown couple for a threesome but it started with "Ya know my boyfriend thinks you're cute" and ended with "And you and I can do whatever we want to each other too!" Somewhere in the middle, she mentioned he had a big penis, apparently to tempt me further. Cue: furious texting to Conrad, begging him to come pick me up (Damn him for hating people, avoiding social situations and falling asleep at midnight!).

I don't know what it was, perhaps my big hair? My raccoon eyes? The butterfly hovering playfully inches above my buttcrack? Either way, they both wanted it. I can't say I'm terribly surprised. They have both clearly come on to me in the past and we pegged them as swingers way back after our Halloween party. The boyfriend had already told me I could just sleep in their bed with them (I thought he was joking at the time). Don't worry ladies, I slept on the couch in solitude. I may have looked like sorority girl/easy, but sorry clown couple, I wasn't that drunk.

Pistachio ice cream isn't for everyone...

While out to lunch with an old friend we were chatting away when the conversation moved to funny quotes. "Ah ha." Thinks me. What a great opportunity to bring up my (soon to be) infamous quote: "What do you do with your arms?"

I think I should mention though that my friend is, well, a little innocent and has very little experience with guys. But I figured she would least know about, well, stuff. Um...no. I started to explain about pistachio ice cream, obviously being far more blunt with my wording. Yes ladies, I used the exact words: oral sex. My friend looked confused (and I hadn't even got to the 'what do you do with your arms bit.')

Here's the thing. My friend didn't know what oral sex is. She thought, wait for it...oral sex is "sex, with talking afterwards."

Cue a very awkward moment.

When I managed to explain it, her reaction? Priceless.

Deterioration of the Fight or Flight Response

"Human beings need a lot of things to feel alive. Family. Love. Sex. But we only need one thing to actually be alive. We need a beating heart. When our heart is threatened, we respond in one of two ways. We either run or we attack. There’s a scientific term for this: Fight or flight. It’s instinct. We can’t control it. Or can we?” –Grey’s Anatomy

For some reason I was thinking about this quote from Grey’s Anatomy today. It’s been a while now since MM broke my heart. I’m sure you all are getting tired of hearing about it, but I’m finally starting to get over it. I think that quitting my job really helped. I’m happy now. I don’t wake up every morning thinking about MM and dreading going to work. I’m starting to feel like myself again rather than a watered down version. OK so I still don’t jump out of bed singing “Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah, Zip-A-Dee-A! My, oh my, what a wonderful day!”, but who does? I’ve been taking advantage of my freedom. I’ve been going to the gym. I even have an interview for an internship next week. (Hoorah!) I’m feeling positive about my future. There is only one problem…

While I’m no longer pining after MM (v. good), I’m finding that the experience has heightened my flight instinct (v. bad). So I ask you, can we control this? In December, when I first tried to revisit online dating, I panicked and gave into the flight response. I clearly wasn’t ready. However, with my fresh optimism and zest for life, I thought maybe I should give online dating another try after all. I decided that this time I wasn’t going to take it as seriously. I wouldn’t get obsessed and overly excited about guys before I even met them. I was still a little worried that I wasn’t ready, so I was hesitant to even tell anyone. I guess I was embarrassed by my own indecisiveness. (Apparently optimism doesn’t overshadow indecisiveness.) Plus I wanted to make sure I was doing this for me rather than because of some unspoken societal pressure.

One of my first messages was from a guy who wrote some BS about the “dichotomy of women-folk” and told me to check out his profile and see if it spoke to me. It definitely did. It SCREAMED douche bag! Here is an excerpt from his profile for your enjoyment:

I’m a breast man, no two ways about it (get it?). My dad always said, “[Name removed], if it’s more than a handful, it’s wasted!” My father was a wise man. Any bigger than D’s and I’m gonna notice that you got D’s on your hips, belly and thighs too. I don’t like a lot of eye make-up, because I like pretty eyes. No spiderlashes! Not every girl I dated was a model, but I like cute girls. I like waking up next to my girl and believe for a moment that an angel spent the night and kept her wings in her purse while she slept. Then I steal her halo before she wakes up!

Yes ladies, this man is on the market! The breast man went on to state the following list of dating “exclusions” (because you know that the women are just fighting for the chance to date him and he needed to narrow down the playing field): no divorcees, no separatees, no amputees, no mommies, no drugees, no diabetes, no lime disease, no STDs. Well at least he made me laugh.

I’ve been talking to another guy who seems nice and normal. He wants to meet up this weekend, but for some reason I’m hesitant. I told him I wasn’t sure if I was free tonight, but I’d let him know. In reality I had absolutely no plans. I just wasn’t sure if I was ready. The panic is still there, but I can’t live my life in fear of getting hurt. I guess I’m going to have to fight the flight response. This brings to mind fainting goats. Fight or flight? Sometimes you really just can’t decide! Please send positive thoughts my way!

A new slew

Well it's official. I am moving to the CITAYYY! With one job offer today, and another promising interview tomorrow, things are looking up. And it couldn't come soon enough. Seriously, the month of January is awful enough without the added gloom of unemployment. For the past 3 weeks, the highlight of my day has been watching last night's tv on hulu (that's right, unemployed AND no cable!). It can be 2 o'clock in the afternoon before I realize I still haven't put on a bra. Needless to say, I was starting to feel a little desperate.

A job prospect is exciting enough but think of it this way: a new job and a new city means a whole slew of new boys. And oh, how I need new boys. For example, in between my jumping up and down in concentric circles, the big hug from my aunt, and the shrill "Now you'll never have to move back to the parental's house!" squeal of Violet, I got a "Sweet. How much cash?" from Conrad. Ugh. He's such a boy. This comment was followed by, "Aww you're moving away from me." Again, such a boy. Yes Conrad, me excitingly telling you I got my first job offer is all about cash and you. Typical.

I did remind him that I'm only moving an hour away, but I doubt I'll see much of him. It's ok. I need a fresh start. Which is exactly what this move will give me. And as Violet cleverly pointed out to me, this is a college town (We're talking Ivy league, Ladies!) and we all know I love the college boys. Cougar, Out.

Oh crap. It's almost February.

When I get ready for work in the mornings I have the TV on in the background. This morning I thought something was slightly amiss as the majority of commercials were all for CDs. And not just any CDs. Oh no. Love song CDs. Being that it was a Monday morning it took a few seconds for my brain to comprehend the significance of this. But then, it came to me. Oh crap. It's almost February.

This evening I was hunting for a birthday card. Unable to find one I turned to look at the shelf full of fresh notebooks (yes, I love stationery) only to find it replaced by a wall of red, pink and just plain mushy cards. Oh crap. It's almost February.

I was watching Glee tonight. During the commercial break there was an advert for a new film starring pretty much everyone in Hollywood (including Bradley Cooper who in my opinion has been in way too many films of late). The film is called 'Valentine's Day'. Oh crap it's almost February.

Of all the ways to spend $800, this was NOT what I had in mind!

Oh, January resolution. I had such high hopes for you. It didn't seem that difficult to do something new each weekend. Until two things happened last week to derail that plan.

1. I nearly died, then had to spend more than a month's rent to ensure that I wouldn't, in fact, die.
2. I got sick.

First of all, Wednesday morning, I was driving my quirky, yet trusty vehicle on the insanely busy 6-lane highway to work, doing my usual 65, er, 75 mph, when something very clearly went wrong with my car. It started making an absolutely terrible noise (it makes noises on a regular basis, but this wasn't one of the usual), and feeling shaky. I started to panic. I know one thing about cars: how to drive them. And I can drive a stick, which gives me bonus points, but not when it comes to maintenance. What I should have done, I found out a few hours later, was pull over and call a tow truck. What I did was make my way over to the right lane, and proceed to go 50 mph to the nearest mechanic. Turns out, I was extremely lucky to get to the mechanic. Because what had happened, was the part that keeps my wheel attached to the car, had snapped. Somehow, my wheel stayed on. Had it not, I'm sure I would have taken a few people with me, and would be in the hospital, if I was lucky. Instead, I only had to pay $800 to fix it. Eight. HUNDRED. Dollars. So much for my new-found income. This kind of put a cramp in my weekend "new thing."

But by the time I got home on Friday, all I wanted to do was crawl into my pajamas and curl up on the couch with soup and good TV. And that's exactly what I did. In fact, that's what I did all day Saturday, too. Coughing up phlegm was a good excuse to watch an entire day of America's Next Top Model. (Have I mentioned that I recently had a dream that I was a contestant on that show? Sadly, I did not see Nigel in this dream, so it was kind of a waste.)

By 5pm, I was still in my pajamas, and getting a little tired of Tyra's narcissism. So I called McNerdy and asked if he wanted to get dinner. At some point during dinner, we got on the topic of how I had mistakenly thought that perhaps, just maybe my meeting The Dark Horse twice in two bars was destiny. Then I got really deep (as I'm known to do. I mean, I do watch ANTM after all) and asked the question: "Can you meet Destiny in a bar?"

McNerdy shrugged and said, "why not?" He does have a point. If it's destiny, you could meet them anywhere and at anytime. Then I pointed out to McNerdy, who hangs out with girls 90% of the time, whereas I hang out with guys most of the time, that for two people who spend so much time with the opposite sex, we should really have a better understanding of them. How is it that we don't?

Anyway, now it is Sunday night, and I haven't done much of anything with my weekend, let alone anything new. Although, if you want to get technical, I did spend that $800 on car repairs. Never done that before!

If this is dating, I don't like it

I promised I would keep you all posted on the 'date' with WW.

He emailed me on Friday to let me know that he had booked the cinema tickets. At the cinema in Leicester Square. Now, this particular cinema at Leicester Square is THE cinema. If you see premieres in the UK, they're outside this cinema. Tickets aren't cheap. All the people I was out with on Friday made a big deal of this. So let's just say that I was pretty nervous on my way to meet him.

However, I managed to overcome the nerves and we went for a wander before the film, then went in to watch the film. At this point I need to digress and make a few observations / comments:

1. I didn't really get all the fuss about Avatar.
2. Whoever designed 3D glasses was clearly looking at photos of NASA scientists from the 1960s when they did so.
3. Children should NOT be allowed in the cinema if they are going to repeatedly kick the back of someone's chair. Especially if that someone is me.

Perhaps I didn't find Avatar very enjoyable as I was constantly thinking about the whole WW situation. I think it's good advice to not go see a film you really want to see if you're on a date. You'll get distracted.

After the film (another digression, is there not something disconcerting about going into the cinema when it's light and coming out when it's dark?) we went for a walk around Chinatown. I had my arm linked through his. That turned into hand holding, which I figured was a good sign. We went for a drink (NB: he was quite hungover from Saturday night. So hungover that he didn't actually have any alcohol and I should probably be a little impressed he made it out at all considering his friend who he was out drinking with was still in bed.) and then we headed back.

We needed to get the same underground line home but his stop was two before mine. As we approached his stop we kissed goodbye. I made a comment that went something like: "why do we only do this at the end of the evening?" Was this a bad thing to say? My friend seems quite surprised I said it. I didn't say it in an accusatory tone. It was light-hearted. And a valid point in my opinion! He thought about it and replied with: "hmmmm...I don't know." Then he had to get off the train.

So that was my evening. Not quite sure where I stand. I think the signs are good but it's all moving quite slowly. I'm not used to slow. I'm used to either university relationships which frankly have their own set of rules or the relationship with Fergus which moved ridiculously quickly. So is this casual dating? If it is, I don't like it. I hate uncertainty. What do we think? I don't know when I'll see him next. He's away this coming weekend. Basically, although I'm pleased that non-platonic stuff happened I still feel unsure about what's going on.

I'm over thinking this aren't I?

Fast-forward

Might I just say, I woke up to the most bizarre text this morning. Not exactly on the caliber of Texts from Last Night (my most recent guilty pleasure/obsession) but equally awkward. Sadly, he was not drunk, not kidding and it was sent at 7:30 in the morning!

From: The Prosthetist

This may be to forward, but have you showered with anyone and would you consider me? Had a dream about it last night

Are you fucking kidding me? Yes, that is too forward. You've successfully freaked me out. My showering habits are none of your business, especially considering the last time we were alone together you were in love with my best friend. We haven't even hugged. Why are you considering showering with me?

The Prosthetist has been dutifully texting me since he decided on me at Christmas time. He will text me in the morning, he will text me in the middle of the afternoon to see how my day is, or he will try to have a conversation with me via text in the evening. Thank goodness the fam invested in an unlimited texting plan. I know not everyone is a fan of texting, but I'm just hoping this won't turn into phone calls. How awkward!

I admit, I've been bored/lonely so I have actually been responding. Often he's quite normal. However, he keeps talking about coming up to visit me (Here's for hoping this kid has no follow through) and asking what we'll do while he's here. I suggest bowling?! Apparently, he has showering in mind. Boys ruin everything!

Question of the Week: When is a date a date?

If I'm going to be stuck in the office waiting to meet up with friends then I may as well put my time to good use!

Over lunch a couple days ago I was discussing the WW situation with a work friend. NB: this entry is not about WW. I am not over obsessing. The conversation about him was merely the catalyst for this entry. My work friend said that WW and myself are going on a date on Sunday. I said it wasn't a date. She asked why it wasn't a date. I said because if I think it's a date and then nothing date-like happens I'll feel disappointed and stupid. "Besides," said I, "we're just friends going to the cinema. How is that a date?" Work friend retorts: "You're a girl. He's a boy. You kissed last time you met up. Now you're going to the cinema. It's a date." Hmmm...this got me thinking. Now I'm still insisting that Sunday is not a date, but, when is a date a date?

I raised this issue with Vi last night during a quickie skype conversation. I thought that Vi would be able to give me a straightforward answer as she is very wise. However, she was unable to. It would appear that defining a date is very murky territory.

Firstly, we have geographical issues. The idea of what constitutes a date probably differs between the US and the UK. The US is way bigger on 'dating' that over here. Dating over here pretty much consists of getting drunk and kissing someone and then possibly meeting up with them later. Sound familiar...? Seriously though, US dating seems to be much more about seeing each, then having THE CONVERSATION, etc. Then we have regional geographical issues. Vi very rightly commented that she lives in the south. This equals the southern gentleman. So if a southern gentleman were to act in what other people might think of as a 'dating fashion' this might not be the case, it might be because he's just a southern gentleman.

Secondly, we have dating behaviour issues. Vi and I agreed that if the guy pays (or at least offers to pay) then that's a date. Which means that you might not be able to tell if it's a date until you're actually on the date. It also means that the first time I had lunch with Fergus it wasn't a date...

Thirdly, we have venue/activity issues. It would appear that the general consensus is that going for drinks with a guy doesn't necessarily equal a date. But, going to the cinema? Date. Yet no one is able to confirm why this is. Surely drinks is more date like as you have to talk to each other? Another work friend commented that if it's drinks/dinner and the cinema then it's "so a date."

Thoughts? This is just for fun. You can't go round obsessing every time you meet up with a guy if it's date. That's not healthy. If you are however left wondering whether your planned meet up with a guy is a date I shall leave you with some words of wisdom from yet another work friend (it became quite a big discussion in our department this afternoon): if you're meeting up with a guy and you're not sure it's a date, imagine that you had a boyfriend. (Are you imagining?) Now, think of where you and your guy friend are going (i.e. cinema / drinks / the zoo). Do you think your boyfriend would be happy / comfortable with this? (Obviously this would vary depending on how possessive your imaginary boyfriend is). If the answer is no. It's a date.

Remaining aloof...

I've been quite proud of myself after the Welsh Willy episode. Apart from the initial over thinking of our drunken evening and a few texts about snowglobes I was aloof. And remained aloof. It helped that he was halfway around the world for 2 and a half weeks but I'm still proud of myself. I didn't email or text him. Maybe I checked his facebook page a few times but I am only human.

Then last week I feared my new found aloofness was sure to crumble as I knew he would be back in the UK. I wanted to text him but a quick call to my friend put that idea swiftly out the window. Then I checked my email. Oh yes, it was WW. We emailed a couple of times and then I got a bit fed up. Vi will tell you this about me, I'm not very patient. At all. And emails make me impatient. So instead of emailing him back, I text him. Then I took the plunge to see if he was up to anything at the weekend. Whether this was the 'correct' move or not I don't know. People have told me different things and I didn't want to play games. We arranged to meet on Sunday but then he had to postpone because he forget about pre-existing plans. (I decided to allow this as he was quite jet-lagged).

Still, some of the aloofness remained. I didn't get in contact with him. As I said to my friend, if he wants to see me he will contact me. Which he did. So now we're meeting this coming Sunday. If he postpones again he will be in trouble.

Now, fear not fellow WWBD? bloggers. I am not reading too much into this. I am not assuming that simply because we're meeting up then something will happen. This is silly. I want us to be friends and meet up because we did get on really well. And I need more friends in London. If the idea of something more than a platonic friendship were to be offered would I accept? Oh yes. Am I going to bring up the conversation of something more than a platonic friendship? Oh no. Do I want him to give me 'the rejection talk' and make me feel like a complete idiot and turn the shade of a tomato? Hell no!

So I guess there are a few options of how Sunday could go. I'll keep you posted.

Take advantage of me, dammit!

Oh, what a night. As I wrote yesterday, I was going to be spending the evening at a stripper retirement home. It was also the first time I would be seeing The Dark Horse since that nightmare of a morning just over a month ago. I didn't really think I was nervous about seeing him again until I met up with my roommate and a friend for drinks beforehand and they asked if I was nervous, since they were nervous for me. Thanks, guys.

I wasn't nervous, however, for three reasons:
1. I looked good. I even broke out the naughty boots, which I actually wear quite often, but they never fail. Black leather. Knee-high. Three-inch heel. Yowza.
2. My roommate and friend came along. That helped immensely.
3. I downed two vodka cranberries before we went.

Sure enough, when I saw The Dark Horse for the first time, things weren't awkward at all. It was part of the agreement that he was buying the drinks if I was showing up at a seedy place like that, so he immediately went to get me another vodka cranberry. It was served in a plastic cup. Classy.

I discovered that it would be entirely possible to go there and dance and never notice that there are strippers on the bar, but once you notice them, you can't help but stare. I quickly realized that if I worked there, I would be the hottest stripper in the joint. The first woman I saw had both a stomach and a vagina pooch. How it is possible to have a saggy vagina, I have no idea (apologies to anyone who is eating or has eaten anything in recent memory). Is this what the future holds? Another stripper was in her 60s. Seriously. I was waiting in line for the bathroom while she was in there, and she told anyone who would listen that she is 62. Wearing a Minnie Mouse costume. And the kicker: a woman with boobs to her belly button crushed a beer can between her boobs, then autographed it for one of the Dark Horses' friends. She crushed a can with her boobs! I wonder if I could do that...

At some point, the Dark Horse bought me another vodka cranberry-a mistake- and told me that I looked fantastic. (Mission: Accomplished) It was at about that point that I started to come on to the Dark Horse. HARD. It wasn't like that wasn't planned or anything, I had shaved my legs for the occasion, but the problem was that I actually told him that I had shaved my legs. He got the message loud and clear, and he was definitely interested. Problem was, he was worried about taking advantage of me. When my roommate left, I told him he had to walk me home, and he said that that was probably not a good idea.

He eventually succumbed to walking me home however, as I certainly shouldn't have been walking, completely hammered, at that time and place. (I mean, I live a block from this seedy strip joint.) On the way home, he told me that he is taking a break from the entire dating scene indefinitely, since he figured if he couldn't pull it together emotionally for me, then he wouldn't be able to pull it together for anyone else. I was extremely satisfied with this discovery.

When we got to my place, I walked up the stairs and realized he wasn't behind me. He was still standing on the sidewalk. "Aren't you coming up?" I asked. "Nope." So I walked back down to the sidewalk where he told me he didn't want to take advantage of me, no matter how many times I told him I wanted to be taken advantage of. Bah! Why can't I find scummier men who want to take advantage of me?

The conversation progressed into our future in booty calls, with the consensus that we are both game. He said he would remember that. He left. I went upstairs and drunk emailed Fenella.

It appears that I should be having a shitload of regrets and embarrassment this morning, but now he knows I'm game. And no, I don't have delusions of us getting back together. I'm not interested in an actual relationship with him. Too much baggage. Not enough devotion to yours truly. I'm over it, but a girl gets a craving for pistachio ice cream every now and then. (The good kind, of course.)

Now is the winter of our discontent

I hate January. It's the absolute worst month of the year. It's long. It's cold. There is nothing to look forward to. Your house is suddenly bare, after you've put away all those Christmas decorations. It's simply no fun.

This year, however, I decided to make some January resolutions. Every weekend, I will do something I've never done before. It all started last weekend, when I went to my first hockey game. First of all, McNerdy and I were handed free tickets that just happened to be worth more than $60. Believe it or not, this is not a first time occurrence for us. The last time we went to a sporting event, we were randomly handed free tickets to a luxury suite. We could definitely get used to this.

I did a bit of "hook-up" hunting in the game program for some hockey hotties. Unfortunately, hockey players tend to live up to their reputation and are missing a few essential teeth, but I figured 1.) They are good enough for Carrie Underwood, and 2.) They are always hot in the movies. And by the movies, I mean the crush I had on Adam Banks in The Mighty Ducks when I was 12, and the movie Miracle, featuring the single-hottest goalie ever. There were definitely some viable options, although I noticed none of them smiled with their teeth in their official photo. Something to keep in mind if baseball players don't work out, though.

I am way more skeptical about tonight's "new thing," however. I'm going to a strip club. And not just any strip club. This is where strippers go to die. Where they spend the last few years before retirement. They have saggy boobs and cesarean scars. Supposedly. I've never been there, obviously. So why am I going? I'm going because the place is a landmark, and it's one of those experiences everyone has to have when they live in this city. I plan on being plenty hammered before I get there.

Oh, and did I mention I'm going with the Dark Horse? Yeah, I'm going to a strip club with The Dark Horse and about 15 of his friends, none of whom I know. And he keeps telling me he's going to buy me a lap dance. I really, REALLY don't want a lap dance.

After this weekend, though, I'm kind of at a loss as to what "new thing" I should do next weekend. I need suggestions. Swing dancing? Speed dating? French cooking class? Suggestions, please.

And tonight? Please think of me...

The Nanny Diaries

I'm proud to say that I have found something that will help with my baby ache AND fulfill one of my New Year's Resolutions at the same time. No, I didn't get myself knocked up. But I did secure further employment that helps with that pesky ache: I'm now a nanny. (I have also apparently decided to try to add as many porn fantasy jobs as possible to my resume. Librarian? Check. Teacher? Check. Nanny? Check!)

In order to prepare for my newfound employment, I of course re-read The Nanny Diaries. My own real-life Mrs. X is a single parent, though, so no hiding of the mistress's panties or sitting in the middle of domestic disputes will be necessary.

With visions of meeting a hot manny (but not quite nearly as sensitive as Sandy and his recorder) on the playground or my own Harvard Hottie in the elevator dancing through my head, I set off on Monday for my new gig. I was a little worried about how Eloise would respond to me. I knew she would like me eventually, (as all kids d0) but her current nanny has been with her for a year. I was expecting a bit of the same reaction Nanny got from Grayer (X) on her first few days.

No need to worry. As soon as Eloise opened the car door when we picked her up from school, she said "Hi, Violet! Do you like me yet?"

You had me at hello, kid.

She's already been mistaken for mine. I knew it would happen, since she's kind of a mini-me, but the other day at the book store, a man said, "She looks just like you!" I politely informed him she wasn't mine, but I'm sure it will happen again and again. And as I'm already playing mommy, I'll just say thank you instead of explaining. I mean, today I took her to the doctor and had to hold the cup for her while she peed in it- and all over my hand. If that's not a mom thing to do, I don't know what is.

But is it a bad thing that everytime the elevator doors slide open, I wait with baited breath for a Harvard Hottie to walk on? Yeah, I thought so too.

Making the effort

I'm no scientist. There are only two things I remember from science classes at school. 1) When you burn magnesium the flame turns green and 2) how to rewire a plug. Which is going to be of zero use to me if I leave the UK. However, I have been noticing a trend. And trends are science related right?

Anyway, the trend is this. Women who have boyfriends are 'letting themselves go'. Allow me to explain. I work in a predominantly female populated office. Within my department there are six other females. Five of them are in relationships. One of them is not. Of the five that are, four can be classed in the smug-married category. The other one has only been with her boyfriend for a few months and is not smug about the fact that she has a boyfriend (we like her). Now, I have been observing the smug-marrieds and in my oh so humble opinion there is a definite difference in appearance between the smug-marrieds and the other two. I am not trying to be controversial. And I am by no means saying that these girls are not attractive because they are. I am merely observing. And I am also not trying to be a hypocrite as I myself don't always put in the effort. But at the risk of sounding like a bitch, I put in more effort than they do.

I think it's best to use my friend's words who doesn't work with me but has a long-term boyfriend: "I have a boyfriend now. I don't need to make any effort." The trend continues. Can it be true that women really think like this? Please say it isn't so! This would mean that women are only 'making the effort' to snag a man. Which admittedly is sometimes the case, but it shouldn't always be the case.

Some may argue that women get the raw end of the deal. After all, all men have to do in the morning is get up and put some clothes on. Haircuts for them take ten minutes (and are much cheaper than ours), they don't have to worry about make-up or high heels or shaving their legs, underarms or bikini lines. Whereas us girls have much more to think about.

I personally feel that if we've been stuck with the raw end of the deal then we may as well embrace it! We have the advantage of clothes/shoe/make-up/jewellery/handbag shopping being a good pick-me-up after a rubbish day. We feel more positive after a good haircut. If we need a confidence boost? A dash of eyeliner works every time. We should do this for us. Not for men. And if we have a man why should it be any different? Yes having a man can give us confidence but I still prefer the eyeliner.

So while we are happy singletons I can rest easy knowing that when we get dressed up for a night out or are making ourselves ready for the day we are putting in the effort for us, not for Mr. Right who we may bump into (but if we do, it's an added bonus). However, the day will come when we are no longer singletons (nor smug-marrieds, never smug) but have a lovely, mature, non-fuckwit of a man. And when that day comes I plead with you all: don't forget about your eyeliner.

Rule Breaker!

You know how in Pretty Woman, Julia Roberts has a "no kissing on the lips" rule. I've decided the same kind of rule should be applied to friends with benefits, except in this case, there should be a "no cuddling" rule. Seriously.

If you remember, my last visit with Conrad before Christmas left me smiling and satisfied. I was determined that I had finally figured the Friends with Benefits thing out. Over Christmas we talked via text occasionally but I didn't see him again until this past Friday. We went out for pizza, catching up on our 3 week hiatus and went back to his place to do some drankin'. This intoxication included drunk emailing Violet (We're apparently too classy to drunk text), hooking up, and oh yes, cuddling. I knew I was in trouble. He was being sweet. He was spooning me. He was kissing my forehead. He was breaking the rules!

Of course Conrad and I have never talked about rules, but they should be understood-- Do not be nice to me, it will make me like you! And liking you, Conrad, is not good for me. I left in the morning, determined not to contact him for 2 days (that is the standard for men right?). Around 8 last night he texts me. I was perfectly content working on my crafts, reading, and heading to bed within the next hour. He, however, wanted to take me to the movies. Now we've gone to the movies before, but he never pays! What is going on? While debating whether to try to stay awake for a 10:45 showing, he shows up at my house to surprise me. I live 15 minutes from him, and he hasn't been over in 2 months! WTF?! We didn't end up going to the movies. We just hung out and then he left late.

I don't know where this is going, but it can't be anywhere good. I cannot fall into the trap. He's acting like he used to be in the beginning of our nonrelationship. He is breaking the rules!

What do you do with your arms?

A few weeks ago Vi and I were having one of our monthly / twice weekly / whenever we suggest it, 2 hour skype conversations. During these conversations we cover a wide range of topics but, inevitably, the conversation turns to the opposite sex. And sex. And most recently, the pros and cons of pistachio ice cream.

We have come to the conclusion that it all depends on the brand of ice cream, or the ice cream vendor. But I'm digressing a little. During the conversation I suddenly ask, in my innocent way, "But during the um, pistachio ice cream, what do you do with your arms?" After laughing it out, we realised that although a strange question, it is actually a very valid question.

Think about it, what do you do with your arms? This is now a standard joke with me and Vi but it did get us thinking. What other questions are there that women should ask but have never thought to? Or have thought to but have been apprehensive about asking and don't have a close knit blog group to ask them to? Or have never thought to ask because the question is just that strange?

So here is the start of what I hope will be a continuing blog post, which will then be published into a book and then into a hit film, much like He's Just Not That Into You (A girl can dream.) Presenting...

What do you do with your arms? (And other questions women really should ask.)

Q. What do you do with your arms?
A. If the pistachio ice cream is really that good then the thought shouldn't cross your mind. If it's really that bad then use your arms to hold the book you'll be reading.

Q. Brazilians? Yay or nay? (Not the nationality obviously)
A. Let's hope nay because I really don't want to get one.

Q. Lights on or off?
A. Off. Always, always off.

We need more questions. It's just not enough for the book.

To Snog a Smoker?

After his texting frenzy, Popcorn Man actually picked up the phone and called me on Thursday evening. (This was, of course, after he texted me that afternoon.) He asked me what I was up to this weekend. I said I was busy on Saturday and Sunday. He said that "maybe" he would give me a call to see what I was up to on Friday. All the while, I'm thinking. It's Thursday. Why don't we just make a plan for Friday?

Friday rolls around. Due to extreme cold and ice, it's an official snow day! I spend the day hibernating with a book and a crochet hook. By the time evening rolled around, I hadn't left the house all day, and I was ok with that. At 8:00, I got a text (of course) from Popcorn Man. He wanted to know what I was up to. I told him I was hibernating. He responded with, "Damn, I was hoping we could hang out." I was torn. Part of me wanted to stay in my chair, wrapped up in my blanket, reading my book. Another part of me wanted to actually be social. I told him that depended on what he meant by hanging out. He suggested I could go to his house and hang out. Or he could come over to my place.

This is when texting is preferable to an actual conversation. I have time to consult my roommate and figure out what it is I actually want to do. My roommate advised that I should see him. So I told him to come on over, and if we wanted to go out somewhere, we're in a two-block radius of a wide variety of bars.

I looked down at my clothes and decided I had better change. Even if we stayed in, my leggings and leg warmers, complete with llama motif, were probably not going to cut it. At that time, it was 9:30. By 10:30, my roommate and I were watching 27 Dresses, and I was kind of hoping he would stand me up. At 10:45, he called and said he would be here in half an hour. I decided I needed some hot chocolate as a pick-me-up. He finally arrived just before 11:30.

I offered him a beer, which he accepted, and we took up residence on the couch. We chatted for awhile, flipped through the Would You Rather...? book my roommate and I keep on our coffee table just for situations such as this. Then he had to go outside on our porch in the 12 degree weather to smoke. He came back in reeking like a chimney. Consider myself officially checked out.

I think it was around the 12:45 mark that he started to annoy me. I'm not sure what it was exactly, but I think it was his tendency to ramble. And never stop. When he found out that I don't like Ikea (seriously, I hate Ikea) he went on and on and on AND ON about how I shouldn't hate Ikea and about how he himself will take me to Ikea someday so that I will no longer hate Ikea. Then I got a dissertation on his gout. Gout! It's an old-person's disease! There was nothing-and I mean nothing- that I could contribute to that conversation. I mean, aside from a sympathetic "yeah" and a nod of the head every now and then.

It was also about this time that his hand took up permanent residence on my knee. I didn't like it. And that is a clear sign that this is Not Going to Happen. He tried to talk me into going out, but at that point, it was after 1:30.

Dear Popcorn Man,

This is where you screwed up: You didn't make a date. Had I known ahead of time that we had a scheduled time to go out, I would have been more up for it. I wouldn't have gotten so comfortable in my blanket and slippers. Then, if you did want to go out, you should have suggested it within 30 minutes of your arrival at my place. By the time you did, my hot chocolate had worn off and I was back to the blanket to keep warm. Oh, and quit smoking. You stink.

I finally managed to get rid of him at 2:00. There was no kiss goodnight. I had made up my mind over an hour ago, that even if I do want more action this year, I wasn't going to want it from him. Not without an awful lot of liquor, anyway. Snog a smoker? I think I'll pass. Unfortunately, he texted me at 2:09 to say. "Sweet dreams. :) I had fun."

Bah! What do I do now?

Popcorn Man: Fail.

Talk Nerdy to Me

Forget six-pack abs, I like a man with a brain. Which is why I perked up when I saw this headline on my homepage this morning. How to flirt with a nerd? Show me the ways, o wise one.

And now for the big question: Where can I find a speed-dating nerd night? Sign me up!

Starting Over

My New Years Eve wasn't nearly as stellar as Violet's. I didn't snog any hot boys or even give out my number. However, going to a bar in my hometown does have some perks...being surrounded by lots of less than classy people is a confidence booster. (Seriously! If I can see your underwear, then your dress is too short!) It did make for some excellent people watching. So I started off the new year with the realization that I need to stop asking myself what is wrong with me and just focus on being happy in the here and now. It's a simple concept but it might take awhile to fully follow this way of thinking. After all, one of my new years resolutions was to be more confident and optimistic.

So I began my week by quiting my job! Hoorah!! I discussed how much my job has weighed me down over the past few years previously, so this shouldn't be that big of a surprise. I was kind of nervous about the actual resigning part, but after handing over the letter to my fuckwit of a boss all I felt was relief! Honestly, I can't remember the last time I feel this carefree.

Next week I'll be starting a graduate program. I'm super excited to be moving on to bigger and better things! With this fresh start, I'm even feeling more positive about eventually dating again. However, after the panic attack I had when I tried to return to the online dating scene, I'm not going to push it. I admit I'm still not completely over the disappointment and hurt of my imaginary relationship. I've come to the conclusion that I should just focus on me right now. Enjoy being a singleton! The other stuff will fall into place later. Maybe there will even be some hot, single guys in my classes...

Mr. Darcy didn't text

Ever since my date on Friday night with Popcorn Man, he has contacted me daily- via text message. Early Saturday afternoon, he texted me to tell me how much fun he had on Friday night. Ok, no problem. It's kind of nice to know when you were on top of your game. Later that evening, he texted to ask what I had going on that night. I really, really didn't want to go out, and it was nothing against him. It was just that I had gone out each of the last three nights, and that included New Year's Eve, and that last vodka and cranberry was a mistake. All I wanted was to spend an evening on the couch with Mr. Darcy, and I didn't even want company. So I told him it was "movie night," which he interpreted to mean that I was going out to the movies, and told me to "have fun at the movies."

Sunday: He texted me to ask how the movie was and what did I see?

Monday: "How's your day going?" I told him it was going "great" (which is was) and asked about his. He said it was ok, but still going. Then, in a separate text, he told me that he gets off work at 8. I'm not sure if I was supposed to suggest that we get together then, but I didn't. I had work to do that night anyway, and it shouldn't be my job.

Tuesday: I thought maybe he had given up, and even said so to my roommate. Spoke too soon, though, as he sent me a text in the evening asking me "How's your week going?" Not very original. Still, I felt obliged to respond, and apparently one of my responses was witty, because he included the acronym LMFAO (which a quick google search told me stands for "laughing my fucking ass off"). I consulted Fenella who told me that anyone who uses that acronym is a definite NO and that as a rule, if I have to google it, I should just cross them off my list.

It is now 10:05 on Wednesday, and so far, no text. I'm getting a bit tired of the texting game. If you want to go out again, man up and call. If not, don't bother texting. In the meantime, I'm losing interest.

An Excellent Start

New Year's Eve. My least favorite holiday of the year. You might assume my least favorite holiday would be Valen- er, Single's Awareness Day, but that's not true. It's easy to ignore S.A.D. Especially if it's during the week, you just continue with your normal routine. With New Year's Eve, there is way too much pressure to not stay at home watching chick flicks. (At least alone. But finding someone else to commit to watching chick flicks with you, is not easy.)

This year, I thought it would be easiest to go out in my neighborhood, within walking distance of my place. There are no shortage of bars in a three-block radius, and we wouldn't have to worry about a designated driver or paying for a taxi. Anyone who wanted to was welcome to crash on my floor. But sure enough, my friends had ideas of their own that didn't involve my neighborhood. I immediately called not-Designated Driver. I gave them the option of not needing one, so I sure as hell wasn't going to be responsible for driving everyone around.

Despite the plans, I was very excited about the evening. I had put together a pretty rockin' outfit, and was feeling very good. Our first stop however, was a party in midtown, nicknamed the "gayborhood." It was indeed the gayest party in town. There were men everywhere. All making out with each other. Now I am a friend to the gay community, but on New Year's Eve, that's not really what I'm looking for. Luckily, it wasn't a complete wash, as several of the guys complemented my wardrobe choice, and that means a lot coming from this crowd. Eventually, we managed to make it out of the party and on to the bar, which also happened to be located in the heart of the ghetto. On our way in, we heard several gunshots. I told myself they were celebratory fireworks. The bar also had an awful lot of men making out with other men, as well as plenty of girl-on-girl action, but we met up with my roommate and our cute neighbor there. It was nearly midnight when we arrived, and my roommate and I were entirely too sober. We had some catching up to do, and did we. The cute neighbor was hitting on both of us, which was pretty strange, but when you're in an inebriated state, you don't tend to notice too much.

Finally, we made it back to a bar around the corner to my place. Once we had a table, I got up to get some popcorn to go with all the alcohol. On my way back, my path was blocked by a scruffy looking man, so I politely said excuse me. He turned around, apologized, introduced himself. "Violet," he said. "You're gorgeous. Nice to meet you. Are you here with your boyfriend?"

Ha. Silly boy. Why on earth would I be there with my boyfriend, let alone have one?

I went back to my table where my roommate and cute neighbor were getting a bit cozy. A few minutes later, Popcorn Man (as my roommate has referred to him so often it's stuck) pulled up a chair next to me and started talking. We chatted while my roommate and neighbor quite obviously analyzed our interaction. I was in a pretty good place though, and managed to ignore the fact that they were staring and breaking down our every move. Before leaving, Popcorn Man said he would love to take me out sometime, and did I have any plans for the rest of the weekend? I gave him my number.

My roommate, the neighbor, and I walked back to our place, where we cooked breakfast, and the neighbor tried to put the moves on my roommate, and she tried to get away. She accomplished this by putting me in between them. We have a pretty good-sized kitchen, but it felt very crowded. A sober me would have felt uncomfortable. We couldn't get the neighbor to leave. I went to bed, but while I've been assured that nothing happened, he is officially "a situation." (In that my roommate is not interested. He's kind of a man-whore.)

New Year's Day. The Popcorn Man actually called. We decided to go out for drinks that night. I figured a date on the first day of the new year is a very good sign. While talking to him, I decided he's the perfect candidate for a Mr. Right Now. He's scruffy and bearded and fun to talk to. He paid for my drinks and opened doors. He even texted me a few minutes ago to say that he had fun last night. But halfway through our first drink he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and asked did I mind if he smoked?

Ugh. I know I'm not looking for everlasting love here, but this is one of those dealbreakers I have yet to get over. It's just so unattractive. Even when I was on a remote island with Mr. Almost Perfect, I couldn't get past it. I've never actually snogged a regular smoker. And while I know my New Year's resolution is to get more action, I'm posing this question to any of you who might have experience: Is snogging a smoker worth it?

Rage? What rage?

Happy 2010!!

I am pleased to start this new decade off to a positive start.

THE RAGE is no more....

A few days before Christmas I checked my old email account to delete all the spam: suggestions that I buy copious amounts of prescription drugs and help out the president of Nigeria if I emailed my bank details, etc. However, there was a name that jumped out at me...

Fergus.

Back in the summer I wrote my second blog entry, entitled THE RAGE. (I can't work out how to post the link to the article, even though Vi told me how...) I explained how debilitating THE RAGE can be and how in order for me to maintain my sanity I had asked Fergus not to contact me. And he hasn't.

But THE RAGE continued so I had to delete him off Facebook...but THE RAGE continued.

So you would think that seeing his name in my inbox wouldn't be a pretty site...but THE RAGE is gone! The only emotion was surprise. Even reading the email was a relatively serene experience. NB: the email wasn't terribly exciting. He just said he hoped I had a nice Christmas, how is my job going, etc. I haven't replied yet but I'll get round to it.

In the meantime...I'M FREE!! Let this show that THE RAGE doesn't last forever. Time heals all. Oh and if you have a messy break-up but you're still friends on Facebook- delete. Delete. Delete.