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Daddy Issues

24 Dec

I was blown away to the reaction to my last blog post ‘Too Picky: Why Can’t I Like A Guy Who Likes Me?‘. In particular, the comments I received. The comments really got me thinking. They had me mulling over thoughts that had passed through my mind on more than one occasion over the years, but they were thoughts I had never paid much attention to.

Commenter Nat said, “Yes you might have an issue, but the issue is not to find the good one, to find the good feeling, but to find a way to let this feeling you want so much to come and grow naturally. I don’t want to be a psychologist but I think different things happened in your life, connected or not, that stops the feeling coming and growing…” .

(Male) Friends? Not so much.

Another comment that got me thinking was from Jackie Summer, author of F*cking In Brooklyn. Jack, who I’ve never met in real life, replied to a question I asked him about my lack of ballsy-ness when dealing with men by saying, “First step in being more assertive with the opposite sex? Pure platonic friendships!” The two comments together struck a chord. I don’t really have close male friends. Male acquaintances, yes. Males I used to be ‘involved’ with, yes. Males I’ve had unrequited crushes on, yes. But purely platonic male friends? The sort of friend I can call up, hang out with, talk with, laugh with, confide in? No, not really.

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My Dating Future

8 Oct

I’m currently on day four of my 10 Day Test. Out of the four messages I’ve sent, I’ve received only one reply so far. The reply was from the very same 38 year old I mentioned previously, yes the very same one whose profile said he was only interested in women between the ages 24 to 32 years. (Well, I am only 33… and I look 25, it was worth a try, no?) Anyway, his response…

Hello XXX
Thanks for your message and for noticing me. I’m not sure we’d be suited to one another but I would like to wish you good luck in your search.

Ha bloody ha! I couldn’t believe it! Okay, so maybe at 33 I really was waaaaay too old for him to consider. Or maybe it was as simple as the fact that, for whatever reason, I wasn’t his cup of tea. Whatever the reason was, at least he took the time to respond. That’s more than what the other guys have done.

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7 Sep


  1. a concluding part added to a literary work, as a novel.
  2. a speech, usually in verse, delivered by one of the actors after the conclusion of a play.

Following on from my ‘The One I Thought Could Be ‘The One’ trilogy (Part one here, part two here and part three, here). Here’s the real concluding part to the story. It took me awhile to get over the whole episode but I managed to stay strong. I emailed/called/text him a few times but after getting no response I drummed it into my head that for whatever reason he really was no longer interested. I didn’t hound him. I’m too proud a person to do that. Didn’t mean I didn’t think about him all the time though. I reminisced about the fun times we had but I never contacted him…. until one night seven months later.

One night the following summer I came home a little drunk (and a lot emotional) after a night out with friends. I was home alone crying my little heart out asking myself over and over again “why does no-one want me?” (Alcohol is so damn mean sometimes). This resulted in me digging out The Potential One’s number and sending him a text – and to think I had deleted it from my phone to avoid moments just like that one, ha!

I wanted to know what happened for him to go from being so enthuasiastic about me, to absolutely nothing. Seven months had past, I wanted an explanation. I deserved an explanation. I pressed ‘send’ and literally 30 seconds later my phone started ringing. I jumped. Wasn’t expecting that. It was one in the morning. I thought he’d be sleeping, I thought he’d ignore it. But no, there he was… calling me.

It was weird to hear his voice. He acted like nothing had ever happened “Hi Babe, how have you beeeeeen?”. We ended up speaking, laughing and sharing memories for over 30 minutes on the phone before he invited himself over. I was drunk, I was emotional, I said yes. It had been seven months since we’d last spoken and eight months since we’d last seen eachother and there he was, whizzing across London in a taxi  to my place at nearly 2am on a weeknight. Arrggh, what the hell was I doing?

I was nervous. I was excited. What did it mean? Was he still interested in me? He arrived and as per usual, he looked like the extreme thing of hotness that he is. I melted. Everything I wanted to say, everything I wanted to ask… it all went out of the window. There was lots of general ‘what have you been up to’ chit chat but none of us brought up the past. None of us spoke about what went wrong. Instead…. we got “busy”.  Oh yes, we got busy and we knocked boots all night long.  (FYI, that’s actually the ‘last time’ I referred to in my previous post “Can I Call Myself Celibate Now?” ).

He stayed the night. He wanted me to call into work sick and stay home all day. At the time I stupidly thought it meant he wanted to spent more time with me. Now, I think he was just loving the idea of a day of easy sex on tap. I decided to go into work (I’m a dedicated employee like that ;-)). We got ready and left my flat together. All sweetness and light on a sunny summer morning. We said goodbye, all hugs and kisses. I text him that evening to say it had been lovely to see him.

That was summer 2009. I’ve not heard from him since. I felt okay about it this time though. This time I wasn’t wrapped up in the dreamy, romantic Barcelona/Marrakech memories. This time I was able to look at him for what he really is – A BIG FAT HUMONGOUS (but hot) DOUCHEBAG.

The One I Thought Could Be ‘The One’ (Part 3)

6 Sep

This was supposed to be one blog post. Next thing I knew I couldn’t stop typing. I realised I had more and more (and more) to share and because I’m not keen on ‘too long’ blog posts The One I Thought Could Be The One ended up being split into parts one, two and now three. I didn’t start off wanting to create the cliffhangers worthy of a soap opera, it was just a case of wanting to make it more easily digestible. (If you’re reading for the first time, this will make more sense if you read parts one and two first. Just saying!)

Anyhoo, if you remember, I left off wanting to slap the living daylights out of the drunken friend of a co-worker for shouting “Show us your cock!” to ‘my guy’ in the middle of a lovely Moroccan restaurant. But, at the end of the day, that’s just not my style. I’ve never been that ‘roll up my sleeves, remove my earrings, I’m getting ready to give someone a beatdown’ aggressive type of chick. What made it even worse was the fact that the rest of the group (who were also crazy drunk) started whooping and cheering, and he (The Potential One) played up to the attention by jokingly undoing his jeans. None of this amused me. Maybe I was just too sober, maybe I was just being too sensitive but either way, I was just hella pissed off.

One of my work colleagues (one who knew me quite well) could see the invisible steam coming out of my ears so she swiftly whisked me off to the ladies to talk to me (and to make flimsy excuses for the drunk girl) before a screaming/shouting match could take place. Yes, I know that alcohol makes people loud and bolshy, but seriously…

  • She didn’t even work with us, this trip was the first time she had met me. She really didn’t know me like ‘that’.
  • What she did know (and should’ve respected) was that we were there together, as a couple.
  • She was nearly 10 years younger than me, have some respect for your elders beeyotch!
  • She was so drunk she didn’t even realise how mad I was. She went on to continue to embarrass herself, this was the night she launched herself at the terrified/embarrassed Moroccan waiter.
  • Why did she not say it to any of the other guys in our group? Maybe she’d bought into the whole black guy= big dick thing and curious to see for herself?
  • My guy was definitely the hottest in the group, but damn, have some decorum and control yourself lady.

The tenseness within the group disappeared after approx half an hour and once The Potential One realised how upset I was he turned on the charm to make me feel better. We all got back to having a good night. Lots more sickening PDAs, more bombdiggy nookie that night back at the Riad followed by a lovely, relaxing last day in Marrakech where we finally separated from the group and did our own thing. The two of us travelled to Gueliz, the modern district of Marrakech (McDonalds, Pizza Hut, Zara etc) for our last day. (And yes, I did take Miss-I-Want-To-See-A-Black-Cock aside for a ‘talking to’ once she was sober fyi)

Gueliz, the modern district of Marrakech.

The New City - lovely, but expensive.

We got back to England and we all went our separate ways.  Little did I know that was going to be the last time I saw him (that year).

He flew back to The Philippines for more work related stuff but this time I noticed I wasn’t hearing from him as much as before. We spoke and we emailed, but after a while it became apparent that I was the one instigating the conversations. So, I pulled back. I hoped that it was just because he was busy sorting out his company.

I called him around Christmastime, lo and behold he was back in the country. I knew that things had changed but all I wanted to do was meet up with him, talk and find out what happened. We made plans to meet for a coffee just before New Years Eve. Except he didn’t show. And he didn’t answer his phone. Even though I knew the incident in Marrakech was a stumbling block, I didn’t realise it was enough to end everything.

To this day, I still don’t know if that was even the reason. Was it because of Marrakech? Was it because he was distracted with work and having to fly back and forth to the Phillipines? Was it something else? Who knows. I sure don’t. All I do know is that he was someone I was really excited about, we had loads of laughs and so many fun times together. I saw so much long term potential in him and considering that when I was in Cuba he reminded me that ‘I was spoken for’, he must’ve seen potential in me too, right?