My Shopping List

What a bloomin’ marvellous day weather wise. My shoulders are burnt and my freckles have appeared on my face. They’re just begging me to do a dot to dot on them. I wonder what image I could find. I have so many of them, I could probably get The Nightmare by Henry Fuseli on there. By the way, this is not just a random art reference. It’s one of my favourite pieces and illustrates how fucking horrible it is to suffer with sleep paralysis. That shit is not fun!

Dates with science teachers aren’t particularly fun either. That sounds quite mean. There was nothing especially that was wrong with it. It was all very average. We spoke about average things; films, music, travelling. But there was just no spark. Similar to Pilot Guy. Don’t get me wrong, Science Guy is a perfectly lovely person who has travelled extensively, so he is interesting. 

Ha! He’s just text me whilst writing this. His normal and not particularly amazing ears must be burning.

Had a lovely day, really enjoyed it! If you’d like to do something again maybe next week then let me know.

What do I reply?

Hi there. Yes it was quite mediocre wasn’t it? And as much as I’d love to meet up with you again, I find myself thinking that I want someone who I like more than you. My expectations are quite high, and unfortunately, you don’t make the mark.

That sounds harsh, but with this whole dating experiment, particularly with recording everything online, I’m starting to do some reflection. I think I’ve realised that I do have high expectations of partners. I have a checklist.

Participants must:

• Be funny.
• Have gorgeous eyes. I’m not massively into looks. I hope I’m not that shallow, although I can probably deep down say that on some level I am. I’m not asking for Brad Pitt. I just want nice eyes.
• Be intelligent.
• Must want to travel.
• Must accept my slightly weird ways.
• Accept my career, especially this year which will no doubt be crazy.
• Give fantastic cuddles and give soft lingering kisses.
• Realise that my body does have cellulite and stretch marks, and I am (to an extent) OK with that. It’s taken me a while to get to this stage, and the last thing I need is a man expecting me to look like Elle Macpherson. That’s not to say I don’t look after myself though. Apart from the odd boozy night, I do try and eat well and go to the gym.
• Understand that I’ll always put my mates first. I know that sounds like everyone says that, but I really mean it. Guys come and go, and my mates are here to stay. Girl power again. If a friend told me that she didn’t like a guy (for a good reason) then au revoir guy.
• Be creative.
• Care about his appearance. I’m not asking to get your back, sack and crack done. Just iron your shirts and do your hair. And shower.
• Be vocal. I like to talk, and I like someone who can talk back and not just sit there listening to me waffle on. Although, I do need a good listener too.
• Have some confidence. Not cockiness or arrogance.
• Be a good friend and son/brother/nephew. I love my family, and they’re pretty important to me when they’re not pissing me off.
• Be damn good in bed.
• Not be a chav.
• Realise that there’s more to life than football.
• Not be alcoholics. I don’t mind if they’re an occasional user of substances, although, nothing too bad. Maybe just a smoke or something.
• Not keep discussing their ex with me. Lawyer Guy comes to mind here.
• Be able to send text messages without using ‘lol’. It really irritates me.
• Have a decent standard of literacy and overall education. I prefer those who have been to university.
• Be active.
• Be older than me. I’ve never dated anyone younger than me. I’m not sure why, but I think it’s just weird.
• Have common interests in regards to music and film. Not completely, but enough so we can go to gigs and the cinema together.
• Understand that I have a sick and sarcastic sense of humour.
• Get along with my family and friends.
• Must wake me up with some spooning, a kiss on my neck and poached eggs on toast.
• Argue and debate with me. Some men are such people pleasers and need to grow a pair.

Erm… I think that’s it. Damn, that’s a lot. What’s wrong with me? No guy can do all of this. Well, I’m sure a few guys can, but where am I going to find him? I’m looking for my Prince Charming, but instead of living in a cartoon, I’m in the Midlands. The best I can hope for isn’t a prince with a bouquet, but a drunk with a kebab.  

Aliens and a possible ice cream.

So what’s been going on in my life then? Well, I’ve just made a cup of tea with two bags and now it’s incredibly strong. Cough cough.

Last night I went around a male friend’s house and we drank beer, ate pizza and watched Independence Day. It was the first time I had ever seen it, but unfortunately I was unable to enjoy the alien spectacle as he was constantly saying lines before they had happened, telling me that there is a Baldwin brother in the film (I proved him wrong – thank you IMDB) and kept saying “I love this part coming up. … happens”.  He can’t help it. His job requires a lot of talking and getting rid of any silence. I’ll get the film on DVD. And yes, I was incredibly ashamed of myself for not seeing it. It’s actually pretty funny and very cliché.I predicted the whole thing. Well done me.

It was nice just to hang out with a guy again. Nothing will happen with this guy, and he is just a friend. See, I don’t just date men. I can be friends with them too!

Saying that, I have a date this afternoon.

What do I know about this one who I’ve virtually met on a dating site?

• Head of Science
• Mountain climber
• Originally from near Liverpool

Usually I’d say no to all of the above. I mean, science? Really? I imagine if we ever get closer and he gets to see, well you know, my bits, he’ll just see this –

And I’m not much of a mountain climber. No, I’d rather walk in heels. And the Liverpool thing speaks for itself with its twangy accent. I love northern accents, except this one.

But screw it. You never know. He could be the Homer to my Marge. Not the best example, I know.

So the plans are go to the local park with a bottle of Strongbow. Joking. No Strongbow. The weather is so lovely that we have decided to go to Cannon Hill Park, which I thinks quite nice. It’ll give us a chance to talk, but God damn it! I want to go bowling.

I’m not sure what it is about bowling that I love so much. Let’s face it. I’m fucking awful at the game. I rarely played it as child, so I can’t say it brings back childhood memories. And it’s expensive to throw a ball down a lane. But it’s enjoyable.

Me and Maths Boy (remember him?) had a day at Star City playing miniature golf and bowling. I won at the golf (fuck yes – now that’s what I’m talking about). However, fortune didn’t favour me with the bowling. I did get to do the whole girly thing though where I pouted and pretended to cry. He took pity on me, and bought me lunch at Harvester. You have to love their Kickin’ Garlic sauce. Although, not on a date.   

Anyway, I’m off to get ready to walk around a park and hopefully get an ice cream if the queue isn’t too ridiculous.

Toodle pip!

Channing Tatum

I've just returned from the cinema where I watched Magic Mike. I've decided that I need my brother to become a stripper so I can meet and fall in love with Channing Tatum. This will also be done with some bad acting, but will contain scenes with nudity and adult content.

Fed up of nice.

Well, today I went on a date with Pilot Guy. We met in the city centre and it all felt a little awkward. Not entirely sure why, but it did.

We went to over to the Mailbox and I bought us a lovely lunch in a restaurant that I can’t pronounce. That’s how fancy it was! I was stuffed after the chorizo pate, and then I soldiered on to the mushroom pasta dish. It was a little bland, but nothing that a bit of pepper can’t sort out.

He didn’t want me to pay, but he did come up from London and has had hardly any sleep. The least I could do was buy him a 2 course meal. Plus, it was only £27 for the two of us. I might take all of my dates there! Music was quite nice too.

Being a media fanatic, I insisted that we went to BBC Birmingham so I could get resources for my new job. I’m so romantic! Not only did I insist on that, but then I ended up talking to the guy in the shop about the tours they do for schools and about Ben Rich’s eyebrows. By the way, Ben Rich is the local weatherman, and I’m currently conversing with him on Twitter about facial hair.

Oh dear, Pilot Guy is just standing there. Time to make a move. I suggested that we went to the museum as there’s a new Egypt exhibition. Together, like school children, we sat on the bench to watch the 2 minute introductory video which describes the upper and lower kingdoms. Sitting side by side, I really did feel like a kid. Shall I hold his hand? No. Exhibition was lovely, and we even wrote our names in hieroglyphics.

Right, what shall we do now? Cinema? Yes, that’s cliché. We’ll do that. We could go and see a nice romantic comedy, or the latest blockbuster. He let’s me decide. Time is running out and we’re nearing the front of the queue. What do I pick? All of a sudden in the corner of my eye I see a film called Killer Joe. I’ve not heard of this one. It’s certified as an 18. Well, now I’m intrigued. It takes a lot to be certified an 18, and I rarely see them. What could possibly make this film an 18? Curiosity gets the better of me and we opt for that film.

Opening scenes include a stepmother who shows her…erm…how do I put this? Her vagina to her stepson. And then the stepson dreams about his sister being naked. Son and father go to a strip club and obviously there are more scenes of nudity there. Well done me. I’ve just picked the most inappropriate film for a first date. We’ve not even held hands. Although earlier in the day he mentioned fingering and I laughed quite loudly, despite the context being about playing an instrument. Mature.

Pilot Guy then gave me a lift home. Here it goes, we’re going to kiss. Oh, actually we’re not. Just a hug.

A lovely date, and he’s a nice guy, but not entirely sure with this one. As Jay-Z would say…

Just say no!

Wow. I’m getting through men like a 12 pack of Quavers! And I like Quavers. The last post mentioned how I’ve joined an online dating website. And what do we have here? Yes, I have a date with a guy on Tuesday.

Now, what possible nickname could I give this one? Well as he’s a helicopter pilot I think I’m going to go for Pilot Guy. He sent me a message, I sent him a message and this pattern continued for a whole evening. A sarcastic individual who is highly intelligent then asked to call me. We spoke for nearly 3 hours on the phone about anything and everything. This included him asking to take me on a date. Only issue with this particular individual is that he lives in London, and due to his job (he’s in the Navy) he’s not exactly on my doorstep or always available.

A few initial thoughts:

• I hope he’s been taught to duck as he approaches the helicopter.
• I remember learning about morphology and that the ‘pt’ refers to wings. Another example would be pterodactyl.
• Christian Gray can also fly a helicopter. Hmm…

Yes, he’s always away and today is no exception. He’s currently in the south of France and today visited St Tropez. And it was this afternoon that he sent me this text message:

Made it to St Tropez for lunch today; it was an absolutely fantastic place. If I wasn’t looking forward to seeing you so much I don’t think I’d want to leave here on Monday.

Ahhhhhh! How sweet is that?

Now, I feel like I have a lot to live up to. No pressure on me. Sigh. I’m arranging the day’s activities and need to find somewhere to eat. He likes country pubs, but we’re going to somewhere where there aren’t any. Need somewhere else. Oh the pressure! I can’t take it anymore!

Let’s move on, shall we? Last night I went out with a friend who I haven’t seen in a while. We were dancing and then I felt a hand from behind come around my waist. I had a quick look around. Yeah, he’s quite fit. He’ll do! There was some kissing and then I walked away to the bar. How very liberating! Girl power and all that jazz. It really was one of those evenings. My friend needed the toilet, and so did I. Luckily, you don’t have to pay at this one. I’m still holding a grudge with New Street station. I go into the cubicle and she comes in too. What? I’ve not shared a cubicle with a female friend since I was about 20. I’d forgotten that I used to that. Girl power…eh?

After copious amounts of cocktails, shots, lager and vodka, my friend and I became separated. Not a problem, I need some air as this vodka is making me a little woozy. And I’m sure the vodka had an impact on the actions of my tongue.

Then I heard a voice. “I know you. Your name is (insert real name here)”. Who the hell was this? My eyesight wasn’t great, but I knew that I had never met this man before. “We got talking online about Detroit Social Club”. He was correct. A man from Tamworth who I had spoken to about a band on a Facebook page, this guy remembered my name and what I looked like. I find this a bit odd. He told me that he had seen me earlier in the night, but kept his distance. He also told me that he was watching me to make sure that I was OK, so that if I got into trouble he could look after me as he ‘knows me’. I find this all a bit stalkerish.

I gave him my number, and I have no idea why. And then I stumbled home and threw up in my front garden. It has definitely been a long time since I’ve thrown up because of alcohol. Not my proudest moment. Yet, at the same time I was thinking that it was material for this blog. I’m always thinking about you, my dear reader.

As soon as I’d left the pub I received a text from the DSC fan. Here’s how it went:

2.43 Hey good to meet u. You ok?

2.44 Detroit social club fan?

2.47 You know it

2.47 You have a good memory.

2.56 You home OK?

2.58 Just got in

3.07 Fancy meeting sumtime

So, here we are having an thorough and deep conversation, and he asks me out. Firstly, I find that as we’ve only just started talking, and not to a great standard, that he’s asking me out. Secondly, it’s really annoying me that he’s shortening words and did not use a question mark on the last text message. It requires a question mark, God damn you! It continues with getting the your and you’re wrong and lack of punctuation. I am copying this down exactly as it was sent to me.

3.39 Hope your ok didnt mean to spook you seen you earlier in the night but didnt have the whatsits to say hello lol

9.31 How the head? Lol

14.29 You not talking now?

A couple of things here to observe. I hate ‘lol’. People use it and they’re hardly smiling and/or the comment said was not humorous. How the hell can they possibly be laughing out loud? Argh!

Another thing is that he has text me 4 times in a row and I didn’t reply. Take the hint maybe?

I feel sorry for him and we send messages about the previous night. Then all of a sudden, my phone starts lighting up with his number. 5 minutes later I have 3 missed calls from him. He then sends me a message asking to talk to me for 10 minutes. I oblige. I’m such a nice person.

Detroit Social Club Guy calls me and we discuss work and football amongst some very mediocre and boring topics. I add fillers in such as ‘hmm’, ‘yeah’ and ‘cool’. He picks up on this and asks if I’m boring him. And then it comes…

“Do you want to go for a drink sometime?” he asks.

Oh shit. He’s put me on the spot. Just say no. Say no.

“Yeah, that would be nice”.

You fucking idiot! Why can’t I say no? I’ve noticed that since I’ve been single, everyone who has asked me out I’ve said yes. Why? Because I’m too nice and I don’t like to say no. This is a word that I need to learn. Actually, it’s not just a word – it’s a skill. I need to understand that although they will feel rejected for 0.5 seconds, it’s better than going out with them for the sake of it. I get nothing from it, apart from a free dinner and a drink.

I’m also in early negotiations with a science teacher who lives fairly locally. We’ll see where that one goes. He’s a red head and I am partial to ginger guys. My ex from when I was 17 was ginger. He was a man who loved the ladies. And that was certainly true as I found out that he was engaged when I was dating him. But still, he was sexy as fuck. Pity he was a dickhead too.

And he links in with Pilot Guy as that particular ex was also in the navy.

Things to take away from this blog:

• Do not drink shots of vodka. It will only end up coming back out of your mouth and landing in your front garden.
• I must learn how to say no.
• Damn, I’m putting weight on from eating out with guys so much. Why can’t they invite me around and make me a salad?

I'm not interested in men anymore.

Hello there, and once again I am sorry for the lack of blogging. I’ve not been a busy girl, and I’ve decided that I don’t need a man. Screw them! Or not. I’ve thought about it and I really don’t feel that at this stage of my life that I need a man.

Although, saying that, the last few days I’ve really missed my ex. This is to the point where I text my best friend asking if she wanted to go camping. I just need to take my mind off him. I’m starting to think that I’ve made a mistake in leaving him. But at the same time I know that I needed to have time out for some independence. After 8 years, I had to prove to myself that I can be alone and that I don’t need to rely on a man; I’m not merely one half or someone who is in a couple.

At the same time I think that I was a fool. He really was a great guy and someone who made me laugh and someone who was so thoughtful. But he said he’d never see me again after leaving him. I'd like to honestly say that I haven't thought about him once since we split up, but that would be a lie. I think of him several times a day. There are so many things that remind me of him. Argh! So I need to get him out of my head, and what would do that? Going camping. For those of you who know me, I’m not the camping kind of girl. Where would I shower? What if it rained? Will I have time to do my make up in the morning? Sharing a tent with my friend – what if I pass wind in the middle of the night and gas us? I’ll leave the beans at home. By the way, I’m not one who passes wind. Far too lady like for that!

So, at the start of this blog I discussed how I’m refusing to date men. I don’t need them. In that case maybe you can answer a question that I have. Why did I sign up to match.com about 30 minutes ago?

Already I have a man from Moseley called Mr_Marky asking if I would like to go to a comedy gig. I’m flattered, but I’ve only just joined. Mr_Marky, I do not really want you to take my online dating virginity.

Have I really resorted to this? Online dating? I never thought that would be me. I used to secretly snigger at those who used dating websites, and now I find myself alone eating Lindt chocolate searching through endless profiles in the hope that a Colin Firth lookalike will appear. Trust me, that’s not happening.

Since when was all this so hard work? And by hard work I mean tedious.