Wrong, bad, downright silly

I'm feeling unusually chirpy for a Monday morning. The sun is shinning, I've been pinning on the train and I'm actually not bothered about going into work. Something's wrong. Well, something IS wrong actually. Very wrong.

I don't think I've mentioned the aversion I have developed for the pub. Every time I even think about going in that place, I feel a wave of anxiety rush over me; my heart races, I get all shaky. It means getting ready is a nightmare; you try applying eyeliner with a wobbly right hand. The anxiety doesn't stop when I'm there either. I have to drink my wine with both hands. I know, it's crazy.

You see there are few issues with that place for me now. Obviously first and foremost is Mr CBA, now a neighbour of the bloody place and in there ALL THE TIME. Pretty sure he's an alcoholic tbh. Anyway, that's one thing.

The second thing is that I kind of got indirectly fired from my job there. I know, can you believe it? Me, the mouthy one who always thought she knew better - fired?! Just before my holiday I got in touch with my old manager asking for my once-a-week shift back. His response was not too great. He said one night a week doesn't really work for him, could I do more shifts? Well obviously not. I don't get in until late Monday to Friday and I don't fancy working a seven day week. So, that was that. No more pub. Six years of rooting for that place and it's over. I was gutted.

In retrospect it was probably a good thing. If even the thought of having a drink in that place makes me come over all a-wobble what would I be like being stuck there for six hours a week. My whole six pound an hour pay would be spent on glass breakages.

I've been attempting to break this pub phobia or whatever the hell I've got going on. Rather than out right avoiding the place I do try to go in, but only with the folks, they understand my madness. 

I hadn't been in the pub since well before my holiday. I wanted to go in and hand my apron back and ask for my P45 (aka make things awkward). On Saturday night I went in with the folks. It was ok. We met up with some friends of ours too and I managed to spend some of the time talking to (aka flirting with) a few of the regulars. Obviously Mr CBA was there. I know I should have been adult and mature about things but you've got to understand how hard it is for me to even look at him, not least hold eye contact. When I do I feel all that drama come flooding back, mainly me feeling a massive fool. So I completely ignored him. It was ok. 

Sunday my folks suggested a walk up to the new clubhouse, just opened up the road from their house. I thought yea, I might see a few of the familiar pub faces; it will be fun. As soon as I walk in who's voice should I hear booming above the rest? Mr fucking CBA. Great. I've pretty much spent my entire weekend indirectly in his company. I very nearly turned around and marched back home, instead I threw my bag down on the picnic bench and vented my anger to my folks.

A few drinks in and my mum was a little drunk (it doesn't take much, she was only a third of her way through her second half). She says; 'Aw look at him Shell, he's up here with all those couples. He could have come to ours for a barbie later. What a plonker.'

As more of her Peroni disappeared the looser she got; 'He's not that bad really. I feel sorry for him.' (don't worry, I had a right go at her about that one). And then she said; 'Shall I tell you what Dave said?' (Bit of background info; Dave's a pub regular who now drinks in the clubhouse, he's nice, he sits with my folks sometimes for a drink) obviously I was intrigued... 'He said that Mr CBA feels a complete idiot, that he does still like you. And Shell, I've seen him keep looking at you all wistfully.'

Firstly I don't think Mr CBA even knows what 'wistfully' means, let alone be able to act it. Secondly, wtf?! My drunk mother has just thrown me a fucking grenade. I wanted to detonate it right then and there to save myself from the emotional confusion that I knew would follow. But to be honest the more I thought about it the better it made me feel. I hope it is true. I hope he does feel a fool. God knows I've felt like one for long enough.

So it's bad right? Its bad I feel good about this? It's bad that he is even still on my emotional horizon. How I would love to be like 'Mr CBA who?'. I'm just not sure I will ever be like that, well not until I fall for someone else anyway. Also it's really bad that I've been thinking about him again; I was doing so well. Oh, and its also really REALLY bad that when I looked at him yesterday I wanted to squeeze his face again. Squeeze his face and punch it at the same time. Shit this sucks. 

It's ok though, I know the cause of all this; it's seeing him. I'm planning on avoiding that again for a while. 

Mr Double Date Update

This week's been a bit tricky. I'm not sure if it's the holiday come down, pms, bipolar or all three, but getting on with regular things has been difficult.

Work is one big chunk of my life that I find challenging when I'm feeling like this. Having to go in and do a good job, not least just being on top of things, is not easy. To ease the pressure I tell myself to not worry about doing a great job but to just do the essentials, no need to load myself down with extra pressure of trying to impress people. 

It can be difficult to get stuff done at home after a long day of trying to keep motivated at work, but I've read some really good advice on this. They say to just set yourself the smallest of tasks, once you complete these you get that sense of achievement which boosts your self esteem, hence that feel good feeling. 

Last night I recycled a load of old magazines and catalogues. Tonight I am going to collapse the clothes horse that hangs about it my living room all bloody week. If I'm feeling particularly accomplished after that I might clean the bathroom. I did say 'might', no pressure or anything. Oh and certainly no crisps for dinner, although I do have a taste for thyme flavoured chicken with a side of humous. They're not wrong those clever people at Walkers; this combo really is a taste sensation.

There is one thing playing on my mind, I didn't want to write too much about it because it's confusing but perhaps I need to get it out of my mind. I've even been struggling with my own personal journal recently. 

So you know Mr Double Date? Well we went out again last week. In the build up to it I was a little excited (well, as much as I can be at the mo). I was looking forward to another nice evening chit-chatting and getting to know him some more. I kind of got the impression that he has his own issues at the mo too. If you add his confused mind to mine you've got yourself some messed up conversation. And it was. Conversation was a little odd.

Since we went out last I hadn't heard from him so the other night I messaged just asking how his week was. His reply was really down, which I could kinda understand. There were a few more tennis texts all along the same lines. I SOS text a gal pal exclaiming that he seemed weird and that I am weird enough without any added external influences. She suggested putting a stop to the whole dating thing, but since then he has asked if I want to go out again. Do I? I'm not sure. 

When I think more about it (which I constantly am, obviously) it crosses my mind that it's probably not him at all. I don't think I want to get involved with anyone. Even if the man of my dreams strolled along right now I think I would find something wrong about the situation, cling on to it and eventually use it as an excuse to dump him.

But you see, this is where it gets complicated, because in the same breath I don't want to be alone either. Gosh. Can you see how my little fucked up brain works now? I feel too fragile without hope of my current situation changing. A friend at work also suggested I should knock this Mr Double Date thing on the head, but you see it's not as simple as that. It's flipping symbolic now because this exercise was ment to be me getting back out there. Now it just feels like another boy disaster. Oh tits. 

Single Pros and Cons

I've made an observation. I am the last single amongst all of my friends. I'm not being dramatic, all of my close friends are in fact paired off. How has this suddenly happened? How have I missed this? Well, I suppose all my friends were out getting lives whilst I was entirely distracted by and wasting time with Mr CBA.

I'm going to try not to be so moany and annoying about this potentially very depressing fact (see, I'm not bothered at all). I am going to try to not let this get to me, mainly because I am concerned that this here blog is only a few posts away from being a Bridgette Jones-esque memoir of all things single, size 14 and drunk. Also, as you all probably know by now, my emotional state at the moment is fragile. If I dwell too much on this I could quite easily go insane.

Yesterday a friend was telling me about a blog entitled fortydaysofdating.com. The blog follows two single friends who are dating as an experiment for 40 days, in the hope they break their self confessed bad relationship habits (they say it takes just 40 days to break any habit; smoking, over eating or even falling for dickheads). I have only caught up after the first few dates. At the time of writing this post they are only on day 16. I am really looking forward to reading what they discover and if, so the about page wonders, they do in fact fall in love.

This all got me thinking about the pros and cons of being single vs. hooked up.
Here is my little list;

Pros:
I can date/have sex with whoever I like, whenever I like
I can decorate my flat in all things Cath Kidston and Laura Ashley if I really really wanted to
I don't have to be home in time to put his dinner on
No Sky Sports
There is always the possibility that today I could meet the most amazing guy who I could fall madly in love with and spend the rest of my life blissfully happy
Sleeping alone in my big comfy bed

Cons:
Attending family/friends do's without a plus one
No one cares if your home from work or alive (my Mum doesn't count)
No cuppa tea bought to you in bed at the weekend
Having to take the rubbish out
Having to buy your own gifts e.g. jewelry, flowers, random electrical goods
No BFF who loves you and cares about you conditionally and entirely selflessly
Sleeping alone in my big comfy bed

When ever my relationship status becomes hot topic of conversation amongst smug married friends ("He's just a nob head with no nob!" "No need to sieve it; stir it Una") there are always a few that insist a relationship is not the be-all-and-end-all. That boys are sometimes really rubbish. After relaying my sexy senora story to another long term relationship-ed friend she confessed that she wished she could get up to mischief like that. Maybe you have to find a happy balance of single vs. married or maybe that's impossible. Maybe you gotta pick your box and stick to it. Truthfully I have no idea, but does anyone? We all make the best decisions we can at the time and slowly the days tick by.

Ultimately I guess all of this this simply boils down to the age old problem of the grass always being greener. 

The Relationship Black Hole

You will all be familiar with the situation. I've written about it before. It's frustrating but unavoidable. And here is the bottom line; your once single (and freely available) gal pal meets a boy.

All of sudden, sometimes over night, she's not so readily available. It is essential to book her up for a drink ('Three weeks on Wednesday?' She has his Uncle Richards 50th BBQ to attend this weekend, the following he's whisking her away to Bath). Sometimes her old favorite hang outs are no longer as desirable with her as they once were. Even when you do manage to drag her away from her boy (and his bed) her favorite topic of conversation is, in fact, him. 

I've experienced this first hand just this week. Twice this past week, with two separate gal pals, I have been squeezed in before boyfriend time. It's not like I even had to do the maths, I was told out right; 'Boyfriends at the gym until 8, he told me to poodle around the area and wait for him but I thought I'd meet you for a drink'. Obviously I was only told this once we had met up and ordered our first round of cocktails. This conversation was not a part of the arrangement texts. If it had been would I have been so readily available? I'm not sure.

There are two things that irritate me most about this. 

Firstly, it appears as if your once best bud who was there for you (and let's not forget, you for her), at the end of the phone, night or day to hear the latest will-he-or-wont-he-text debacle, is actually no longer bothered. She no longer wants to be involved in the exchange of boy-bipolar stories (but of course she doesn't, she doesn't actually have any of her own) .

The second thing that concerns me is this; who's going to be there for your single pal to pick up the (fallout/argument/breakup) pieces? The single pal, that's who! Mr Boyfriend will be out pissed with his mates somewhere whilst the single chicks re-group with wine, chocolate and more wine (oh, and tissues. Lots of them). 

This natural evolution of the single gal friendship is a fairly controversial topic. Every single girl (including me) runs the risk of behaving this way when she meets a boy and she will naturally expect her still single pals to be as understanding as she was with the rest of them. It obviously goes without saying that first and foremost we are pleased and happy for our newly monogamist friend, but just like mother hen we don't want to let them go either. We want to hold on to the memory's, the fun times, the ridiculous drunken stories. Not lose our pal altogether into the new relationship black hole.

I will keep you posted.


P.S.
Read my previous rant The Disappearing Singleton

Viva Espania

During my week on holiday I learnt the following; my oldest pal makes a great wingman, free pouring vodka is both a blessing and a danger, a jump in the pool is a lush hangover cure and prescription sunnies are incredible. Oh and I also learnt some Spanish. If you'd like to order a couple of large beers and ask for the bill, I am totally your gal.

It took me a little while to relax in truth, I couldn't help fidgeting on my sun bed, wondering what time it was at home and what I would be doing if I wasn't on my hols. But, helped along by the beating down sun (and a couple of cervessa) all my worries soon melted away. By day three my biggest concern was at which point I should turn over to toast my back.

I kicked off my holiday reading with a bit of a heavy one; Sally Brampton's memoir of her depression, entitled Shoot the Damn Dog. Yea I know, I did think that perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to read such a deep book when I was attempting to escape all that drama, but actually it was insightful and inspiring. I balanced the mood by then reading the obligatory holiday sex book. Pretty filthy to be honest. So filthy in fact that I read it in 24 hours. 

I don't know what it is about the sun but it got me feeling a bit fruity (or was that just the sex book?). I soon found myself dreaming about the cute Spanish waiters at our favourite beach bar and the older man type who sat brooding, looking out to see unwinding with his red wine. It gave me plenty of writing material...

'I have been fantasizing a lot. I think it's a really good thing; my moody thinking time (well most of it) has been replaced by fantasy time. An indication of hope surely? Something I've definitely found difficult these past few months...

Fantasy number 1: the older man. A while ago I set myself the dating challenge of going out with three different guys, two of which I have achieved, the third remains unaccomplished. A date with Mr Older Man needs to happen. I've been finding myself imagining how sexy this could really be. Last night we had dinner in our new favourite bar on the beach and I couldn't help myself perving on this typically delicious older man type. He had longish, sunkissed hair, swept back with a bit of wet look gel. His skin was deeply tanned and weather beaten, his hands adorned with a few chunky gold rings and his wrists wrapped in a few worn leather bracelets. To top it all off, he was wearing a white linen shirt. The only thing missing were the keys to his yaht.

Fantasy number 2: the holiday romance aka sexy senora. You know this favourite beach bar of ours? Well not only are some of the clientele dreamy but the waiters are not too bad either. Spanish, knowing only a little English and dressed in white (probably linen, let's dream) to emphasise their natural tans. We have our favourite, we've nicknamed him the very unsexy name of Diego (desperately trying to think up a sexy Spanish alternative - failing, miserably). Anyway Diego has spotted us. Only on our second night drinking in the place he had remembered our drinks; 'Vodka con toniqua'. There was even a little flirt - he called me beautiful! This guy knows all the good English words...'

Well, to let you into a little gossip, fantasy number two was realised only a few nights later. After some more flirting and broken conversation we bagged ourselves an invite to after hours cocktails on the beach with two of the sexy senoras. We very cooly agreed to hang about the bar for them to finish, passing the time with a couple more vodka con toniqua. Unsurprisingly we got pretty hammered. By the time they had finished we probably shouldn't have started on the cocktails but oh well, we were on holiday! They mixed us whatever we fancied (Mojito - naturally) and the four of us headed to the empty beach.

Cannot remember what the hell we talked about, but I do remember desperately trying to turn the flirt up with Diego. Turns out he speaks little to no English. Tricky I thought, but also pretty fucking hot. After another round of cocktails (and dodging of the invitation for a dip in the bar's pool) we headed back to the beach. This time his (uglier) friend appeared more interested and hell, I went along with it, I was on holiday after all, but to be honest, I have had better snogs in the corner of The Rose at closing on a Saturday night. 

I woke up the next day with a pretty fucking horrendous hangover. I went back to sleep until 2:30pm then sweated the alcohol out of my body around the pool for the rest of the afternoon. By the time the evening came we were ready to return to our favourite joint and face the consequences. As I said to my oldest pal; 'Let's just go for the giggles'. Also I quite like these awkward situations. So we went for a last night dinner and to our relief it was all good. They even asked us to stick around for drinks that night too (yea sure they did, perhaps they thought they would get a little luckier than just a fumble on the beach).

I am determined not to break this holiday aura I seem to be sauntering around with. I'm even seriously thinking about booking another holiday with the girls in October (obviously I am going to have to sell something precious to pay for it; either my body or my car or both). Getting away from the daily grind (sorry for the cliche) has really helped me to see things much clearer. I'm not going to get bogged down by silly life stuff, the most important thing is to enjoy everyday and to do the things I love and to be with my friends and family. Works work, boys are boys; it's not the be all and end all. I plan to do crazy silly things when I get the opportunity to and hell, even live to regret a few things. Think of all the fun stories I will have to tell. 

The dating game

Last night was my second date with a different guy in the last five days. I'm getting quite good with this date malarkey, even if I do say so myself. Last night was really good! I was slightly concerned Mr Double Date would be a bit awkward, but as I don't really allow awkward situations (remember my super power of chat that wards of anything remotely awkward) it was ok.

During après text with KK at about midnight last night, she asked if he was as mysterious as we had wondered. And he kind of was. Mysterious in a good way, you know a bit of a closed book, something alien to someone like me who shares everything with everyone. There was some flirting too which was nice, this was sort of missing from my date with Mr Friends Brother. There was some innuendo and a teeny bit of touching. 

We left the pub quite late, one of the last few in the place (always a good sign) and he drove me home. I was getting a bit excited/anxious about the drop off to-kiss-or-not-to-kiss thing. I kinda wanted to (another good sign) but I chickened out. Anyway if I've learnt anything from KK recently it's to keep them guessing so that's not such a bad thing. 

During my escape there was the usual 'this was nice, we should do it again' to which I replied 'yea sure', he then put the ball back in my court by saying 'get in touch'. Oh tits, I do not want the ball whatsoever. I was hoping he would have text last night to say 'had a nice time blah blah blah' but he didn't. Maybe he'll text this morn... Oh shit, I'm back to the guessing game again.

Holiday countdown

Only three more alarm calls until my week in the sunshine, not that I'm counting of course. I have attempted to get organised, I have even wrote a list of things to pack and things to do. The things to do list involves washing, travel insurance and picking up another bikini; you know, the essentials. I'm super busy this week as well which is good, the time will probably fly past. 530 on Friday is going to feel incredible.

Here's some boy related news; I went out on date number one last Friday and I have a date tonight with boy number two. At the weekend there was even the potential of a boy number three but that's just greedy, right? Date number one was nice, even if I did get a little drunk on Mojitos and get invited to an orgy by some couger at the bar. He was sweet (my date, not the couger), we chatted lots and it was refreshing for him to be genuinely interested in me. Will I go out with him again? Yea maybe, as usual I'm just going with flow.

Tonight should be interesting with Mr Double Date. I don't think I'm going to drink though, not because I don't want to get drunk (silly billy) but because I don't fancy being in this dudes car alone! I don't know him and we're heading to this pub by this lake where all the Bedford murderes take their dead bodies, not that I've thought too much about it...