My week in moods

I've been a bit blogging quiet this past week or so. I haven't even caught up my own journal with my latest activities. I guess things must be going OK at the moment. Maybe I've had (wait for it...) an OK week. Well, I did say maybe.

It didn't start off amazingly. Monday was actually pretty horrendous. I dealt with it by watching tele in bed with the light off (I actually watched a really good programme about the cocaine manufacturing biz in Peru which kinda took my mind off worrying about my loneliness). Tuesday morning was a struggle but I only worked a half day - I had a date with Dr Anxiety in the afternoon.

The appointment was alright. I had hoped she would diagnose me with some rare mental problem, prescribe me with some strong mood stabilisers and send me on my way. She didn't. Instead I confessed my biggest worry to her and she set me some tasks from a booklet to work through and we've arranged a call for a couple of weeks. My session with her kinda made me realise even more that no one else really gives a shit. I'm not being all negative and depressive, I am merely pointing out the facts; no one can sort my head out apart from myself and it's in no ones interest too apart from my own. That's why when I'm feeling all moody (which by the way she says is totally normal, I've got to stop expecting to be all cheery all the time) I've got to deal with it on my own and in a healthy way. I think I am getting better at that, hence my locking myself away in my room with the tele. I did ask her why some mornings I wake up with this cloud floating over my head, she said that sometimes we carry around negative thoughts from the day before that we haven't yet dealt with. Interesting stuff.

Anyhoo, I hung out with a friend on Tuesday night. It was nice. Sometimes it's good to hang out with different people, learn new stuff about people, it helps to think about things differently. I drunk red wine and ate freshly baked cookies. It was a pretty delicious evening.

By Wednesday things were looking up, hump day really helps to boost the mood. I had good day yesterday too. Last night I met up with some old school friends. I have been hanging out with these guys for ten years. I have never had beef (or sexual relations) with any of them; they are simply the easiest group of friends. I definitely get on better with guys. If they have the hump they say then and there, you argue about it, have a little laugh and all is well again in the world of man. Why do women make this so goddam hard? My evening last night consisted of chilli burritos, talks of tattoos and a very cute baby. It was lovely. Nothing better than a catch up with old mates to make you feel grounded.

And that brings me to Friday. What a nice mood to start the weekend in eh? I've got plans this weekend too. I am speeding down to Gloucestershire in the morning to party like a pirate for my cousins son's 4th birthday party. I'm hoping to celebrate proper pirate style too later on in the evening, with lots of booze and easy women at every port (perhaps I took that too far).

To conclude my update, right at this very minute I feel good. I feel content in the moment. Roll on 5:30 and the sneaky cider before heading home (I've got work drinks, I am not planning a brown paper bag job on the train journey home).

'Leaving on a jet plane...' (you know the song right?)

Do want to hear my latest fantasy? The latest dream world that I mentally disappeared into whilst squeezed in on the train this morning...

OK.
Tonight I go home, pour myself a glass of red, dig out my credit card and book myself on a flight to Oz.

One morning, in the not too distant future, the folks would wave me off at Heathrow. I'd be scared, I'd probably cry, but it would be good scared. You know the good scared you feel when you're starting a whole new chapter, a new chapter you know your going to grow and learn loads from. A bit like when you start a new job. Yea, that kind of scared.

I'd stop off in LA for a few days and stay in a fancy hotel. I'd see the tourist sights (feel like a Kardashian) and unwind into the carefree traveler way of thinking. Forget work, forget bills, forget doing stuff I have to do. Then I'd board a flight destined for the land of Oz.

I'd land in Melbourne, explore the city for a bit then book myself on a coach trip up the Gold Coast, where I would immediately bond with other travels. I'd poodle around, just going with the flow. All night beach baaaarbie? Sure! Naked midnight swim? Why not?! Fling with fit Aussie surf instructor? Count me IN!

I'd obviously take a trip to Summer Bay and Ramsey Street and take the obligatory FB photos beneath the street sign. I'd cure my OCD by staying in low rated youth hostels along with the Aussie bugs and snakes. I'd go visit my Aunt in Tazmania for a few days rest and catch up with a few school friends already out there.

The best bit for you guys..? I would blog about it. I would be that annoying person posting photos of 'the best sunset EVER!'. Whilst you sit at your desk in your lunch break eating your M&S sandwich, drinking a can of Diet Coke and counting the days until payday, I would be in my bikini on a beach with not a care in the world. I would be sharing all these wild experiences with you guys and my new found, life long travelling buddies.

After my two months stay I would board the flight home (or not, if my plan to get knocked up by that fit surf instructor pulls through) armed with life experiences, stories and a new found life confidence. I'd land back on UK soil and find myself back at home, in the same old town, barely changed expect for me with my whole new outlook and energy for life. I would job hunt and find work doing something different, something fun and creative to fill my time until my next adventure. Gone are the days of living to work, chained to the 9 to 5 desk and focusing on how much more money I need to take home each month to be able to shop in Waitrose full time and to have Sky installed. My new life attitude would be chilled and carefree. It sounds amaze...

I know what your thinking; that this is all a dream, that I've got to be realistic, where is all this money coming from? Well firstly you sound like my mum and secondly I'm no fool, I have assets! I could sell my car, leave enough in the bank to cover my mortgage for two months then just fuck of with the rest. I've thought this through guys.

Now the only question left to answer is this; which months have the best Aussie weather?

Too much information?

After my last post a friend text me:

I don't mean this in a horrible way but I love that things like this are happening to you because it makes great blog writing material 

She's completely right of course. All my drama of the last few months does make for a good read (partly due to my hilarious writing skills as well of course) but I got thinking about all my drama and if I make more of it purely for entertainment value.

I've always told a good story, I think I got that from my nan. I like relaying a silly story to make someone smile, laugh or, where relevant, feel sorry for me. This blog is definitely an outlet for that and over the last few weeks I've been aware that it's getting more hits, meaning more people are being entertained by my ridiculous stories.

Whether im writing a blog post or relating a story to my friend on her sofa I'll always embellish them a little for dramatic effect, but I've recently been thinking that perhaps I over re-act in reality for things to be even more entertaining. Perhaps my whittling on about Mr CBA for months on end is more about the value of the story than actually him. 

I've never been a secret keeper. I only ever keep other peoples really massive ones, ones that I wouldn't want to be the one to spill. I only know a handful of those and they still play on my mind. Sometimes I try to keep things to myself to avoid the confusion of other people's opinions influencing my own, but I just can't. Five minutes into conversation I can feel my secret on the tip of my tongue, desperately trying to escape. And it will, it always does. My confession is often followed by word vomit, explaining the reasoning behind my action; 'I know I shouldn't have text him but I wanted to' or 'I couldn't help eating all the crisps - I was sooo hungry''. 

My inefficiency at keeping secrets coupled with my love of telling a big, juicy story leaves me in a position where I end up telling everyone everything. If you looked up the definition of 'wearing your heart on your sleeve' you'd probably find a little doodle of a curley haired girl with freckles and glasses (that's me btw). 

It's made me question the whole writing the blog thing to be honest; do I want my secrets out there in the world for everyone to see? Should I just use this story telling platform as a light hearted medium just for a bit of a laugh? Thing is I think the real-to-life stories are the good ones because they are so real to life... Gosh, want a conundrum. 

Credit for Mr Double Date

Last night I met up with Mr Double Date for a drink. Officially it was the fourth date. In the lead up to it yesterday-day I was beginning to worry about what this might mean... Basically, I was going to have to snog him right? Wrong.

I met him at 830, I was already at the bar perusing the food menu. He did quite literally appear out of nowhere, I whipped  my head around and he was standing there. He looked a little nervous, as per usual, but I was cool as cue. After the obligatory 'hello, how are you?' he let me in on the fact that he only had two pound to last him until payday. Looks like I'll be buying the drinks then. If only I had a pound for every time...

The convo was good; chatty, flowing, there were even a few chuckles here and there. At about 10 I paid the bill (naturally). When I returned to the table he dropped this dating bombshell; 

'So what's happening here?'

A little shocked I collected my thoughts and formed some words. 

'Well I duno, I'm just going with the flow, it's nice to hang out...'

You know what actually went through my right at that minute? I thought there would be no way ON EARTH I would ever say that to a dude I was 'dating'. That I would never, and actually have never, address the situation so full on. I always thought that made me aloof and casual and not one of those bunny-boiler women who demand girlfriend status after the first boob graze. 

If the whole addressing the pink-elephant-in-the-room thing didn't have me falling off my bar stool, then the next thing he said would definitely do the trick;

'I just wanted to tell you that I really don't see this going anywhere, as in a relationship. I didn't think it would be fair to lead you on after all the drama of your last dating disaster' (yes he did know all about the Mr CBA situation but I didn't share the information in a crazy-not-over-the-ex kind of way, it was more of a I'm-not-really-feeling-myself-at-the-mo-and-this-is-one-of-the-reasons-why situation).

I was dumbfounded. No guy has ever, EVER been this honest and up front with me before. I don't think I have ever been that up front with a guy back. Lets give this dude the credit he deserves.

He carried on to say that he hoped we could still hang out, which of course we can! I'll just add him to my pile of non-sexual male friends. Easy peesy. 

When I was driving home I couldn't help my mind from milling all this over. I know it isn't necessary, he's told me all the facts and I'm really not that interested in him anyway, but in my mind is was like breaking news on Sky; 

Just In: Mr Double Date puts an end to the potential of any future with Shel, releasing a statement saying he 'doesn't see a relationship happening'. We go live to the scene to find out the implications of this on Shels sanity

I wondered if it was simply that he didn't fancy me (fair enough, I can add him to that pile too). I crazily thought about the amount of weight I've gained recently, blaming my biscuit binge for the end of another potential fling. It then crossed my mind that if only Mr CBA had been as honest with me as this way back in December when we first started hanging out, things could have been so different. I might not have lost my sanity.

Ah well. This little exercise filled its purpose; I needed to get back out there, I needed a little confidence boost (although I'm not sure if that objective was completed) and I needed to forget about Mr CBA (hmm, jury's still out on that one too...). Well, all in all I met someone new, made a new friend. All is good in the hood.

I CBA with Mr CBA

I've been thinking about what happened at the weekend. No, not my amazing chating-up super power but what happened at the pub on Sunday. Yes, it was Mr CBA related and no, you cannot be as bored as me with the topic. I am literally bored to tears, fairly frequently.

Anyway, conversation with the barmaid/former colleague, and the regulars propping up the bar, went a little like this;

Barmaid: "So, how's the love life?"

Me: "Non existent"

BM: "Oh really?"

I sensed some sarcasm.

Me: "Yes really. Although I did meet a nice guy last night..."

BM: "So what about Mr CBA?"

Me, a little taken aback: "Who? The Mr CBA who drinks in here?" She nodded "Er no."

BM: "Really? Because have you forgotten that my mum lives next door to his mum? They talk."

Oh shit. I have always been suspicious of this. Play it cool. Play it coooool (oh and I also forgot we were 12). 

Me: "I have no idea what your talking about." When it doubt outright deny EVERYTHING.

BM: "That's funny. He says exactly the same thing..."

What. The. Hell.

Me, cool, aloof and unalarmed: "You spoke to him? What does he say?"

BM: "He's equally as vague as you."

Interesting.

She went on to say: "I heard he was seeing one of the girls from the pub. I think it was you."

As I had been rumbled and I had an audience, I did the only thing that I know how to in this sort of situation; I  played the upper hand.

Me: "Well we did hang out for a bit but he didn't want anything serious. He's not really..." My audience were enthralled. The regulars at the bar were on tenterhooks. Now was my moment to address the rumours all under my control. "...he wasn't looking for a relationship and I'm just not that kind of girl." I could have stopped there; adult, mature, on the fence. But I didn't. Oh no, I had to stick the knife in; "Oh well, his loss. More fool him!" 

Thankfully this was met by a few knowing smiles, a couple of 'here, here's' from my beer pulling sisters and I'm sure I heard a 'too right' from a regular. Then I quickly added; "And now I think I better run before he strolls in and the atmosphere gets awkward. Bye!" And thats what I did, run.

I think my little outburst earnt me a little R-E-S-P-E-C-T from my younger counter parts, who would have probably put up with being treated like a dormat much longer than I did. It also made me realise how trivial this whole drama is for anyone but me. To them it's a little pub gossip, who's shagging who and all that. To me it's the most tragic love story since Romeo and Juliet. Why has this got to me so much? And why, nearly five months on is it hot topic of conversation, blog content and drunken tears? 

What is it about this douche bag that means I cannot just add him to the pile of discarded losers? I torture myself daily, mentally replaying the whole entire disaster over and over in my head. Desperatly searching for the thing I did wrong to make him quite literally CBA. Perhaps I'm trying to get to the bottom of it so I can avoid a situation like this again. Maybe my little heart and damaged self esteem can't take a repeat of this.

The thing now is, I do have a few other boys to text, to potentially date and I'm really not bothered. Am I just protecting myself or am I genuinely not interested. I'm definitely not being forward with these boys, I've learnt not to put myself out there too much. But am I being too aloof? Jeez, I never thought I'd say that about myself.

One things for sure, you can't put your finger on the reason why you fall for people and I have no idea why I fell for him. Also I don't fall that easily, I've genuinely liked only a few guys my whole entire life. Maybe that's why this has been so hard, I'm always holding on to the teensiest bit of hope that it wasn't all for nothing.

The Married Wing-Woman and A Lovely Weekend

Well, what a fabulously civilised weekend I have just indulged in. One of my Uni girls came down from Liverpool to stay with me, Friday through to Sunday. Over the last few years we have made sure to book in these fun filled weekends, full of catching up over wine and delicious food, at least every three months. This weekend was no exception.

This weekend's activities involved wine, cheese, picnics, gastro pubs and cream teas. Yes, that's right. I know how to show my guests at Maison de Bush (that's a little private joke) a bloody good time!

Obviously I couldn't keep up the fancy pretence all weekend. There were a few moments of harsh Bedford reality; the obligatory Jaegerbombs in The Rose on Saturday night for one (it would be rude not to) and a particularly hairy moment where we had to relieve ourselves in the toilets of a MacDonald's. Well, even the posh folks pee right?

I had such a good weekend that I felt like I was back on holiday. It's funny what lazing in the sun and drinking in the day can do for you.

This weekend I also learnt a very good lesson. I learnt the importance of a married wing-woman. I'm sure you all remember the secret talents of my engaged BFF (let's just say she had sand in the strangest of places for days). Well, she now has stiff competition in the shape of my married BFF.

The thing about having a wing-woman who is spoken for is that when the moment of the ring is revealed, you (or in this case, I) become the centre of pulling attention of the boys in question. All their pulling energy gets focused on you and you pretty much have the pick of the bunch. It's like luring in shoppers with plenty of choice on the shelves then telling them, just at the point of purchase, that one of the items is not for sale. Am I good at marketing or what?!

And it worked. Saturday night we got talking to two lots of guys in two different bars. Obviously I was in there with my opening lines; 'Excuse me guys, are you drinking here all night?' (Ok, not my best) and also; 'Oh no! Has that guy over there just been sick?' (I did say there were a few moments of harsh, drunk reality). I spent the second half of the night deep in convo with a really nice Bedfordian fellow. Turns out Kim isn't the only one to have found a decent fella on a night out in town. Much to my dismay there a few good'uns out there.

So this has all left me contemplating the importance of getting away and breaking the routine. Life is certainly not all about work and doing the same things day in, day out. I think for quite some time I have been all about the routine.

It occurred to me today that perhaps my priorities have been all twisted these last few years. Perhaps work shouldn't be my priority, perhaps I should be. This week my happiness is my focus. I am going to do the things that make me happy, the things that I want to do and basically, screw everyone else!

Pear Shaped by Stella Newman

This morning I finished reading a bizarrely-too-close-to-real-life book. It was good. It had such a relevant ending that I had to stop myself from crying. Sobbing over a book on a commuter packed train never looks good (or particularly sane). 

So this book was about Sophie. She had completely fallen heart over head for a man she really shouldn't have. She ignored all the warning signs throughout their entire relationship and foolishly took him back on those rare occasions her sanity actually made an appearance and made her end things. Obviously there was a horrendous break up. Sophie spent 6 months trying to get over this guy. He had gotten to her big time (I hear ya' sister). She lost weight, then gained weight. Her Grandma died and she left her job (any of this ringing any bells?). In the end she had to go to a boot camp in Italy to finally rid this man from her heart and mind (I'm booking myself in next week). 

Do you want to hear the most bizarre bit that happened at the end that pretty much had me it tears? it's a bit of a spoiler, so if your going to read it yourself then perhaps you should look away now. Right, those of you still with me, listen to this...

In the end she meets this really nice man but in the epilogue she explains that she will always have feelings for the ex. She explains that over time they will fade blah, blah, blah. Then, last paragraph she writes about how she sees him drinking in a pub a few months later. She says he was flirting with a bunch of giggling girls. She says he still makes her heart lurch but she knows he will never change and that's simply not the life she wants. Anyway, I will give you ten points if you can guess what the pub was called she saw him in. Go on, one guess...

Yep. You got it. Unbelievably the pub she saw him drinking in was The Crown. THE BLOODY CROWN. I told you it was bizarre. I felt like I had a hallelujah moment at 8:47 in the morning. The Crown is my pub and the pub Mr CBA practically lives in. It's too symbolic for words. 

I text my Mum to explain what had just happened to me, that I felt God was talking to me through the medium of chick lit. Even she was stunned (my mums not nearly as spiritual as me). She asked what this meant. Well, I text to her, I guess I gotta just get over all this.

And there you have it. My eureka moment. The break through. The nail in the coffin.

I wonder how long this will last...