Tag Archives: dating

I’m coming back I promise!

16 Nov

Yes, I have been a blog LOSER and completely neglected my desperate rants over the last two months. I was snowed in with work and doing some crazy sixteen hour days, throw in a trip to Paris, a date with a billionaire and my experiments with online matching sites as well, and we can see things have progressed somewhat..and not at all.

I’ll be back from tomorrow with fresh posts! I have to confess, that I’ve been worried that my neglect will result in rejection from readers, much like when you cheat on your coffee barista at work and then have to run past and pretend you have just been sick for the last two months instead of fessing up that you found better coffee around the corner…

I hope you haven’t been cheating on me with other blogs or we’ll need to have the ‘talk’..

See you in the morning!

Much love
Miss Procrastination


Chronically Single

16 Sep

I’ve been single for six months now.

Six whole months.

This is the longest period in my life where I have not had a man(assclown) to curl up to.

And, I’m not talking about having a few dates here and there, a pash and dash or anything else. I mean single. Alone. By myself…just me.

Most of the time I am okay with this, I almost feel empowered. Liberated. <cue track  ‘I’m a survivor’ with beyonce bootylicious moves>. I’m the type of girl who normally merges her men, so it’s almost nice to have a breather.

However on the occasion, I have fears that I will end up a crazy old cat lady in my older years, whispering to my feline friend ‘Tigger’ or some other terribly cliché name for a cat about how much better it is that it is ‘just the two of us’. I’ll pour him (and then myself) some timely whiskers biscuits from a packet while I watch ‘The price is right!’ re-runs and pretend Larry is really talking to me when he yells ‘Come on down!’.

So where do you the draw the line between being single and happy and free…and becoming ‘chronically single’. And when is it right to throw your heart back on the line and ‘get back out there’ vs curling up in the fetal position and swearing off the male species forever?

In my quest to refrain from becoming ‘feline lady’ I’ve come up with my five top signs for when I have moved over to the ‘chronically single’ dark side and need to hit the eject button.

In no direct order, i’ll be asking my friends to watch for the following:

Sign 1: When I start taking tips from Christian Carter, and read self-help books about men: Has anyone ever read Christian Carter the dating guru? Please save me…he comes up with dating tips such as ‘men like women who take care of themselves, have clear skin, a good figure and are happy’. No shit, Christian, and you want me to pay $39.98 for your e-book? When I actually hand over my visa details, I’ll know I’ve crossed the line.

Sign 2: Forgetting personal hygiene: Let it all go!! That means embracing body odour and excess body hair in all sorts of fun places such as your bikini line, lip and your underarms. When I start picking my nose, grow my toe-nails and think it’s funny to fart and burp in public I’ll know I have ‘winner’ status written all over me.

Sign 3: When I’d rather hang out with ageing relatives: Listening to Great Uncle Barney go on about his time in ‘Nam’ and Great Aunt Jude teach me how to make a patchwork quilt are just the  type of activities that will have me counting down the hours until Saturday night. Say L real loud for LOSER.

Sign 4: Floral on the bedspreads, floral everywhere in pastel tones: Pink and lavender pastel is the hottest thing around, overlay it with some delightful 80’s retro floral work and don’t limit to the bedroom. When this colour scheme infiltrates the kitchen and patio you know you’ve hit your stride. Time to check myself into a clinic that offers a cell with a padded room.

Sign 5: Dedicating a song to myself: Dialling 188-L-O-V-E for those of you based in Sydney will land you a hot date with Richard Mercer on the love line. When I call up and through a sweep of tears dedicate ‘how do I live without you’ to yours truly instead of my husband who has been incarcerated for a bungled 7-11 hold-up, I’ll know I’ve just invented a new word for ‘wrong’.

So what are the other signs for knowing you have been single too long, and you’re no longer ‘liberated’ but have crossed over to the sad side. Tips anyone?

The Pity Party

17 Aug

I’ve never really been one for the pity party

In fact I’ve never really had the opportunity to throw one for myself until last week. I’m not talking about the daily whinge after work about the woman that makes you want to scratch your eyes out, or the bitching to your girlfriend about the latest assclown you have dated…I’m talking about a full on ‘woe is me’ pity party.

I spoke to a very good friend of mine, who tells me that the pity party is a complete and necessary part of life. She indeed, had her own version on the same night as I, where she sat in, ordered a large pizza and a black forest gateaux and devoured it through tears.

So what makes a good pity party, you ask?

Here are the necessities:

Location: Your house, probably the floor or a couch. Somewhere where no one else can see you as you slober your words, and preferably where you can lay flat and scream obscenities.

Food: Basically anything fatty or sugary. Pizza works a treat or ideally something with a lot of dairy in my case. If you are already at the pity party, you may as well throw in a few ‘fat’ jibes along with a good case of cellulite to boot.

Drinks: Our friend alcohol tends to work the best on special occasions such as these. Gin or Rum if you really want a cracker of a night. Although, that said I have also found the ice-cream spider to be quite acceptable as it can take you back to times when you used to run under the sprinkler and ‘life was just so much easier then’ sigh.

Dress Code: Your underwear, the ones that are too small and the elastic is gone in the waist. This or a version of bleached track suit pants and that t-shirt someone was giving away at work as part of a merchandise drive.

Sound Track: Any sad songs, something by Mary J Blige tends to work well. Pretend you’re bad ass rap lover has been shot by a member of the crips and you are avenging his death through song.

Entertainment: It’s important to compile a list of things to worry about. Follow this up with condemning yourself and others for not being perfect. Grab a copy of Vogue and compare yourself to Miranda Kerr. Suspect everybody has a plot against you and then blame yourself for everything that has possibly gone wrong in your life.  Switch on ‘MTV Cribs’ in the background of all of this to remind yourself that you will never be that rich or that famous.

Time: Anywhere from 6- 12 hours should be suitable

Invitees: You

Anything Else: Tissues, a bucket (just in case you progress to the vomit cry) ensure you also haven’t washed your hair, had a manicure or pedicure, exfoliated or moisturised, or shaved your legs. It is crucial to feel as disgusting as possible during the pity party.

However, once it’s over, it’s important to take the time to recover as you really don’t want this pity party to proceed to ‘poor me syndrome’. This is where martyrdom kicks in and even your own mother wants to set you on fire because she can’t stand your slobbering any more.

The ‘Type’

11 Aug

oh god, I’m  in love again

I know, I know…I’ve only just let the bed go cold, and I swore that I would take some time out for myself this time, but oh I’m in love again.

….with Bear Grylls

If you haven’t seen Bear in action before, then you should really check him out. He is ‘all man’.  But to be honest it is slightly disturbing that I can be attracted to a guy that can eat salmon raw from a stream and sleep on a hollowed out camels arse.

And it has made me start thinking, about why I don’t have a ‘type’

In order to try and work out the patterns in my dating history and pick someone a lot better next time around, I have outlined some of my more serious dating conquests in ascending order.

  • My first boyfriend, otherwise known as the ‘love muscle’ stole my heart at the tender age of 16. We’ll actually he didn’t really ‘steal’ my heart, I just wanted to be cool and have a boyfriend, and I needed a date for the formal. We lasted all of 9 months, and when I broke up with him after cheating on him twice (once at the formal…smooth), I laughed down the phone. (Yes, I was a real sweetheart in my younger years) He got me back by telling me he had slept with my best friend, which resulted in an altercation at the pizza shop where he worked. He took off on the ‘501’ bus and last I heard he was living happily with a much nicer girlfriend.
  • My second boyfriend, I was madly and desperately in love with. I met him while I was on schoolies week, passed out on the stairs at a house party from too much Galliano Sambuca. He literally made my breath stop. He was gorgeous, an ex gymnast, and is still the sweetest man I have ever known. We had a beautiful relationship for three and a half years, until I realised that his aspirations included, smoking pot, smoking pot again, sleeping in and missing my university graduation. We tearfully ended one Friday afternoon after I realised we were not going in the same direction…but it literally destroyed my heart and served it up like sashimi to the man who I stupidly picked next.
  • My third boyfriend was a real winner. Warning sirens loudly went off from all rooftops across the globe from the first email he ever sent me.  It was titled ‘ I want you to chase me’, but I was desperate to distract myself from the loss of my second boyfriend, and stupidly went on a date with him.  He was the vainest man in the world, requiring not one, but two nose jobs before the age of thirty. I don’t know if I ever truly loved him, or if it was just the fact that our relationship was so heavily dysfunctional which kept me in this state of pure torture for four and a half years. Every time he pretended to go for a surf, I desperately wished he would get taken by a shark. After he dumped me, he turned around and said he wanted to marry me, to which I promptly dumped him. He now travels the world, loosing jobs and sleeping with Asian prostitutes.
  • The man who was to be the love of my life. Ahh he came along at the end of my torturess epic of a relationship with boyfriend number three and re-instated my belief in the male species. Kind, sweet, and dressed to kill, he grabbed me passionately in a dark lit club and kissed me to prove he wasn’t gay. He told me he would marry me after about five weeks, and soon enough we moved in and converted our second bedroom into a walk in robe to house his 387 shirts. The fact he could use a GHD better than me, had previously owned a fashion line and was mad at his parents for never enrolling him in dance classes because he thought he would have been a really good member for the Backstreet Boys should have been warning signs. Nevertheless, we got engaged and were set to be married until he carved up my heart. Not sure where he is these days, I am assuming he is in bed, with a man this time.

And now I am in love with Bear Grylls.

So I’m struggling to find the pattern. I’ve dated nice guys, bad boys, smart guys, dumb guys, metro guys, rough guys and through it all I’ve fallen for all of them.

Maybe I am a just a romance whore? Any ideas people?