You are A to Z of fucked up

Moo is confused by this?!
Moo is confused by this?!

I like being chased, and complimented, and being paid attention to, but sometimes the man’s affections for me are just not enough for me to reciprocate the feelings back to him… At which point *BOOM* the world explodes and the man that stood before me singing my praises almost to the point of pedestal proportions turns into the type of man who spews insults faster than he can recall his family member’s names.

Let me explain:

On a weekend away with some friends, and copious amounts of alcohol, I ended up kissing one of them and even in my drunken, almost sloppy state, told him it was a mistake and that I apologize but I just don’t see him that way (plus his reputation of wham! Bam! Thank you ma’am! Was not one I was ready to endorse). He then, in protest, gave me a few compliments, to which I smiled kindly and then told him I’m retreating to my own bedroom the way I intended to all weekend- alone.

Well, at that point, the magic transformation had begun – I went from being beautiful to “you’re nothing more than a hot body and cute face – an empty vessel otherwise”, ” you have more psychological issues than buffalo bill”, “your degrees of fucked up are so advanced that Freud couldn’t begin to figure you out”, “not everyone wants you, in fact, I’m surprised anyone does”…the list goes on (in fact I’m sure there was an entire encyclopedia dedicated to my many flaws) so, after his little rant, I did the only natural thing to do- I went to bed.

The next morning offered no apologies and I was labelled a bitch. Was this a case of fierce angst against rejection or was the split personality act I endured just a part of some circus show I’m blissfully unaware of?

freak show

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Hello, this is your captain speaking.

This is your captain speaking.
This is your captain speaking.

I’m rather unusual in my approach to dates – I openly give out a list of things that are “wrong” with me, usually on the first dare, and then let a man decide whether or not he is further interested.

I don’t believe in not telling people where they fit into my life or how, if I’m seeing more than one person I give out this information and you can either join my little group or decide I’m a slaggy susan you no longer want to associate with. If I’m only looking for one man in my life to whom I wish to commit to, they are made aware in haste.

Due to my honesty, I am often offended and deeply hurt when a man offers me information and doesn’t mean any of it.

Point in case; the pilot:

The pilot was an awkward yet unconventionally handsome individual that caught my attention the minute he approached me in a bar and the chemistry between us was of great proportion. while he was in the country we saw each other all the time and in times he wasn’t we would text – not too often as texting me everyday just bores me.

He asked if I minded that he is out of the country so much and I told him I didn’t, in fact I am most attracted to men who often don’t stay in the country and travel for one reason or another – it’s just my type (although I don’t know how I manage to find them). At that he responded that I may be the best and most different girl he had ever met.

Months of our dating continued and the usual in-the-country-out-the-country flirtation ensued.

Then, whilst he was away, he texted me that he would be arriving in the next week and he missed me and I must keep some nights free just for him, all to which I agreed… Only never to hear from him again…WTF dude?!? would it have not been easier just not to say that?!? Rather a “I’m bored and this no longer works” would have been much more greatly appreciated. And don’t tell me you miss me if you have no desires to see me again? I don’t get it, why don’t people just say what they mean and mean what they say?

Lost and confused again in this roller coaster called dating

Lost and confused, once again...
Lost and confused, once again…

Attempts to avoid awkwardness…

Redland Rapscallion

I am usually the most ridiculously honest person ever. I have no secrets. People always joke that I’d make a bad spy and or murderer because straight away I’d crack and be like “Ooooh do you want to know how I did it? I have photos!” Ready for instagram, #guilty.

And yet I have told very few people about the most embarrassing story in my life. A story I am not about to share on a blog where it could be used against me in the future. But basically it involves a wheelchair user, a dancefloor and me setting the fire alarm off… Horrific. It makes me shudder just thinking about it.

I am not the most socially awkward person I know (that award goes to a lovely fellow housemate, she knows who she is) but I certainly seem to get into more than my fair share of awkward situations.

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6 Things I hate about you

Here is a list of six things that really do not gel with me on dates, or make the hairs at the back of my neck stand up straighter than they do after an episode of American Horror Story:

I'm not your damsel in distress
I’m not your damsel in distress

1.I’m not your damsel in distress
– not to say that a tall, dark, handsome stranger needn’t enter my life and fill it with glee (I’m still of the disney princess childhood fantasy clan, I’m afraid) but I don’t need you to do anything for me, I am more than capable of doing it myself. It’s true the thought of a tiara appeals to me greatly but bet your bonnet I can get it to sparkle on my head without you just fine. I am opinionated, contradictory, distant…and I don’t need you saving me from all my flaws. But thanks.

Ex-Talk
Ex-Talk

2.I don’t mind you talking about your ex on a date, but if it’s overly negative, I do
– don’t forget you once claimed to love this person and I’m in full belief that part of you, once loving a person, never stops- that part belongs to the memory of them -and let them, you owe yourself an amiable memory of the relationship no matter how badly it may have ended (yes, I know, easier said then done but I believe in it) and I’m aware heartache causes a negative reaction towards the heartbreaker, but speaking negatively about her only makes me increasingly aware of what I lack and what you will say about me should our potential relationship come to an end.

I'm not a bitch because some guy hurt me, sometimes I'm just a bitch
I’m not a bitch because some guy hurt me, sometimes I’m just a bitch

3. I’m not a bitch because some guy hurt me, sometimes I’m just a bitch
– when I go on a date and display strong opinions, primarily against commitment, I’m greeted with a free therapy session (oh bless! And thank your kindness) about what degrees of fucked up I could be and why – usually the answer in your mind is some guy “damaged” me…oh honey! No guy damaged me I’m just not the relationship type (until the right one comes along) and sometimes, I’m just a bitch.

Part of me is a hopeless romantic, the other part is, well, an asshole
Part of me is a hopeless romantic, the other part is, well, an asshole
4. Part of me is a hopeless romantic, the other part is, well, an asshole
– I’m a sucker for beautifully choreographed words strung together better than an orchestra quartet and gestures of affections that various magnitudes of literature have allowed me to fantasize about. However, I despise cliches, I’m not touched by your act of bringing me the same roses you bought your 30 previous dates, I want sunflowers. I will not be bowled over by a dinner with candlelight in a pricey restuarant that you know is a “sure win”, I like the hole in the wall almost nobody knows exists that serves authentic Italian. And I refuse to show you any sort of admiration if your idea of romance is a winky emoji in a text message – wink at me in real life at least!
I am not your trophy!!
I am not your trophy!!

5. I’m not the warrior race, tour de France, academy award or grand prix
Whilst I accept you like to push yourself and challenge yourself and your passion towards your favourite sports team is a turn on, I am no trophy. I am not a conquest to be achieved or a challenge to be taken up. The words “I like a challenge” in response to one of my views about you by no means appeals to me, in fact, it hurts. The truth is that once the challenge is completed, I have probably started to like you – a lot, at which point you have lost interest as the challenge is complete and congratulations you have another trophy stacked on your “girl-challenge” shelf … Thanks.

It's not your money, it's YOU
It’s not your money, it’s YOU

6.  She ain’t nothing but a gold-digger

On many an occasion I have heard various degrees and variations of the phrases ” you’re a gold-digger” or “high-maintenance” and when I ask why, the answer is a very underwhelming shrug accompanied by ” I don’t know, you kinda have that look” (well. Gee thanks for that clarification). But, I am not on my second degree in pursuit of being the most over-educated housewife in the history of housewives. It’s true I do like to be taken care of by a man, but just as much as I enjoy taking care of him. If you can’t, I understand, and don’t expect you to. It’s not your money, it’s you.
(All images sourced from: http://www.pinterest.com)

Ghost of relationship’s past

http://potd.pdnonline.com/2011/01/8043The dearly departed are often glorified after their deaths, where once he was a “drunk uncle” he becomes the “life of the party”, and where she was once “manipulating and lying” she becomes “creative, with a way with words.” Whether it is because we, as a human race, feel guilt, shame or our final respects, we do tend to make those who have passed away a shade brighter in their death.

This got me thinking; does the same phenomenon happen in the passing of a relationship? Do we glorify the memories of the relationship that once was in order to numb the pain of the events leading up to its annihilation?

Do we forget the ghosts of relationship’s past?

We insist on running back into the burning room of our hearts, our former relationships, and are adamant in searching through the ashes to revive something that no longer is. We fall asleep to dream of our dearly departed relationships only to awaken with the sting of a fresh heartbreak.

Is it an attempt to feel again, even if it’s an altered memory?

Personally, I think a part of it is that we glorify our former emotions and memories in order to remind ourselves that we did love, and sometimes loved intensely, and the part of us that allowed us to love another refuses to let go of the ability to do so in the future. Maybe, the holding onto our memories allows us to, somehow, let go of the heartbreak and remember things (or people) as they deserve to be remembered; in fairness and in love.

So, to the emotions I once felt:  promise I shall feel you again in all your glory when the time is right.

The “just friends” game

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I have this friend who I met and kissed under very drunk circumstances (the more I write the more I’m beginning to think I have a drinking problem) and soon after our meeting we decided we’d be friends (with the added benefit of kissing each other under aforementioned drunk circumstances- which actually only happened once).

We went out on “dates” where no hand holding, cuddling, affection or kissing were present, rather our conversations were laden with sarcasm and his constant surprise that I’m smarter than I look (in his defence I’m a blonde studying fashion, stereotypes don’t do me much justice). We became fast friends with blatant honesty towards each other, especially in the field of romantic tendencies. We both discovered that we’re selfish beings too wrapped up in our own lives to actively or fairly participate in a proper relationship.

We spoke constantly and then sometimes not at all, and I can tell you it was a much appreciated friendship. But then I had missed his birthday – I hold birthdays of little to no importance and often forget that people get sentimental about celebrating them, a fact I found out soon after. I thought it no big deal, naturally, and apologized for my missing but assumed more than enough ladies were present to keep his indulgences satisfied. (Apparently I was wrong)

Anyway some time had passed and we had both come back from our separate holidays (him with his friends and mine with a man-but that’s a story for another day) and he had invited me for drinks and a movie. On the night, our natural flow of sarcasm ensued and the movie was rather entertaining, however as the movie ended he kissed me… Unusual, considering neither of us were drunk and I was under strict perception that we were just friends.

Lucky me, he told me he was attracted to me and needed to have me- not in the romantic sense but physical. I giggled and told him we were friends, a fact I never hid or diverged from, and he agreed, that we wouldn’t go further as it would ruin our friendship.

Funny thing though, since then we hadn’t spoken. It has been months. I’m not upset as much as curious as to why the silence? but I accept it… But riddle me this; sex was going to ruin the frienship?

When I say we’re just friends, I mean it. Why can’t others?

Desperado…or commitment phobia?

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There are men who just don’t get it, at all! And no matter how much you try explain they just will never.

I am not flimsy in my choices of relationships, in fact it takes a lot for me to even contemplate getting into one at all (in 99% of the cases I just don’t). Some call it commitment-phobia (because imagine a person who doesn’t have a phobia) but I call it not settling.

I don’t mean in the sense that I’m waiting for a man who completes a checklist from 1 to 19 but rather waiting for the butterflies (I know! Who would have thought I had a thing for cliches) : enter desperado (the nickname I gave this date)- the man who wanted more…

Why? Why is it when I clearly express that I am there for fun and a good time men demand attention, loyalty, and commitment … Did I mispronounce ; ” this is casual” ?

Every time we went out Desperado would try hold my hand, try introduce me as his girlfriend and then laugh and say he was joking. (With a wishful tone hoping I would accept that it simply wasn’t).

Silly how when you want a relationship you swim in a pool of playboy sharks and the minute you want a bit of fun and flings you’re playing a game of “it’s not you, it’s me”. Obviously, I no longer could go out with desperado, his need for me sent me running towards the hills and further… Is it a case of him not being the right one…or am I truly commitment phobic? *gasp*

The mystery of the pyramids…and the heart

http://www.hplyrikz.com/
http://www.hplyrikz.com/

When searching for a reason for most mysteries in life I often am disappointed with absence of an answer. I suppose that is the thing about mysteries: most will always remain in the black holes of time. However, from the mysteries of the Egyptian pyramids to those of the mind, none is more mysterious or unsolvable than the reasoning of the human emotion.

Love is a four letter word that has countless pieces written in its tribute. I think it is only fair that, in turn, I dedicate an entry to this almost unexplained sensation. The difficulty in writing this piece is not the lack of knowledge towards the subject but rather the lack of a decent idea on how to describe the emotion without a clichéd, cheesy description.

My love is a complicated one; it is filled with care, kindness and dependence but twisted on the outskirts with a hint of jealousy, a pinch of mistrust and a tiny dose of life’s betrayals. For me, to love is most difficult, but to love me, is even worse. With a somewhat warped and conflicted character I battle to balance the want for freedom with the need for a constant being. I’m attention-seeking yet distant, fun yet disconnected, but with all this I love. A constant tug of war between my hardness and softness, my want to enwrapped in the arms in another and my need for freedom, my insane fear of commitment and the fear of loneliness.

While reading over my description, one is almost drawn immediately to the sense of desperation while I try most hard to avoid it. You see, my love is real, my love is whole and my love is complicated. I cannot explain why.

That is where my mystery is given birth to and my curiosity for reason is aroused.

WOW! this is going to make dating easier...NOT
WOW! this is going to make dating easier…NOT

Is Christina Yang my spirit animal ?

There is a certain sentimentality that comes when one is with another human being. Except I’m not sure this feeling I am able to feel. Maybe the heartache of a relationship past is so severe that the heart/brain does not allow for any amount of attachment or maybe I’m simply not wired that way..

As I lie in the arms of my friend one night (side note: I have a habit of calling the men I’m involved with friends, although I kiss them…a lot. They are all well aware of the fact that I call them just friends, and that I give myself, and them, the complete freedom to see other people. How this functions? I don’t honestly know. But somehow it does)….anyway, as I lie in the Arms of my ‘friend’ one night I find myself completely emotionally unattached to him, while physically we have great chemistry I don’t find myself jealous at the conversation of another girl or on any level wishing that he were mine… I find this very odd.

Will I manage to care one day? Is it me? Or is it the case of just finding the right one? Or maybe I’m the Christina Yang of the world?

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(Ummm don’t cuddle me)

“No, sir, I do not have daddy issues.”

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(Ummm…maybe not)

Clubs and bars are the birth place and breeding grounds for pick up lines, lonely individuals awaiting a drink offer or men on the prowl (just as much as women I dare say). Where women have fantasies of meeting the one (secretly of course) and men have fantasies of their next erotic conquest (mostly ruined by the fact that too much whiskey makes for a most unattractive man).

I find myself at my local watering hole not very often, but when I do, oh boy! Am I duly entertained and am even more socially awkward than I care to admit…Let me explain:

It’s a Friday evening and I’ve decided that means a girl friend and me simply must go out dancing ( she is in a relationship and loves a night out with female companions whilst I love that she is not on aforementioned prowl and we can actually dance). I wore sky high heels (that puts me a great deal taller than most), black jeans and a backless floral top and approach the dance floor with extreme confidence. In my entanglement of whiskey, sweat and dancing I was approached by a significantly older man who offered me a drink, which I had to decline more out of the fact that I had just purchased a full glass of whiskey than of actual rejection, and told him he can enjoy his night furthermore ( a polite thank you and goodbye gesture on my behalf).

However, this did not deter the old sod (I’m speaking about a man in his healthy 60s where I remain firmly aged in the 20s category), he remained in place watching my friend and I dance for about 90 minutes, and as soon as my drink had reached the bottom had pounced like a lion in the Serengeti to the offer of another.

I simply couldn’t, I had decided that if I had said yes to this drink I may lead him on into thinking I’m interested, instead in a moment of alcohol induced panic I responded , “no thank you sir I don’t have daddy issues”. Needless to say the gentleman walked away and I self diagnosed myself with “foot-in-mouth disease” …. But hey what else was I meant to do?