Mirror , mirror…

Riley & Company Funny Bones Cling Mounted Stamp Deja Poo Definition

Some days are for comedy…Some are for tragedy…

They say opposites attract and, in most cases, it is true.

Fire and ice, oil and water, wind and earth, Linton and Earnshaw, strength and weakness, you and him. Paired items, whether they go together or not.

But, what happens when you are attracted to someone who is exactly the same as you are? Your mirror image? The carving out of the same stone? When the man you are staring at, talking to, reaching for, falling for, is the gender opposite version of you?

I met such a man (I mentioned in a previous post a man I sparked with, this was him). The chemistry was explosive, reactive and like nothing I have experienced in my life prior to my meeting him and he had a personality to match.

In his responses to life, I found my own; in his handling of people, I found my actions mirrored; and, for some time, this was a comfort and my attraction to him intensified and my emotions deepened.

Then I saw it…

The flight.

That moment when you look at the other person and know you are no longer theirs. That moment where the hold is released and, where you once stood on solid ground, you find yourself drowning.

You can’t belong to them, you won’t, because you can’t. In that moment, it’s not about the other person, it is about you. You, can’t commit; you, can’t be fair; you, can’t.

This time, the look was not my own. It belonged to him and I recognized it because it once belonged to me – the look of the flight.

I have given this look many a time, with the same reassuring smile and a distance unreachable in my eyes. I recognized this look. I had given this look and now I was receiving this look.

And, for the first time in my life, I hurt.

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Crossing International borders

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It appears I have a weakness… A weakness for pilots,adventurers, game Rangers, anyone who travels… And travels a lot.

These type of men pack their bags at a whim and dash off for an adventure the minute their hearts get restless and their passports feel emptier than it did a day before. These men are perfect.
And in this I find comfort, as it caters to my commitment-phobia whilst also catering to my need for romance. Hence, my seeing yet another pilot at the moment .

My view to them is what happens over international borders is their business, so I never ask what misbehaviors they have experienced or entanglements they decided upon.

This got me thinking; does the same apply to me?

I’ve grown rather restless in the last few days and sense that another country may need my presence. So, I wonder if the pilot will take the same stance on international romances as I do?

In the dating game, what international boundaries can be crossed?

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(Pictures: Pinterest.com)

After the storm – 11 things I learned after a break up

1. I am allowed to be blonde 

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During my relationship, no hair changes were to be made without the significant consent of significant other. Some called it controlling, I called it love (pssshtt). My hair was to remain dark and that was the end of discussion. As a singleton my hair changes as much as my mood, blonde today, pink tomorrow?

2. I am the master of my own body 

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My ex-boyfriend was a part-time model and as occupational hazards had he was fit, athletic and gorgeous. In turn, I was to uphold a standard of my own, if I were a kilogram over the acceptable weight line he owned the right to call me “tubby”. I now have now learned I am the master of my own body , I can eat as many pizzas as I damn well please an dhow much I choose to dedicate my life to the gym- my body, my business!!

3. Where was this money at?

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Often, after break-ups, many men have more money since they pay for two -BAH- wrong! I finally have money to spend on me and not shared dinners, popcorn at the movies, the dress he approves of…it’s mine, all mine!!! bahahaha (I feel I may be experiencing a slight heightening of crazy in my single days). …ooohhh shoes!!!

4. I actually have friends

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I was so lost in the planning of “our” weekends that I had never dedicated time for MY weekends. I loved the time we spent together as a couple but now I appreciate that weekends are my own to spend with people who love me regardless of my flaws, my friends, who were often forgotten in the turmoil of a romance but still remain in the after-effects of the break up storm.

5. I discovered family

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When heartbreaks are done and the world begins to be a little lonelier, there are a group of people who are a constant. My family. In my tearful outbursts and overly-ecstatic reactions they remain a pillar of my spirit and a building block forward towards the person I want to be.

6. Heels, glorious, heels

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As a fairly tall individual, I often have to contemplate what shoes to wear on dates and whether my heels are too high or not. I now have the freedom to were stilts and not have to be overly concerned about whether or not my partner feel emasculated due to a pair of heels.

7. I may not know what I want, But I know what I don’t want

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I do not have a boyfriend checklist – tall, dark, handsome etc. In fact, I often just like the person for an unusual reason and I don’t know what that reason is. I may not know what I want in a person, but I’ve learned what I don’t want and it is an important lesson to learn.

8. Wait!! Someone finds me attractive?

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So long was I a girlfriend that the only drink ever bought for me was from my significant other. Nowadays every time someone buys me a drink or pays me a compliment, I am stunned… someone finds me attractive? How did that happen Pssht who cares? You have my permission to carry on.

9. I do not need your permission

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In a relationship I often have to ask the permission of my significant other to do a great number of things, and I usually end up apologizing profusely if I had not. For example, if I decided I need to fly out to another country just to clear my mind a bit, I’d need to ask permission, discuss why I need to get away, fight about the relationship and my ungratefulness and then remain were I was to maintain the safety of my relationship. And don’t get me started on the addition of a new tattoo. NO MORE! I do not need your permission… for anything.

10. The freedom of my wardrobe

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My exes favourite outfit on me was jeans, sneakers and white tank top or a LBD. Now while I like those outfit ideas I’m a girl of boho tastes, loose skirts, backless dresses and off-the shoulder tops – none of which was approved. I now have my narnia, a wardrobe full of possibilities and nobody to restrict me.

11. Not a plus one

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No longer are invites addressed to me as “plus one”, I have learned I have a name! And it ends up on invites eeek. NO longer am I a nameless entity attached to another person. There is a joy in that, oddly enough.

* All images found on pinterest.com

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

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…

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 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

The middle

Having been in a relationship for 4 years with a man who had spent more time at my place than he did his own, certain habits were picked up, that, once broken up, i found kind of hard to shake.

Last night was the first time I managed to shake off one of these habits. Trivial in nature, but it somehow broke some chain within my spirit that kept me held to a former flame. What habit you may ask? Which side of the bed I slept on.

Having spent years getting cosy and comfortable with the right hand side of the bed, to the point where I’m sure my mattress took the shape of my body, I decided to try something new; I slept in the middle of my big bed…by myself.

Now I’m aware that I am slightly strange and my ‘quirks’ (as my kind friends have aptly named my little habits) are of a peculiar nature but, this small action meant so much to me. In a way I felt that if I could break the habits that the relationship had created (you will find, I’m a rather restless soul who does not cope well with habits within the realms of relationships) I could move on. reclaimed the space in which he lay, my space, and got rid of the habitual nature that had become our relationship.

Finally, I was ready to invite a new person into bed without feeling like the old one was still there .

And then… I bought a new bed.

P.S. Best I start off fresh again