I look good for my age… apparently

I look good for my age I’m told. Now if I was 40 and looked like this then I could understand, but I am 26. Saying that I look good for my age surely just means I look maybe about 24? This was said by a man that was grinding his penis into my leg and when I asked him to stop with the grinding he promptly told me… “trust me love you’d know if I was rubbing my dick against your leg”.

Charming.

More annoyingly Tesco have stopped asking me for ID despite the whole ‘think 25′ doolally. I’m not sure when this happened, it just snuck up on me one day. I’m certain it was only a few years ago that I was IDeed (is that a word?) to buy a knife set and I was ID’d (that’s not right either) for some sparklers and of course I revelled in the fact that they thought I was 16 when I was 21…”‘oh my god that is soooo embarrassing” was a phrase that often passed my lips whilst gleefully thinking I would secretly be wrinkle free forever whilst those around me aged badly. Now I actually try things in order to provoke doubt into cashiers minds… I buy more alcohol than food at the supermarket and keep my eyes down at the checkout whilst all the time ready to pull out my drivers license, I stare at the bouncers of any bars just waiting for them to question me so I can utter my favourite phrase “Not again… this always happens to me, it’s just soooo embarrassing” and i’m seriously considering waltzing into Tesco tomorrow to buy a bottle of cider, a knife and some sparklers with pigtails in my hair and sucking on some sort of lollipop.

Those cashiers don’t know what’s about to hit them.

Booty call… a what now??

I am somewhere between seething and flabbergasted. I went to a  somewhat civilised mince pie and mulled wine party last night, there were children involved so we started early and finished by ten thirty. Obviously, I managed to persuade a friend to go out on afterwards with the line “How are you going to live vicariously through me if we don’t get me laid?” and as if by magic my mobile goes and its ‘The American’. His text simply says “booty call?”… The cheeky mother crusher!!! I can’t believe it, not a peep from him for two weeks and then that!

Well I lie, I did have a peep from him, I sent a very flirty message about 4 days after the internal examination he gave me, something along the lines of… “So really regretting the whole leaving at 4am thing, wishing I could have stayed, sorry about that… forgive me?” Now most men would have taken the flirtatiousness and ran with it but no, not ‘The American’ he responds within ten seconds (I had literally not even put the phone down) with… “Of course, no worries” that’s it, I was absolutely mortified. Clearly he had seen me naked and not wanted anything to do with me and it took all the will in the world not to text him back with “WHY, WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME? WHY DON’T YOU LIKE ME?” But thankfully I didn’t and whilst I’m shocked that he sees me as a booty call but on the other hand i’m thrilled that I’m not hideous to the opposite sex. So ‘Ms.A’ is trying to get me to lead him on and then dump the boy at the last minute and so I think I’m being really cool and vague but ‘The American’ just doesn’t get vague and after a few argumentative texts back and forth – I seem to recall saying something along the lines of … “hmmm, I thought I could smell the dinner you were offering to buy for me but that smell must have wafted away like my phone number – Oh god, I swore I wouldn’t be one of those psycho girls but I really am a mentalist, obsessive, stalker person. bugger, I have enough character flaws, don’t think I like these new ones. Anyway, after other messages saying stuff like, “I just wanted to wake up next to you but if you’re going to be a dick about it” and more and more insults the cheeky fucker called me. And whats worse is I answered, I’m intrigued by this guy who thinks I’ll come running when he’s horny and insults me, I respond to that obviously and even more frustratingly, the twat went and won me over on the phone and my anger to him turned into me giggling. I am glad I stuck to my guns and didn’t go to his place despite many many attempts and despite the fact that I would happily see him again, I’m nobody’s booty call. Self Respect: 1 Getting Laid: 0

So for ‘The American’ at least its a watch this space, I’ve given up all hope on ‘The estate agent’ and I met a guy last night who bless him seemed quite nice and tried his luck by jumping in my cab with me to save himself a 5 minute walk and then asked if A. He could have my number and if B. I’d like to come in to his place for a drink. I said no to B but gave him my number and within 5 minutes this is the text I got from him…

Hey u. Thanx 4 lift home, saved me a walk (though predictive text said ‘wall’) Lovely to meet. hope c u soon. P (His name here)(think I’ve used lots of brackets in this text)(rubbish)

It made me laugh but not in a good way in a you’re a bit of a loser way. So we’ll see if he calls and I may have to give my first rejection, you’d think I’d be good at it considering I’ve had so many people reject me!

Anyway, christmas shopping to be done, boys to be stalked, heels to be worn.

love me.XOXO

‘The Really Cute Barman’

I’m besotted, i’m completely in lust with ‘the really cute barman’ from last night. Despite the fact that he has a girlfriend which i didn’t find out until the end of the night and by then my fascination had already begun and was deep rooted. After waiting to be served only by him (and that’s a talent in itself, pretending to be looking in your bag everytime the other barmen come a’knocking, its a true skill) and after him telling me the best cocktails and an incident with a can of lemonade and after what I think is lots flirting back and forth, my lovely friend ‘Mrs.S’ informs me that I actually wasn’t flirting but mostly stood there staring at him, so she took the bull by the horns and said to him, “My friend is just really shy and was commenting on your muscles!” How mortifying! but then he did give me a mini show and said he works out everyday, and so my fascination with him delved further. and if you are reading this ‘Mrs.S’, I like to call my flirting as subtle not brazenly asking a man to show me his arms, but as he did, I will forgive you.

I went to the bar so many times that I started to have to order water because A. I would’ve been skint and B. I would’ve been legless and there was definitely lots of flirting but sadly the time came to leave and as we were walking out the door and up the stairs, my friends and all the alcohol/water inside of me fuelled me to go and ask him if he’s single… and thats when I discovered that he’s not. When I asked, he said to me “no, but I really wish I was”. Now what the hell is that meant to mean? Does he think that that’s a compliment? As in I wish I was so I could go out with you? or I wish I was because I’m bored in my relationship? Not quite sure about that but it did just go further to add to my obsession fascination with him. So I told him I’d be dying in a corner outside and I walked out the door half hoping he’d run after me and tell me that he’d just broken up with his girlfriend but that didn’t happen. Off to ‘Mr and Mrs S.’ for lots of singstar and home. Good night had by all.

I’m writing this from bed. I haven’t yet managed to make it out of the safety and comfort despite my cats constantly purring in my ear and begging me for food, they’ll get fed when I think I can handle the smell of cat food. So whilst i’m surfing, checking out other peoples blogs etc, i thought a little light detective work was in order. Now, i don’t know ‘the really cute barman’s’ name but via the power of facebook and knowing where he works, I have worked wonders. At first glance, i can’t really tell whether the person I think is him is actually him, so armed with a potential name, I google him and lo and behold he has a myspace page, with photos and a little bit about him and he’s really really funny, and his photos tell me that he is really cute and this is starting to be a proper crush and I’m already planning my next accidental meeting and I’m thinking what I could wear when I read… went to university… studied fashion retail, ok not what I was expecting… graduated ’09… what! Mind racing, i’m thinking he could’ve been a mature student and then my eyes hit the awful number that I desperately didn’t want to see… 22. He’s 22 years old, I must’ve looked so old to him, not that 26 is old in anyone’s books but I think I’m starting to look/act my age and all of my friends are older than me, what the hell would I have in common with a 22 year old? I should’ve guessed by the fact that he works in a bar.  My quilt is going over my head right now.

As i’m my self made cocoon where all the rejections can’t find me I think to a good point that ‘Mrs.S’ made is that all the guys that I find attractive are the nice guys, the funny ones, they’re not the one night stand kinda guys that I say that I want. Everyone I like is really a next potential boyfriend kinda guy and on the flip side, I don’t look like your one night stand kinda girl, I will never go out with my boobs hanging out, I will always wear a coat if its cold, I love shoes but I won’t look like a wanker teetering in a pair that I can’t walk in and my definition of a good night is to not get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible. So I’m thinking that’s why I don’t get much attention when I go out and I get more attention day to day and maybe that’s where I’ll meet my next exciting man. Good point well made ‘Mrs.S’

Still crossing my fingers that ‘The Estate Agent’ will actually call to arrange a time for our date but who knows, and I’m not writing ‘the really cute barman’ off completely, his little bio about himself made me really laugh out loud and he really is that cute.  His bar may just become my new favourite place but I’m still aware that he has a girlfriend and oh dear god she’s probably 22, boobs hanging out, no coat on in December and stupid high shoes that she can’t walk in.

Oh Bugger!

Love me. XOXO

‘The American’

I hasten to declare at this juncture in our fledgling relationship – by ‘our’ I mean you and I – that I think i’m a reasonably attractive girl,  I definitely have curves in most of the right places – I could have been blessed with bigger boobs however but nothing a push up bra and a bit of confidence can’t fix – my wardrobe is top notch, I have a relatively good career and I would even go as far to say I think I am quite funny, so I find it genuinely perplexing why I don’t have people asking me out all the time. There clearly is no way to say that without seeming like a complete wanker but I challenge any single lady not to have that in the back of their mind, we’re a catch aren’t we? I’m sure my confusion is a result of people saying to me “no, honey, you’re fantastic, its your ex that’s a twat for already having another girlfriend (who is a size 8 by the way and apparently stunning)”

But  alas, so far I’ve had zero offers of anything. Quite frankly, I wouldn’t say no to a homeless man who is injecting crack into his eyeball as long as his other eye was at least looking me up and down and even if it was just to use me for my warm bed and a bowl of special K (the cereal, not the drug). The last person I slept with was ‘the ex’ and that was a good 4 months ago and now I’m getting hornier by the second and everybody I know is fairly sure that I am in heat – I’m unable to hide the horn any more, vibrators are great and all but they just don’t make up for the chemistry and electricity that I’m after so desperately. I just want to feel desirable again!!!!

So… last Saturday had all the bells and whistles of a normal night out with a my lovely friend ‘Ms. A’ and her friend ‘Ms.L’. Simple night, few drinks, a lot of fabulous conversation -  which also included me telling the girls about a show that opened my eyes to all the freaky things people do.. rusty trombone anyone? – and a little bit of a wandering eye from me.

I’m still not used to the whole walking into a room and being able to count the number of fit men within ten seconds thing that so many of my friends seem to have mastered from years of scouting out potential suitors…. but I’m learning. Granted the majority of the time I’m more likely to be looking like I’m having a stroke than I am giving the sexy eyes but God loves a trier. So, I’m walking into a very cool little bar and attempting to put into practice a great tip from a friend, it goes something like this…. 1. Walk through the door slowly, 2. Pause, look around the bar with an air of mystery and 3. With grace and confidence, walk either to your group of friends or to the bar. Apparently if I do this then everybody is meant to be wondering “oh my god, who is that ravishing, confident, young woman?”  With this in mind, after a few gin and slim’s I decide, quite misguidedly, that I want to be this ravishing, confident, young woman and god dammit I will be! So I enter the next bar and sadly its a tiny bit like an awkward giraffe (I’m tall and clumsy) with two little baby monkeys (my friends are small and cute) and I’m trying to forget that ‘Ms. A’s’ baby snotted all over my nice new top whilst I show the public grace and confidence. Bugger! With everything to remember I forget that actually I do not live in New York, this is Manchester, its November, its pissing it down and pausing at the door actually just makes people look at me with eyes that say “Close the f**king door you tall ungainly moron, whose pretending to be looking for her friends”. Grace and confidence out the window, I half run/half sprint to the loos to fix my potentially frizzy hair and find myself amongst a bunch of tall hot men and that is where I find ‘the American’…

…Or at least that’s where ‘the American’ found me. I’d love to say it was down to an outstanding entrance but I’m fairly sure that he didn’t see that otherwise why would he be talking to me? The details of our conversation are a bit fuzzy, with the Gin and Slims taking their full effect by this point and my constant need to see if he is in fact cute - the bar is so crammed and we are stood so closely together that I can’t quite focus on his face - I remember liking his eyes but quite like a dream that you remember only when you’ve just woken up that too is slowly fading and I’m desperately trying to get it back. After buying me a drink, we are talking for what seems like ten minutes but suddenly its 1am, ‘Ms.A’ is telling me she’s going home even though I’m staying at hers and then ‘the American’ is kissing me. Its a genuine surprise. I’d love to say I could remember what I said that was so charming but I have no idea. Within another two minutes, I’m in the back of a cab and snogging him whilst we drive across south manchester with no idea of where I’m going, and all my normal safety conscious behaviour well and truly out the window. If you knew me, you would know that by me saying that I wasn’t even wearing a seatbelt should be enough to tell you that I was very intoxicated. I have never gone back to some guys place (let alone one with a funny accent)… and I have never had a ‘true’ one night stand, (I mean I slept with this one guy just the once but that doesn’t count if you kinda see him after then realise you don’t like him… right?)

Back at ‘The Americans’ flat – I seem to recall seeing a Lidl? - and again everythings a surprise, I’m somehow in his bed naked and we’re getting hot and heavy and its pitch black so I can’t see the offending weapon until its too late and then he’s inside and Sweet Jesus its huge! and I’m thinking GOD BLESS AMERICA! and its good, really very, very good but then a strange and unexpected thing happened and I hope this never happens to anybody else, but it started to really really hurt. Of all the horrible things that had gone through my mind just thinking about the first time I had sex with someone other than my ex, his dick being too big was never, never in my thoughts! And I was a trooper, I kept trying for over two hours but eventually my bladder was tired of the internal prodding and we had to abandon it in a fit of giggles. Not wanting to waltz in to my friends house at 11am the next morning I made the rather regretful decision to go back to hers. So my first ever walk of shame, thankfully took place at 5am in the morning with only myself and my poor taxi driver knowing about it. I seem to recall telling the driver all about my night of passion and god bless him, he listened very intently whilst clearly thinking that I’m a slut who would probably sleep with a homeless man if she needed it badly enough… oh wait, that is me!

So back at ‘Ms.A’s’ house, I stumble about the front garden for the very well hidden keys and find my way to the spare room and fall into a deep post coital, dreamless sleep. Sunday arrived and the bruises started to show, literally everywhere, arms, wrists, shoulders, legs but don’t worry, I bruise like a peach and hey, its evidence of a great night, isn’t it?

So ‘the American’ was fun and numbers were exchanged, as were a flurry of saucy messages and I wouldn’t say no to a more satisfying repeat performance but there was still none of that electricity that I need from a guy but I’m out tonight for bigger and better things… well… maybe not bigger…

Updates on Sunday if anything exciting happens.

Love me. XOXO

‘The Estate Agent’

So this is a quick catch up on where I am.

I am single! and very excited about it, after breaking up with my ex who I was with for the best part of a decade, I am trying to get out there and see what damage I can do. Having never been single as an adult – I figure school doesn’t really count as its practically just one big merry go round of snogging/touch ups/single/snogging/touch ups… at least that was my experience – I am a virgin dater and I’m learning the dating game in my mid twenties, with the help of some very good friends, a lot of red wine, some vodka and some of the men of Manchester… I’m also open to other regions/countries just thought I’d keep things local to start with!

The first guy I met that I actually liked was ‘The Estate Agent’. He walked through my door to give me a valuation (not selling the place just buying ‘the ex’ out) and from the second I saw him I had fantasies of him tearing my clothes off and valuating me all over the place. Now this may have been an overreaction to a four month dry spell but still he was very cute and I honestly sensed a vibe from him. You know the kind, chatting, flirting, lightly touching his leg, all very unprofessional on his part, so I did what any other girl in my position would do and seriously considered putting my house on the market just to get laid.
No, not really but I did wait for him to call, which as I’ve discovered from friends is a very girly trait. Now I know we’ve just met but as I’m sure you’ll discover along the way I am not the kind of girl to wait, and despite holding out for a good week and a half and going against my better judgement I did one of the most embarrassing things of my life…

…Last Friday… oh god… everytime I think about last Friday my body morphs into the foetal position… I rang him up to tell him that I wouldn’t be selling the house and this is how the conversation played out
Me: Hi ‘The Estate Agent‘ So I’ve had a think and I’ve decided to not sell my house, my parents are going to lend me the money to buy the other half of the house.
Estate Agent: Oh well from my point of view i’m sorry to hear that (insert other boring estate agent things here)
Me: So as a really weird, messed up consolation prize I was wondering if you’d maybe, sort of, like to, kind of maybe… kind of like to have a drink with me?
Estate Agent: ………….. eh…………………….. yeah …………………. we could do?
Me: Well I don’t want to pressure you (Said in a jokey but actually inside i’m dying way)
Estate Agent: Its just very off the subjects of houses
Me: Well I know its awkward to chat about this at work, so you’ve got my number – feel free to use it. (Thinking back I can’t quite believe these words came out of my mouth – it sounds so cool)
Estate Agent: Yes, I’ll give you a text.
Me: I can’t actually remember how I even ended the conversation, it just ended and I returned to the foetal position.

After my collegues managed to stop my body from rocking and unclench my knees that had become firmly aquainted with my chest, I returned to work but I was hardly in any fit state, I considered going home sick but as I told my boss this story she didn’t feel it really counted as an illness (Clearly she is a married woman who has never had to ask a man out and doesn’t understand the severity of my flashbacks…”eh…… we could do?” It just keeps playing in my mind, what does that question mark mean?!)

But… after three agonising, gut wrenching hours, he text me…. hooray! and whilst its not the flirtiest of messages it certainly goes some way to me thinking about not vomiting at the thought of that moment. Anyway, he still wants to go out for a drink (i knew I got that vibe right) but there is no ‘fixed’ date as he is away for a week with work but fingers crossed, he will call.

So that was last Friday…. now last Saturday is going to have to be a whole new blog, because there isn’t enough wine in my house to go into the real gorey details about ‘The American’‘ and that long, long Saturday night. Maybe tomorrow i’ll start really sharing.

Love me. XOXO