What a day - I bumped into my ex-boss, the Silver Fox in the queue for my morning latte. Having previously asked him for feedback re: my daily musings and possible weekend work experience. He ignored me and didn't even offer an acknowledgement re: the blog, so I was gently tickled by his discomfort at bumping into me and being forced into polite, awkward conversation. By the end of the day there was one person on my mind, who could with a flash of his mega watt smile oblierate a day worth forgetting.
P or Tigger as I like to call him is one of my favourite people and my unofficial baby brother (well that's how I treat him anyway!). Imagine an impossibly handsome EastEnders 'Jack' lookalike (or so the girls tell me - to keep his ego in check I regularly call him a wossy pretty boy). He is always immaculately clad in designer suits or smart casuals, sunglasses (always on hand just in case the sun puts in an appearance), a bright, witty conversationalist, adores his family and friends and has the good humour of an overexcited labardor.
During the time we've been buddies we've been through, one divorce (his from a young bunny boiler S), one broken romance (mine with the IT love rat), redundancy (both of us from the same company, although in Tigger's case he softened his blow recovering via a round robin of holidays which would have rivalled a good travel journalist airmiles).
We bonded over long pub lunches and evening meals spent laughing, supporting, lecturing and commesarating with each about our pathetic lives and this tradition continues today. Having poured out the gory details of my car crash day to suitable Tigger empathy, the conversation moved to my favourite topic romance. NO not mine silly..his !
Since we last met up, Tigger's romance with 'the child' (she is a decade younger than him and therefore worthy of more than just one nickname by me - the hobbit is my other one for her), they have moved into together and now Tigger wants to buy a house with her.
"Why don't you just marry her, it would be cheaper in the long run!", I cheekily reminded him of my conviction that his continued pursuit of young women, despite experiencing a recent painful divorce from one, will inevitably lead him toward serial marriage status. "You cheeky cow!" he laughed. "Only you can get away with talking to me like that".
"Darling all I am saying is widen your search area for God's sake. You always go for A and B and they are always identikit children! You have never broadened your horizons. I absolutely adore you, but you are so rubbish with picking women! You need to be with a grown up woman (no not me it would be like dating a baby brother.)
"Someone who gives you a run for your money. Someone smart, sexy and independent, someone who can keep you on your toes for once. Obviously I'll have to give her the once over and let's be honest you can't be a Sugar Daddy all your life"
"I know. I hear you, but I hate it when you're right" he smirked sipping his wine. "But she's lovely. she is very mature for her age".
"Tigger, that wouldn't be hard at all, seeing as she's with you".
Thursday 21 May 2009
Monday 18 May 2009
Tears and Karaoke
You can tell a lot about a woman by her choice of karaoke song. Jan who is still consumed in bereavement of ending her pants relationship with MM is still in a word, a mess.
She has taken to her bed, (well not literally, she leaves it to go to work, but returns to it at her earliest opportunity. Add to this her alarming devotion to Hagen Daas Strawberry Cheesecake ice cream, sinking way too much Chablis and bemoaning her inevitable long-term spinsterhood fate and you have a woman on the brink.
I took affirmative action and suggested not retail but karaoke therapy was the necessary cure. During my break-up with Mr America, I found solace in my ultimate karaoke number - Sinead O'Connor's Nothing Compares to You. When I first sang it, clutching the microphone in my hand as if my life depended on it, my voice disintegrated from the foghorn tones I am noted for, to a mournful, breathy surprisingly tuneful (or were my audience just trolleyed) semi-whisper.
I lived every line and apparently acted like I was dying from a broken heart which of course I thought I was. At the end of song, I received the enthusiastic applause of my friends and proceeded to weep or should I say snivel very loudly in a very ungirly way. It was only my friend Dee's timely intervention with a pack of kleenex that saved me from the ultimate snotty nose humilitation of reaching for the nearest paper napkin.
With this in mind, I volunteered myself as Jan's wing woman when she declared she needed to release her pain...through song. We headed to the pub. Three glasses of white wine, one vodka and tonic and two brandies later Jan let rip brandishing the microphone like a deadly weapon. She eased her way in with Kelis "I Hate You So Much Right Now", talked her way through Rolls Royce "Love Don't Live Here Anymore" (well let's be honest there are some pretty high notes in it!) before emerging a diva reborn, with me providing back up, on Gloria Gaynor "I Will Survive".
"He's a bastard" said Jan, clunging onto her walking dignity with the help of my arm as we walked home. "Yes he is" I replied firmly. "But I love him!" she wailed then throw up by the roadside. My love hangover duties will continue for some time I fear !
She has taken to her bed, (well not literally, she leaves it to go to work, but returns to it at her earliest opportunity. Add to this her alarming devotion to Hagen Daas Strawberry Cheesecake ice cream, sinking way too much Chablis and bemoaning her inevitable long-term spinsterhood fate and you have a woman on the brink.
I took affirmative action and suggested not retail but karaoke therapy was the necessary cure. During my break-up with Mr America, I found solace in my ultimate karaoke number - Sinead O'Connor's Nothing Compares to You. When I first sang it, clutching the microphone in my hand as if my life depended on it, my voice disintegrated from the foghorn tones I am noted for, to a mournful, breathy surprisingly tuneful (or were my audience just trolleyed) semi-whisper.
I lived every line and apparently acted like I was dying from a broken heart which of course I thought I was. At the end of song, I received the enthusiastic applause of my friends and proceeded to weep or should I say snivel very loudly in a very ungirly way. It was only my friend Dee's timely intervention with a pack of kleenex that saved me from the ultimate snotty nose humilitation of reaching for the nearest paper napkin.
With this in mind, I volunteered myself as Jan's wing woman when she declared she needed to release her pain...through song. We headed to the pub. Three glasses of white wine, one vodka and tonic and two brandies later Jan let rip brandishing the microphone like a deadly weapon. She eased her way in with Kelis "I Hate You So Much Right Now", talked her way through Rolls Royce "Love Don't Live Here Anymore" (well let's be honest there are some pretty high notes in it!) before emerging a diva reborn, with me providing back up, on Gloria Gaynor "I Will Survive".
"He's a bastard" said Jan, clunging onto her walking dignity with the help of my arm as we walked home. "Yes he is" I replied firmly. "But I love him!" she wailed then throw up by the roadside. My love hangover duties will continue for some time I fear !
Thursday 14 May 2009
Missed Opportunities
Today I fell in love or should that be lust, as I do at least once a week. The beautiful man in this instance got on my over-rail train (my favourite place to check out men - captive surroundings, where you are able to spy on your object of desire, while feigning looking out of the window trying to see where you are).
This particular specimen of male perfection was clad in my favourite man outfit, no not a suit - jeans, t-shirt and a messenger bag..mmmmm... He settled down in the seat just in front of me and I proceeded to first resist the urge to touch him, then decided to just stare at him for the duration of my journey, wondering how it was possible for one man to be so outrageously close and hot.
I got off the train, just about remembering the name of my station and called G. As any diva about town travelling solo knows if anything out of the ordinary happens, you must immediately call one of your girlfriends to tell her about it and if required seek advice and mobile backup.
"Why didn't you speak to him?" screeched G down the phone at me. "He's on platform 4 now" I said sheepishly. "Get over there" she yelled. I thought about it, in fact I even started to walk down the underpass which would take me to the beautiful man, but I stopped myself. The voice of doubt or 'reason' sounded a loud bell in my head and I turned tail and walked out of the station, cursing my cowardice.
My friends have always been used to and 'enjoyed' tales of my misadventures in love and my fearless pursuit of it regardless of the consequences. From marching over to Mr America and telling him he would be mad not to take my number, to standing on Mr Music's foot while waiting to cross a busy road, to attract his attention.
I have always prided myself on being a fool for love. However, this latest love drought seems to have stumped even me, turning me from an optimistic romantic fool capable of feats of immense romantic stupidity to a diva who seems to have lost her mojo.
As yet another one of my 'mistakes' proudly announces (damn Facebook) his engagement to the girl but one, but one who came after me, I wonder whether being too cautious is as bad as abandoning all hope of ever finding the 'one' or achieving any of your long-held dreams. I maybe in a slump, but this diva ain't dead yet !
This particular specimen of male perfection was clad in my favourite man outfit, no not a suit - jeans, t-shirt and a messenger bag..mmmmm... He settled down in the seat just in front of me and I proceeded to first resist the urge to touch him, then decided to just stare at him for the duration of my journey, wondering how it was possible for one man to be so outrageously close and hot.
I got off the train, just about remembering the name of my station and called G. As any diva about town travelling solo knows if anything out of the ordinary happens, you must immediately call one of your girlfriends to tell her about it and if required seek advice and mobile backup.
"Why didn't you speak to him?" screeched G down the phone at me. "He's on platform 4 now" I said sheepishly. "Get over there" she yelled. I thought about it, in fact I even started to walk down the underpass which would take me to the beautiful man, but I stopped myself. The voice of doubt or 'reason' sounded a loud bell in my head and I turned tail and walked out of the station, cursing my cowardice.
My friends have always been used to and 'enjoyed' tales of my misadventures in love and my fearless pursuit of it regardless of the consequences. From marching over to Mr America and telling him he would be mad not to take my number, to standing on Mr Music's foot while waiting to cross a busy road, to attract his attention.
I have always prided myself on being a fool for love. However, this latest love drought seems to have stumped even me, turning me from an optimistic romantic fool capable of feats of immense romantic stupidity to a diva who seems to have lost her mojo.
As yet another one of my 'mistakes' proudly announces (damn Facebook) his engagement to the girl but one, but one who came after me, I wonder whether being too cautious is as bad as abandoning all hope of ever finding the 'one' or achieving any of your long-held dreams. I maybe in a slump, but this diva ain't dead yet !
Wednesday 13 May 2009
The World Is Full of Married Men Who Get Away With It!
It's finally happened. After months of pleading and begging her to wake up and smell the coffee Jan has the ditched the married man (MM). The misery in which she and us by proxy are presently suffering has led me to consider my own dealings with the one dating temptation which every woman should avoid at all costs.
Why are the most interesting sexy men married? In my continuing search for Mr Right Now, among the frogs, weirdos, and downright undesirables that regularly vie for my attention,married men keep popping up like tantalising breadcrumbs leading the way to a special club I am not a member of.
There are two types of married men. The faithful - ex playboys, steady Eddie's or boys who have just decided that it is time to grow up and follow the pack along the martimonial path and there are the bad boys - the naughty and sometimes downright unfaithful ones, one of which Jan landed herself with.
When a married man is being naughty, he conveniently forgets to mention that he is married, or if he does he gently brushes this fact to the distant corner of any conversation he might be having with an attractive, usually single female.
Once said married man has impressed his potential conquest with funny stories (usually about himself) has flirted on overdrive and dropped in a few hot and heavy 'compliments', it takes a strong woman to resist his charms, particularly if she's been single for awhile. Throw in some wine and she's goner, despite knowing better.
Which is exactly what happened to Jan, who over the last year has wasted innumberable outfits and evenings on cancelled 'dates' justified by MM with several variations of the "something came up" excuse;and spent hours sat by the phone hoping it would ring, before receiving the mother of all wake up calls direct from the man himself.
MM emailed (yes I did say emailed her) to say he was about to be a father for the second time, but he was thinking of her. He even told her the due date that his wife was having her elective caesarian by. I know what a classy guy !
When the dust settles and the pain starts to fade, hopefully Jan will learn what women throughout the ages have learnt before her - if you poach in some other woman's backyard, don't be surprised if it comes back to bite you ! Why do I say sound so non-judgement hell, even wise....well you can guess....been there....lesson learnt....never again! So Dry Your Eyes Jan! Trust me this particular 'charmer' isn't worth it!
Why are the most interesting sexy men married? In my continuing search for Mr Right Now, among the frogs, weirdos, and downright undesirables that regularly vie for my attention,married men keep popping up like tantalising breadcrumbs leading the way to a special club I am not a member of.
There are two types of married men. The faithful - ex playboys, steady Eddie's or boys who have just decided that it is time to grow up and follow the pack along the martimonial path and there are the bad boys - the naughty and sometimes downright unfaithful ones, one of which Jan landed herself with.
When a married man is being naughty, he conveniently forgets to mention that he is married, or if he does he gently brushes this fact to the distant corner of any conversation he might be having with an attractive, usually single female.
Once said married man has impressed his potential conquest with funny stories (usually about himself) has flirted on overdrive and dropped in a few hot and heavy 'compliments', it takes a strong woman to resist his charms, particularly if she's been single for awhile. Throw in some wine and she's goner, despite knowing better.
Which is exactly what happened to Jan, who over the last year has wasted innumberable outfits and evenings on cancelled 'dates' justified by MM with several variations of the "something came up" excuse;and spent hours sat by the phone hoping it would ring, before receiving the mother of all wake up calls direct from the man himself.
MM emailed (yes I did say emailed her) to say he was about to be a father for the second time, but he was thinking of her. He even told her the due date that his wife was having her elective caesarian by. I know what a classy guy !
When the dust settles and the pain starts to fade, hopefully Jan will learn what women throughout the ages have learnt before her - if you poach in some other woman's backyard, don't be surprised if it comes back to bite you ! Why do I say sound so non-judgement hell, even wise....well you can guess....been there....lesson learnt....never again! So Dry Your Eyes Jan! Trust me this particular 'charmer' isn't worth it!
Tuesday 5 May 2009
Cover Girl Countdown
I love make-up. When I put it on it feels like an invisible camoflauge cloak that I can't leave the house without. I love the way it transforms me every morning from grey, shambling wreck to a groomed, polished vessel of confidence. My morning ritual takes exactly seven minutes.
Having cleansed and moisturised, I gently squeeze some foundation onto the back of my hand then dot it onto my face. In seconds my panda eyes, cheer scars left from teenage acne and that pre-date or interview surprise pimple, are erased and I am left with matt, glowing caramel skin.
I have been gifted by nature with the double whammy of two equally dodgy eyes. First, because they are so small they resemble mole-like slits. Then to compliment this bad luck, I have the vision of a near sighted granny.
When I finally manage to stagger half dazed from my bed each morning, despite the fact that I leave my glasses invariably in the same place each night; nearly every morning, I never seem to be able to get them sitted on the bridge of my nose, without trying to blind myself by sticking a glasses handle in my eye.
When your eyes are as small as mine, light eyeshadow colours are your friends. My favourite eyeshadows for summer are Body Shop's shimmer cubes. I brush my eyelids with the bronze shimmer, then finish off with eyeliner and mascara. My devotion to Loreal's superliner is total and I never thought I could be lured away from it until now.
Sleek's dual eyeliner and mascara is packaged in a superslim black and hot pink tube. Each tool peforms well - the liner has a felt tip nib for easy application and the mascara brush holds and coats the mascara on my lashes with ease.
I'm nearly done. Just a tiny slither of Carmex on my lips to condition them, then I finish with my favourite deep burgundy either Rimmel's Lasting Finish Intense Wear 124 Bordeaux or Revlon's Super Lustrous 477 Black Cherry.
I shake my hair free from its hairband and cast a model like pout over my shoulder in the mirror before I leave for work. Looking goood !!
Having cleansed and moisturised, I gently squeeze some foundation onto the back of my hand then dot it onto my face. In seconds my panda eyes, cheer scars left from teenage acne and that pre-date or interview surprise pimple, are erased and I am left with matt, glowing caramel skin.
I have been gifted by nature with the double whammy of two equally dodgy eyes. First, because they are so small they resemble mole-like slits. Then to compliment this bad luck, I have the vision of a near sighted granny.
When I finally manage to stagger half dazed from my bed each morning, despite the fact that I leave my glasses invariably in the same place each night; nearly every morning, I never seem to be able to get them sitted on the bridge of my nose, without trying to blind myself by sticking a glasses handle in my eye.
When your eyes are as small as mine, light eyeshadow colours are your friends. My favourite eyeshadows for summer are Body Shop's shimmer cubes. I brush my eyelids with the bronze shimmer, then finish off with eyeliner and mascara. My devotion to Loreal's superliner is total and I never thought I could be lured away from it until now.
Sleek's dual eyeliner and mascara is packaged in a superslim black and hot pink tube. Each tool peforms well - the liner has a felt tip nib for easy application and the mascara brush holds and coats the mascara on my lashes with ease.
I'm nearly done. Just a tiny slither of Carmex on my lips to condition them, then I finish with my favourite deep burgundy either Rimmel's Lasting Finish Intense Wear 124 Bordeaux or Revlon's Super Lustrous 477 Black Cherry.
I shake my hair free from its hairband and cast a model like pout over my shoulder in the mirror before I leave for work. Looking goood !!
Monday 4 May 2009
Karma's A Bitch
The search for Mr Right Now continues at snail's pace. Sticking to my resolve to get out and about in the past two weeks, I have been to two birthday parties and one leaving do. At each event, I have been surrounded by a reservoir of couples, beautiful people (alien variety media and model types) and hit and runs - "I just popped in for a quick one".
At each event I've felt like a decorative spare part. I have been talkative (when aren't I?). Inquistive (or nosey depending on your point of view!) but have always found myself at some stage of the evening saddled with the apparently only other single person there. By the end of the conversation with my fellow singleton, I realise why they are single and why we are completely incompatible with each other.
Back home, a quick check on my online profile tells me that so far Pablo (aka PuffBall) Leonard (cuddly!), Jason (fat and balding), Ronnie (looking for at 18 -39 mate, currently separated but looking for some special female company) and Steve 123 ("Are you looking for a submissive partner accompanied by a weird staring eyed picture!), have left me with the distinct impression that my profile, picture or both are sending out a special message that only unattractive men can answer to.
Even looking at the who's viewed me button on my profile, made my heart sink. More unsexy men ! I have absolutely nothing against non adonis men, but I do dislike their double standards and delusions of handsomeness. While we women are expected to look our best at all times and at all ages, it would seem that some men think the same rules don't apply to them.
"What's wrong with me?" I wailed to G, following a painful trip to the cinema (Wolverine, is without a doubt the worst movie of all time - even Hugh Jackman in a tight white, indestructable vest, which never got dirty or torn, even after luscious Hugh took on the mother of all villians, couldn't save this plotless mess).
G who's currently loved up with lightswitch boy (he regularly rotates between normal and super insecure usually several times a week) shined the cold light reality straight between my eyes. "Look at it from another perspective, you're giving them the same response as the guys you say can't be bothered to reply to you". "Trust me darling either take up being a full-time chubby chaser or there's always the adult site". "Smug cow!" I said smirking and quietly vowing to update my profile.
At each event I've felt like a decorative spare part. I have been talkative (when aren't I?). Inquistive (or nosey depending on your point of view!) but have always found myself at some stage of the evening saddled with the apparently only other single person there. By the end of the conversation with my fellow singleton, I realise why they are single and why we are completely incompatible with each other.
Back home, a quick check on my online profile tells me that so far Pablo (aka PuffBall) Leonard (cuddly!), Jason (fat and balding), Ronnie (looking for at 18 -39 mate, currently separated but looking for some special female company) and Steve 123 ("Are you looking for a submissive partner accompanied by a weird staring eyed picture!), have left me with the distinct impression that my profile, picture or both are sending out a special message that only unattractive men can answer to.
Even looking at the who's viewed me button on my profile, made my heart sink. More unsexy men ! I have absolutely nothing against non adonis men, but I do dislike their double standards and delusions of handsomeness. While we women are expected to look our best at all times and at all ages, it would seem that some men think the same rules don't apply to them.
"What's wrong with me?" I wailed to G, following a painful trip to the cinema (Wolverine, is without a doubt the worst movie of all time - even Hugh Jackman in a tight white, indestructable vest, which never got dirty or torn, even after luscious Hugh took on the mother of all villians, couldn't save this plotless mess).
G who's currently loved up with lightswitch boy (he regularly rotates between normal and super insecure usually several times a week) shined the cold light reality straight between my eyes. "Look at it from another perspective, you're giving them the same response as the guys you say can't be bothered to reply to you". "Trust me darling either take up being a full-time chubby chaser or there's always the adult site". "Smug cow!" I said smirking and quietly vowing to update my profile.
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