Heartlines

I feel really good today. To sum it up there’s a Florence and The Machine song called ‘Heartlines’ and it goes like this:

“But in order to get to the heart, I think sometimes you have to cut through.

Just keep following the heartlines on your hand, keep it up I know you can, just keep following the heartlines on your hand, cause I am.”

This song speaks to my roots, dripping in Celtic harps and drums, driven by Flo’s amazing voice and the vivid lyrics which conjure my homeland: rivers, tumbling stone and overgrown castles.

Its beautiful imagery makes me homesick or as we say in Welsh it gives me ‘hiraeth’ meaning a longing for the ‘Motherland’. But it also speaks to me on another level, it whispers to my inner druid. Call it mumbo jumbo if you will but I truly believe in spirituality and serendipity and I’ve finally decided to obey my heartline too.

It means conceding happily for once to leave my future to destiny. I already closed down my online profile two weeks ago and this weekend I said a sad goodbye to the lovely, gentleman scaffolder I met speed dating. He was one of The Good Ones, I knew it when we met but a month in and my spark was still damp.

I’m clearing the decks. To explain, I went to a new tarot reader recently and spookily picked the same cards as 6 months ago, the same reading, chapter and verse. I drew the Star, the Two of Cups, the Sun and the ‘wish’ card – the Nine of Cups.

I’m told I will learn to love myself first and then meet my version of the famous tall, dark, stranger abroad and only when the time is right. No matter what I do, it’s in the stars. The only travelling I have planned is homeward bound to ancient, misty Wales at Christmas. It’s a long way away and who knows what the future holds or if the cards are playing fair?

But in the meantime I’m going to enjoy hanging out with my girlfriends, being single, being selfish and following my own heartline to wherever it takes me. Because surely I’ve tried enough to no avail? Now I’m just going to relax, no more dates for tired, disappointed me.

As Florence says maybe the dog days are indeed over?

florence

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No sex please I’m British…

The short answer to the question in my last post ‘Do two sorrys make a Mister Right?‘ is no they most certainly do not!

The fellow in question was certainly a catch – handsome, rugged, funny with a good job. After his initial approach we chatted intensely for three weeks online, he’s based in Wellington but was working in Sydney. After swapping more pictures by email, he teased me that he was surprised I was still available and asked if there weren’t any decent men in Christchurch? Cheeky little scamp.

Last week he called me and we chatted for an hour and a half on the phone, his voice was deeper and slower than I expected and he was relaxed and cool on the line, but really nice and had me blushing and giggling like a schoolgirl. Next up he Facebooked me and we continued the conversation there.

He seductively told me he liked the look of what he saw and asked if I was checking him out too? Of course I was! I have to admit I was secretly pinning my hopes on this one he was cute, smart, loves dogs and was in hot pursuit of little old me, what a potent combination. And then he blew it…

Mid conversation he asked me was I drinking? I said yes, I was having a nice slow glass of red, he replied saying that he liked a nice slow BJ. Whaaaat? Stunned I stared at the blinking cursor on the screen, surely he was kidding right? After a few minutes of silence with no sign of activity from the other side, I typed ‘please tell me that was a mis-timed comment?’ no, he pinged back ‘I love a good blow job don’t you?’

Needless to say I brought the conversation to a close pretty quickly. But I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Next day I asked him if he was feeling sheepish? No he winked back. That night again we went through the same rigmarole this time he told me that he was ‘busy stroking his cock’, record scratch moment! Now Miss Kitty is pretty sure he doesn’t have a pet cockerel in his bachelor apartment overlooking the city… so one can only draw a seedy conclusion.

I challenged him about his behaviour and he responded by asking me if I didn’t get horny too? Now my calculations tell me dear readers that I haven’t had sex in 8 months and by some standards that might make me a born again virgin. Am I horny? Too bloody right I am! But that doesn’t mean I want to have sext with a guy I’ve never met! I called him out and told him that we were obviously on different wavelengths that I didn’t want to be a long distance booty text and wished him luck in finding his woman (read Miranda style cyber sweep out of room). And? Finally rumbled, he fell dead silent. No final farewell or best wishes.Transmission terminated. So there it is, another epic fail.

Not one to give up lightly I pulled on my big girl heels and trotted out for a date with a local boy who had been very dry and humorous online. In person he was slightly eccentric and boho which initially I loved, but as the evening wore on I uncovered a rude person with a boastful ego, who thought he was cleverer than everyone else and I suspect actually blind drunk!

I dropped him back at his house and popped in to meet his dogs before heading home disillusioned and disappointed again. Except next day I discovered his smelly old boxer shorts left on my car’s passenger seat. Hello? At what point did he take them off and leave them in my car? And what’s with that? Sigh.

So tired and worn out from the constant erosion of dating stupid, horny men who’ve taken their brains out and transplanted them into their willies, I have yet again closed down my online profile. I don’t think I have the strength anymore to deal with the weirdoes and the sex starved.

cock