Double standards

So I reactivated my online profile for what feels like the millionth time in my 3 year journey. Everytime I do it it is with heavy fingers and a dramatic Victorianesque sigh. This isn’t romance right? Trawling through profiles like I’m reading labels off a supermarket shelf? It should be wham, bam, no thought, no effort, but this is the way of modern day love, hard work, effort, investment and above all else patience.

Our society ties have broken down so much that you have to fend for yourself these days in the realm of ‘mature’ love. Thinking back to my Mother at Christmas and the Magnificent Seven who spawned one glistening (but ultimately doomed) bauble of a gentleman I awoke at 6 am unable to sleep and impulsively sent 7 love messengers out into the wide world, 7 mini cyber cupids. OK, OK I’m being overly poetic here, really I sent 7 smiles at guys I liked the look of and this time I didn’t trawl through their profiles for hours weighing up the pros and cons, I just looked for the fresh meat and smiled at them like you would someone across a crowded room, I just looked and hit the button – kinda like poker!

And what do ya know one guy came back within 45 minutes (please bear in mind it was only 7am by now, an ungodly hour for romance) – he said he was pleased to have a smile from me, but obviously a newbie to the whole internet dating thing – he said and I quote he found the whole medium ‘discomfiting’ and I thought yeah mate who doesn’t? No-one wants to be on this site, not a single person on this site would choose meeting a complete, anonymous stranger by this totally synthetic and unnaturally forced method, none of us here are actually enjoying this process, it’s tiring, depressing and energy sapping. Everytime I go back online it’s like returning to some sad old memory of a washed up youth club of misfits, failures and loners “Oh yeah there’s him again, oh and him, and him, oh yeah and I recognise you, and oh I haven’t seen you for a while, back again eh?” Same faces, same places, on and on, over and over, for several years and these people aren’t ugly or weird they are normal, good looking, probably kind and lovely people and yet here they still are. Just like me. Still sitting on the shelf waiting for the next buyer to come through the door, till they get returned again for being faulty or not to standard or even voluntarily send themselves back to the point of dispatch. So yeah, wait a minute Miss Kitty… take a look in the mirror aren’t you back again too? Bruised and sore from you latest disappointment? Aren’t you just as sad and sorry as these poor buggers? Going round and round in the same washing machine?

Pat Benatar said ‘Love is a Battlefield’ no better words for it in my opinion. I’ve been knocked about so much in the last few years. But I take a breather and eventually I drag myself up, I dust myself down and I walk on, well what else you gonna do? Really? Don’t let it break your heart. If I’m lucky one of the seven will lift me up and galvanise me to keep on struttin’ my sexy stuff! Because odds are one day my husband is going to just turn up, just like that out of the blue and say “Hey you! Miss Kitty, where the bloody hell have you been all my life?” and will I then just say “Erm, I’ve been here all along just waiting for you?” Will I bloody hell as like! I’ll turn round and say “Hey you yourself, I’ve been hanging out and having some fun with these dudes, you shoulda turned up earlier!”.

Marilyn

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Mother Knows Best

So here’s the funny thing, I’m back home in the New Year and my mother looks at me and says ‘come on you gotta get back on the horse’. She means the dating horse or more specifically the online dating horse. She obviously is unaware that it is actually a Trojan box of terrors. But since I haven’t been online since September, there are normally 12,000 miles between us and she’s frustrated at not being able to box my ears or give me a hug when I make stupid male-oriented decisions, I decide to humour her, after all ’tis the season of new beginnings right?  So I say OK and one night over a bottle of wine we reactivate and load up my dating profile for laughs and tweaks.

The first thing she and her partner say (‘because now it’s a group intervention right?) is “Oh, don’t say you like Opera, no, no, no, no ,no….. that’s far too high brow” and “Don’t say you like to read Pride and Prejudice – just be normal”. When I protest that I do like Opera they counter in stereo “when was the last time you went?” pause “Exactly! Do you know any men that read Jane Austin? No? Exactly! And men don’t like women who are too posh or superior” so I sigh, grit my teeth and hit the backspace button on my profile. After all what have I got to lose? Seriously, my track record with men is appalling, I have a magnetic appeal it seems for the wrong polar, I attract the weird, heartbroken, lovelorn, obsessed and lost. So maybe it is me that’s the problem and I am putting out the wrong vibes in the first place? Like attracts like right? Maybe I’m a twisted narcissist?

Mum is onto glass three when she really starts letting loose and playing Bingo with prospective mens’ profiles…”Oh now he’s cute, send him a smile go on, go on, oh and he’s an investment banker quick, quick send him a smile!” as she leans over and strikes the mouse! Bing! One cyber smile sent by my mother. “Oh I don’t understand why you’re moaning kid this is fun!” She says perching her glasses on the bridge of her nose to get a better look at ‘ScubaDave’. Before demanding that her partner come in and check his credentials and give us the male thumbs up or down. It is the gladiatorial equivalent of ‘meet the parents’ online.

Upshot is my Mum pinged 7 blokes over the Christmas period (in cahoots with myself of course) but then inevitably and sometimes even begrudgingly I started chatting to them online (see investment banker in my book always rhymes with wanker, but hey ho my mother didn’t go to the same school of life as me). I told them all I was on the other side of the world and that they’d have to wait for a date. As I boarded the plane my Mum looked at me – all worn out by loving a guy who won’t love me back and she shook me by the shoulders (as only a Mother can do) and said “Forget him, he’s waste of space, think about these lovely guys and promise me that you will go for at least one drink with all of them? Promise me? Even if you’re not really that keen? Don’t put all your eggs in one basket love, go and have some fun, distract yourself and have a nice time. Promise?” Oh the blackmail.

The Christmas Batch or The Magnificent Seven – you choose the moniker, have honestly been my salvation. I was a good, diligent girl and I did exactly as my Mummy told me. After all it gets to a point in your life when you are full of blanks and misses and you think maybe my Mum is actually onto something? Maybe I just can’t see it? It took me 6 whole weeks to get through all of them, juggling correspondence and dates, times and venues, well all bar one that is… ‘ScubaDave’ who after rearranging me several times, stood me up for a date on Valentine’s Day (oh the irony). His loss.

And every single one of my Mother’s Picks wanted a repeat date. For the second date; one wanted to go running, one wanted to go salsa, one wanted a casual pizza, one wanted a movie, one wanted an ‘exciting’ dinner and one sent me an enormous bouquet of flowers at work by way of invitation to a second date.

Of this only two made it through the initial steeplechase and one in particular only by calling me on the phone and pleading with me to reconsider and be ‘less harsh’? Huh? Harsh who me? This is me the doormat, remember, the one that gets stomped on?

And one went the distance all the way and we are on date 9. It’s a one horse race now, I shut down my profile 2 weeks ago because actually I’m not interested or looking at anybody else. This man makes me laugh and hours dissolve happily in his company. He is a true gentleman who is courting me (much to my Mother’s delight), old fashioned style, no rush, no seeing each other everyday or hopping into bed. This is slow dating… and actually after all the flakey men with empty promises I kinda like it! It’s nice to be treated like a lady and respected. It’s nice to know a date is a date and he’ll turn up. To be picked up and driven to a quiet little place and romanced slowly. A compliment about my outfit, a touch on the arm, a kiss on the cheek. How nice. So yes, I gotta admit that maybe Mother does know best, just please don’t tell her, she’ll be unbearable x

mother-daughter-shrug

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

Do two sorrys make a Mister Right?

It’s been my turn on the big wheel since September last year when the Universe started dealing me duds. As chronicled here I fell for two guys in a row who led me on and then unceremoniously dropped me “Miss Kitty I really do think you’re amazing but… I love my ex-wife” they both cried. Huh you don’t say? Coulda told me sooner.

I’ve been in a vacuum for 3 months going over and over every twist and turn of these two chapters, but dare I say, I think my bumpy ride on the wheel is ending. Karma is rebalancing my little world.  Firstly my lovelorn Beardie is finally sorting out his life toxins and getting counselling, he sent an email saying he was sorry and that his apologies must “feel empty and never ending”. Secondly I confronted Mr.Twisted about a lack of communication for his appalling treatment of me last year and a few nasty emails this year. To my surprise I got a full and sincere apology, wishing he could take back the hurt because I have “an incredible spirit and I deserve only the best..”

They both took me down to the very bottom in their own way, and they both deserve a poo cake, but I can’t hold a grudge, I carried them on my back for too long. Time is finally doing its thing and I can’t imagine how I ever got into these situations? Like the Taylor Swift line “I’ve been spending the last 8 months thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end” I spent so long and so much energy trying to fix them that I forgot myself.

And someone has found me instead, how amazing is that? I mean yes I’ve been ‘disaster’ dating again and getting out, but when I wasn’t looking he snuck up on me online and sent me a hug, then a wink and finally a message. And he’s lovely, gorgeous and funny. Probably too good to be true, but it’s nice to be liked, at least for now. It’s that awkwardly wonderful time when we’re dancing shyly round each other, trying to get a handle, asking millions of questions. We exist in fifty seven messages online and a handful of pictures. He’s working abroad and lives in a different city but there is a promise of a phone call and hearing each others voices on his return. So the handbrakes are on and we’re going slow but I’m scared and excited all at once, frightened to jump in and start swimming again, but I want to.

So my question to the Universe is: If I’ve finally let them both go and Iearned my lesson, is he my first big test?

Wheel of Fortune

Starter for 15

Hello World,

It’s been a while, I was licking my wounds and letting the dust settle after foolishly jumping, gung-ho fashion back into online dating. Dr. Spin it turns out really did believe his own press about what a catch he was and decided to go on a full facial assault on the third date without testing the waters first. Erm bad move.. I said my goodnights and ran away but he wasn’t letting me go that easily and ambushed me in my car as I tried to drive away. So after removing his tongue from the back of my tonsils for the second time and closing the door in his face, I decided that maybe I was being a bit naive in cyberland.

So I’ve let the online account stew for a bit. Apart from one blind date coffee with a man who is friends with a friend of mine. Her text read “I have a man for you, he does have an ex-wife but he’s lovely and ready to move on”.  I procrastinated and complained, strictly speaking he was outside my new rules but in the end in the spirit of optimism I agreed to dutifully give it a whirl. He was very charming too, although a bit flustered on arrival and stuttered through the first few minutes, so I took the helm and got us going, if there’s one thing Miss.Kitty is master of it’s inane chat! Now I don’t know about you but it’s a bit of a conversation stopper when said fellow reveals he has a) two teenage children and b) a freshly dispatched Japanese ex-fiancee. Hmmm, excess luggage anyone?

Next was a date with a one of our dear city’s ever increasing population of builders who are fixing the place up. He was a real gentleman and attentively turned his laser beam focus on me for the evening asking many, many questions and paying me many compliments. What a really lovely bloke and not to mention buff, but sadly the spark didn’t ignite so we didn’t repeat the date.

So I ducked down my hidey-hole and curled up there for a few weeks. That is until my brand new, shiny, single, gorgeous girlfriend lit a stick of dynamite under my arse! Her turbine drive and vivacious, tenacious appetite for life has shaken me from my backward looking reverie and last week the two of us went speed dating much to our own surprise. 15 men, 15 women and 2 large glasses of vino. It was the funniest, most ridiculous, entertaining night out I’ve had in a long, long time. We struggled to make head or tail of the male pack in 4 minute increments, some passing in the blink of an eye and others feeling like slow water torture.

In the assembled room was a vast array of characters including an executive female man-eater complete with 80s haircut, shoulder pads and knocking ovaries, three persian scientists/engineers who were very intense and painfully polite, a jolly Irish dairy farmer, a mouse sized primary school teacher with a big voice, a nervous first-time builder who had a rehearsed monologue, a Blade Runner looking blonde IT type with a creepy line in pickups (“I’ve seen you online” he breathed down the back of my neck at half time) and the tee-total, serial speed dater who attends doggedly every month. Still we had the best night, it was like a youth club on acid. I loved the craziness of meeting so many people in a short space of time. It’s not romantic and you certainly won’t meet the one but it’s nice to meet people, get out, be human and sociable. Most of all I enjoyed exercising my ‘chatting to strangers’ muscle and I’m pretty bloody good at it turns out  – scoring 12 out of 15 ticks, well surely I’m allowed a bit of boasting? It’s good for my confidence! But I only ticked 3, of whom I only one made one match. So this week I have a date with a snowboarding, surfing, climbing, scaffolder with a sunny personality and not too shabby in the flesh either. Perfect!

And what do they always say about looking the other way? Online I’ve been fished up by a handsome, cheeky chappie from another city who is intriguing and delighting me as well as serendipitously meeting some really lovely guys in the real world for a change.

Now I know something I didn’t believe before, that things do get better, there is always another day around the corner.You just have to be patient, get on with living your life and try everything! Eventually the hurt and loneliness fades and one day you stumble across things that can make you smile again.

Teens at the diner

Raising the stakes

It’s been a draining few weeks between toughing it out on new online dates (unsuccessful) and limping through painful and fractured communication with a… well I was going to say an ex, flame or love interest but the truth is that he is none of these. We never even made it that far as you know. So let’s call him a could-have-been.

Last week I wandered into the Casino for an entertaining drink and a spot of people watching, as you do. It was buzzing with people from all walks of life in various stages of drunkenness.

The ones around the Poker and Blackjack tables were hard to read as you’d expect, all buttoned up and playing it cool, and the poor Pokie junkies had the desperate focus of someone who’s in need of a break, a really big break.

It occurred to me that life and love are much the same as gambling. We’re either in it for the long game, keeping our cards close to our chest ’till we can see what the other players intentions are or we’re all in win or lose whatever the consequence. No prizes for guessing what type of gambler I am! No doubt I’ve been wearing the same frantic expression of desperation. And that’s not to mention those agitated souls who sit poised with their hand on the one armed bandit, just waiting for all the stars to align in a row.

I may have lucky Jupiter as my ruling planet but my stars have been on a sabbatical and as I walked round the floor I realised looking at the sad and stressed punters that happiness is in pretty short supply at the Casino. So if love is like gambling, the house always wins right? Losers all round. It started me thinking, maybe instead of betting on my losing streak with these idiots who throw me in with their bad hand, I should raise my chip worth? It’s their loss and my gain.

So I fold. I’m removing myself from the table. Period, yet again. Next time I take a chance it’s going to be because someone has asked me to bet on them and not the other way around no matter how long it takes, because the truth is when I win I want to win big. Here’s to hoping that fate rolls a double and the stars come out to play.

marilyn

You Got Mail!

Yes it really is as simple as that. Three hours after reactivating my profile and I’m already treading in the shark infested waters, with an online inbox bulging with smiles, winks and messages. I’m the fresh meat on the block and it doesn’t take long for them to sniff me out…

So here I am 5 months on and right back where I started, full circle, chatting to anonymous people and trying to stay positive, bubbly and chatty just like my profile says (insert smiley face here). But this time I’ve got my armour on so I’ve already politely declined every man who has an ex-wife or kids… hey I’m not putting my hand in that fire again.

This time it’s different and yes maybe this old school, freeform romantic is finally shaping up a fussy ‘list’ after all?

meg

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