Santa and his presents

Ho ho ho. And a merry Christmas to all. Hope your holidays have been filled with love and laughter. Mine have. 
I can genuinely say I am the happiest I have been in a while. 
I am proud that I have neither overeaten or overdrunk this festive season. While the national average is a weight gain of 5 pounds, I have in fact lost 1. Perhaps that is a somewhat premature statement, but as I don't plan to drink on Nee Year's Eve I don't see it changing much in the space of 3 days, 2 of which I am working. 

I have however been overindulging in 2 things. Textual flirtation, and thinking. 
This festive season has given me a lot of food for thought. 
Popular belief in Santa has two variants. In one, he has forgone marriage and family to devote his life to making the children of the world happy, and in the other he is blissfully wedded to mrs Claus. The elves are their extended adopted offspring and they all live together in jolly, gingerbread-scented obesity whilst manufacturing toys in a beautiful workshop all year round. 

That's a nice story, but not a realistic portrayal of modern-day dating. Ignoring the health implications of their chosen lifestyle, as well as the idea of a woman happy to do nothing but please her man, the fact is life simply isn't like that. 
A recent blog post by The wayward graduate certainly got me thinking. A very-well written and insightful exploration of what men may in fact truly want.  But which rings several bells in my head - men prefer someone a bit simpler. 
She conducted an experiment in online dating, in which she compared her own profile to a heavily edited one of herself, altered photgraphically and textually to make herself bimbo-esque. The bimbo received lots more messages. Thus proving the point that men like someone reasonably simple who they can have on their arm, who will laugh at their jokes, feed their egos and their bellies, and bend over backwards for them in the bedroom (both physically and metaphorically). 

I am a complex individual. I cannot be put in a box or defined by a few simple adjectives. I too have been told I am intimidating, or at times that somewhat 'softer' word, feisty. 
In my experience you get by in life by being strong, not curling up in a ball crying because of breaking a nail. And why on earth would I wish to perpetuate the female stereotype of feeble pathetic and emotional when such concepts are scorned? The women I am surrounded by are strong, courageous and passionate. That's definitely worth celebrating. 
I know I am fiery and feisty. Lord knows my hair is bright enough. But these are not the only things about me.  I too, like the wayward graduate, suspect that my public persona is somewhat scary to men.  But rather than change who I am, play a role, I would rather be me and if a guy wants to get to know me then maybe he will be worth it. Put simply, if I am too much woman for him, he is not man enough for me. 
I realise how that might sound. But being defensive is not my purpose here, this is just a statement of fact. 
I meet guys. I meet a lot of guys. But it doesn't always quite get there. I suspect this is pretty common. The last 2 freely admitted they were drawn in by my passion, fire and independence. I suspect the Italian wasn't used to such things given the culture of women in his city. McGeeky Dick (formerly known as soul-scorcher) loved it but then tried to change me. Sod him. 
Perhaps the men who can handle such women are either confident in themselves, or are nasty types who want to 'tame the bitch'.  Who knows. But if you like someone when you get together, why the hell would you spend time trying to change them? The perennial question. But the real question is, what's the point in trying to be something you're not when the object of the exercise is to get close, love and be loved, for who you both are? 

See link: http://waywardgraduate.wordpress.com/2011/12/27/plentyoffish-hall-of-shame-the-experiment/

And kudos to the wayward graduate - she has the courage to put her face to her blog while I hide behind the anonymity of a pen(blog?)name. The irony is I am actually quite private publicly, so I suppose I too have fallen into the trap of saying things on the Internet that one would not say publicly. But then being British, when do we ever discuss any such things in public public (excluding the pub)? To make myself feel somewhat better about this, I remind myself that in several mags there are the diaries of single women as they navigate the perils of dating in the urban jungle.  Not that my little blog could hope to claim such readership levels - but I'm happy ticking along as I am. 

And the other thing I have been doing - texting. Having thought I wouldn't see mcsexy again, and been extremely annoyed when a colleague lurched up to me drunkenly at the Xmas party and asked what was going on there as she had been 'reliably informed' we were getting together?! Two things love - one, is it any of your fucking business? Are we friends? Two - nothing had even happened! So admittedly I was rather surprised to get a text from him as he had got my number from a friend. Cue copious amounts of texting, including a few hours of extremely flirty ones. 
But... 48 hours and 60+ texts exchanged, I'm a bit bored. I'm hoping he doesn't think of text as a valuable means to get a girl into bed. But I suspect his confidence means he's not too concerned with delivering the goods. Shame, because he talks a good game. And I'm sure we would have fun naked together. My imagination the last 48 hours has been very aroused and part of me thinks it would be fantastic. 
But my suspicions that he is still stuck in the uni athlete mentality may prove correct. He ticks all the boxes but I don't think anything is going to happen. Nor am I totally sure I want it to.  But I know I intrigue him and he likes being able to classify and define things. 

I suspect I am something of a paradox. I want sex, but I want it to have more meaning than a hook-up. I definitely do not want a relationship, but neither do I want a fuck-buddy. And the idea of starting to date someone, then start sleeping together and both wondering where the hell this is going, is not a tempting prospect either. 

Fearing that being single over Christmas would be gut-wrenchingly depressing, I have been pleasantly surprised to find it has been easier, and perhaps even more joyful. Compared to last year, when my ex and I were on the road to no recovery. And it is with full frankness I admit that having more money at this time of year has been enjoyable too. But the greatest thing about it is I have been able to do what I want, when I want. I have been able to go to all these parties and social events and not feel guilty or get crap about going. Which makes a pleasant change. 

My ex wanted me to become a boring little housewife, and I did. But once that happened, he didn't like it. 
I wanted mcsexy, and now I've had a few days of attention from him, I feel sated. 
I guess when you get what you want, you stop wanting it. Or you realise it's not as shiny as it looked. But no matter - there are more things to life than sex! 

Oh, and I realised who mr faceless is. Imagine my horror to walk into a family and friends do and see the man who does amazing things to you in your dreams smiling back at you. Nothing is going to happen there. I am adamant of that. And interestingly, I haven't dreamt of him again.