Loving the mess in the kitchen

The kitchen is a mess tonight.  It's clean, but it is full of washing up from dinner and the leftovers need putting in the fridge.
But I love it.  I'm not a dirty person, though I am a messy person.  But the reason I'm smiling at the messy kitchen is the fact that I can leave it as it is.  My ex used to sulk like a PMT-ridden bitch if I didn't do the washing up immediately.  Sometimes I didn't want to do it after dinner when I was relaxed and almost in bed.  I can recall multiple instances of him not talking to me for days (yes, plural) for not having done the washing up the same night.
The fact is, I'm free.  I'll tidy the kitchen tomorrow, because I don't want the possibility of mould or insects (yuck!)  But seeing just how messy it is, and revelling in the fact that he's not here to throw his toys out the pram, is such a nice feeling.

Um, when did Barbie become the ultimate pin-up?

The Only Way is Essex gave me some real food for thought tonight.  In this episode Gemma runs into her ex and his gay best friend before going to a dinner party with her new man, and Lauren P goes on a date to a vineyard – albeit in ridiculously inappropriate footwear. 

I would like to point out that I actually rather like some of the TOWIE lot – not that I am a regular viewer, I hasten to add.  But I am still off sick from work and cannot bring myself to endure the daily travails of Jeremy Kyle, so a little voyeurism courtesy of ITV2 seems acceptable.  Anyway, you can pick up where you left off several seasons ago and still follow what’s going on – helped by the names popping up when they come on screen.  Sam seems sweet, Jess seems really intelligent and grounded, Gemma wears her heart on her sleeve and Lydia is rather gorgeous.  But they are on a tv show, and as much as it’s referred to as a reality show, I find myself thinking about just how ‘real’ they are.  Yet having grown up in Essex, I know that even if they weren’t on the show, they would still be fake.  The show is popular because it purportedly shows the inside of Essex life, but the truth is it isn’t like that for the overwhelming majority of people.  Most people don’t have their own business at the age of 21 here.  Yet despite the varying degrees of falsity among the characters/participants, there is quite a lot that the average viewer can relate to. 

There’s the girl who feels her only value is in being decorative, and is careful not to sound too intelligent in front of guys.  She giggles in all the right places, dresses sexily, has extensive plastic surgery and is everything a guy could want on his arm.  She makes him feel like ‘the big I am’.  Yet she has an obsessive-compulsive disorder for whatever reason – probably linked to control and self-esteem (I surmise).  Then there’s the fat girl who feels so unattractive next to her skinny pretty friends, so she feels she has to be uber-sexual and flaunting her chemistry with her new man to show that she has ‘got it’ as much as her mates.  Too much information, and way too much public affection.  Tonsil tennis does not real passion and intimacy convey. 

But how much do guys outside of Essex want a woman that has to pull pretty much everything off before she goes to bed?  And how have we become convinced that imitating Jordan is sexy, when she is perennially trashed in magazines?  At what point did Barbie become the number one icon? 

This aside, I think part of the reason I’ve not had any luck with the dating – as well as the fact that I’m picky and don’t really truly want a relationship right now – is that I am a little bit fat.  Whenever I’ve said this to my friends before they have pointed out that I am in proportion and how much they want my boobs.  They tell me I’m gorgeous and curvy, not fat.  And I really do appreciate their morale boosts.  But I also know what the scales and the dress sizes say. 

Right now this isn’t about me wanting to be skinny to get a boyfriend.  I’ve been all the sizes between 8 and 20 (I still can’t believe I let myself get so big) and still managed to have a busy love life.  Not necessarily a fulfilling love life (as is pretty obvious from older blog posts) but I’ve been a busy girl the last 10 years.  Having lost 40 pounds, I still have a fair few to go until I reach my goal.  Hopefully the boobs will shrink a bit too, and I'll get taken a little more seriously.  Because even dressing conservatively in work clothes makes me look like a sexy secretary.  They are that big, that no matter what I wear they are prominent.  It would be nice if this were not the case, as I have no desire to look like Pamela Anderson - the original pin-up girl of my generation.  Yes she may have been sexy, but I don't think true sexiness comes from a bottle and some silicone, nor has she advanced the cause of feminism.  Perhaps smaller boobs would attract a more refined class of men.  Yet it’s really not about becoming more attractive to the opposite sex.  It’s about feeling my age and not prematurely middle aged.  It’s about regaining my confidence and making my body move in ways it used to; reconnecting to my muscles and feeling the strength and power in them.  Being alive in every way.

You have to reconcile your past in order to confront your future.  I’ve spent the last few months with my head finally out of my arse and looking back on everything.  When I started the celibacy it was to be introspective regarding my relationship behaviours.  But recently I’ve been reflecting on everything – my whole life since I was 8.  And the truth is, I’ve been searching for a replacement since I gave up my true love – dancing.  I followed the path I thought I should because my dad instilled in me the idea that academia is the be all and end all.  I don’t blame him for this – it’s worthwhile having qualifications.  But art, music, dance, textiles – I may not have been very good at them but I loved them.  So now it’s about reconnecting with my passions and enjoying my free time.  Going straight from uni to cohabiting whilst struggling to get work may be a common path, but it’s not surprising I felt so empty.  And carrying on the Madchester behaviour learned in college and enhanced at uni just didn’t quite take it away.  But this recognition of self and retrospective analysis of my mistakes and achievements has really helped me feel clearer about what I want.  I can’t go back, and I can’t regret everything up til now.  But I can learn from my mistakes and use the time now and my future to be who and how I want to be. I might not always remember this, but the fact I am reminding myself of it frequently shows my thought train is going in the right direction. 

So back to relationships.  Usher wanted “a lady in the street but a freak in the bed”.  I don’t want an Essex guy, but I wonder how much men from other places want a model-type?  Do London barristers want a Barbie, or do they want a woman who is intellectually equal to them yet is only a 5 in a cocktail dress and full makeup?  Or perhaps it is about confidence?  And looking like you care about yourself enough to be reasonably healthy.  And in contemporary culture being thin (regardless of how it is achieved) is equated to being healthy.  Being slim doesn’t make you an idiot.  Being fat doesn’t make you intelligent.  It’s about how you treat others.  And unfortunately a little bit of being ‘sexy’ is what is required to attract men.  But to keep them, there has to be something more going on.  Or perhaps not.  But if you want to be with a smart guy, you can’t really be a bimbo – unless that’s what he is looking for.  In which case he is shallow and thus not good enough.

Despite the convoluted ramblings above, the main thing is that you don’t try to change who you are for a guy.  Because Mummy was right when she told us years ago, if he’s worth it, he’ll love you just the way you are.  Being the best person you can be is always a good idea.  But trying to live for someone else, be what they want you to be – just leads to misery, unhappiness and the inability to recognise yourself in the mirror.  Getting the chance to recognise your mistakes is a blessing.  Having the opportunity to change your life for the better is amazing. And maybe at some point I'll meet a guy who will be good enough for me - and isn't into the Essex stereotype.  But for now, celibacy is working out pretty damn well.

Observing from the outside in

In the style of that irritating yet somehow fabulous Ms Bradshaw, I couldn't help but wonder .... (actually I hope that's not a trademarked expression) Is it possible to keep writing about the love game if you've taken yourself out of it for a while?
So as you will realise, I have not had the greatest luck with the online dating experiment.  But on the plus side it HAS given me some fabulous material to write about, as well as food for thought and a dash of introspection (like I don't do that enough).  I surmise (though not 100% positive) that my failure to meet a man is a combination of 3 things: being on the wrong website, being too picky and not truly wanting a relationship right now.  Why would I?  Not like I have time for one, especially as I feel that I need to compensate in order to restore the last 2 years of career slack-off.  But actually if I force myself to think, I have worked hard in the jobs I've been in.  And mostly they have been in the fields I wanted to be in.  So enough moping and self-flagellation career-wise.  I'm still young, I still have time.  And the British tendency to overwork and work to live is one I am trying to suppress in myself.
But I want to continue writing.  I enjoy it.  And I have over a decade's experience of dating, love, relationships and sex to look back on.  Now that's a scary thought.  But these 10 years, in which I have made mistakes, made good decisions, been hurt, been happy, have made me realise just what it is I want from another person.  Lust is not enough.  And I am sure I don't want something until I realise it is the right person for me.  I've given it a try, it's not worked out, so why not fix it when it's broke? But I am adamant it won't be a colleague.  I will not let another person ruin my career.  You can't unmake something, you can't go back in time and not do it.  And once you start down that path with someone, you cannot go back.  I need to be intellectually stimulated, treated well and appreciated, and to have a little fun.
So..... I'm done.  Historical writing time it is.

Britain's got Talent? Morelike Britain's got SAD

Watching the news tonight it hit me – we Brits are never bloody happy. First it was a plea for more rainfall from an Anglian Water representative, as despite the incessant deluge, we are still ‘in drought’. Then the weather forecaster informed us just how much rain is to come. But this juxtaposition made me think how we are never truly happy with what we have. We want sunshine, then when it comes we complain about being too hot and sunburned. I think it’s a national thing. We elect our politicians, expecting them to be morally superior to us, then when they behave as other politicians have done so, we act shocked and outraged. The only surprise is that we are still surprised by such shenanigans. But the glass half empty psyche really comes to light when we think about relationships and our bodies. We want smaller / bigger boobs, a curvier / more toned butt, smaller feet / longer legs *delete as appropriate*. We look at other women with longing for what they have that we so badly desire. The woman with the collection of designer shoes, the woman with the seemingly perfect marriage, the boss who looks stunning in a potato sack and effortlessly runs the company without a hair out of place. Equally so with the couple who finish each others’ sentences while you smile brightly realising you are the only single girl at the table; or the free spirit who religiously rejects the idea of marriage while you feel shackled to your man. But I can’t help but wonder – what’s it like to BE on the other side of the fence? The Imelda Marcos devotee may be unable to sleep at night worried about her crippling debts (and crippling bunions); the boss may be watching her personal life fall apart and the only way she copes is by being fabulous at the office; the girlfriend might be sick of him reading her thoughts and always being viewed as half of a whole, incomplete without him. So I propose the following - we all take a moment to be thankful for the things we do have? As much as I found myself wishing for a boyfriend while I was poorly to bring me yummy nourishing homemade soup and soothe my manflu-like pain,I find myself being grateful for my singledom at the moment - because I have the freedom to do what I want.  That's definitely a plus for me.  When the right thing comes along, I'll go with it, but for now my mantra is - enjoy it all.  There are pros and cons to being single and being in relationships – but it is up to each of us to celebrate the good stuff – and our bodies - because let’s face it, life is tough enough.

Happy birthday to me

On my birthday (well just slightly after), despite suffering from lurgy, I gave myself the best present ever.  Forgiveness .  It’s a wonderful feeling.  I had to go to my ex’s to pick up some birthday presents which had been delivered to his.  We hadn’t spoken in nearly 5 months.  Though it may not have been illegal to drive in my delicate green condition, it probably wasn’t the best idea.  But I needed to pick up my presents and I was damned if I was going to wait a few days until I felt better.  The stress of psyching myself up to seeing him would have made me feel worse.  It had already ruined my sleep the night he text me to tell me, and waiting all day until the mutually agreed time was making my poor stomach even more nauseous.   I ended it nearly a year ago, but we hadn’t managed to maintain even basic communication.  Not my proudest behaviour, but I’ll be honest – I was hurting.  As does anyone going through a breakup.  Hence, the nerves.  But once I saw him, it was okay.  We chatted and caught up on what each other was up to.  We updated each other on our friends.  We both apologised to one another.  And we hugged each other goodbye. 

On the drive home, I felt peace for the first time in a while.  The truth is that while I have changed, grown and (hopefully) become a better person, he’s stayed the same.  He’s still on the same path he was on during our relationship.  I tried to help him for so long, but you can’t save everyone.  And I’m not his mother.  Surprisingly, I didn’t feel the perverse sense of satisfaction when you see an ex and they are doing worse than you.  I wish good things for him.  But I also know I did the right thing for me.  There’s only so many months you can lie awake crying yourself to sleep because you can’t afford to leave a life which makes you miserable. 

I guess I finally GET that as much as he was a good person, he wasn’t right for me.  I don’t really believe in monogamy, and I don’t believe in the concept of Mr Right.  But I do believe in Mr Right Now and pleasure.  I may not have found it yet, and I am done searching, because I want to focus on me.  Academia, socialising, hobbies, culture, experiences.  I left because I wanted more. Have I got it?  Tough to say definitively.  Do I have the opportunity to achieve what I want and not feel held back by another?  Absolutely.  Is the drive ambition and passion which powered me as a fiesty teen returning?  Slowly, but yes, bit by bit.  

Was it my fault it ended?  No.  Could I have done more? No.  Would I have been happier staying?  No.  Would he be happier if we'd stayed together?  I truly believe not.  

I've let go of the guilt and self-loathing caused by believing it was all my fault.  it was just another one of life's lessons.  The only constant in life is change.  All we can do is treat others as well as possible. 

A new type of 'mance?

We have romance, bromance, and homance, so why not.... Pseudomance?  New adjective: The appearance of a closer relationship than the reality. Either a couple whose public face masks a series of problems behind closed doors. A couple who seem destined to wed and bear multiple offspring.  Or, the straight girl and the gay guy who isn't immediately identifiable as gay. The are-they aren't-they questions are usually posed to the girl as they tend to be a little more gossipy and willing to open up.  Whichever way the pseudomance may be, it's not as fulfilling as it may seem to those outside. 

D = just not quite good enough

What is it with adjectives and emotions beginning with d? Disappointment dejection depression despair disillusionment displacement dysfunctional downtrodden desperate. In school we are taught to work /hope for anything above a C grade. So is it any wonder negative adjectives and emotions begin with d? Perhaps the lesson is, if you want any more than a D-grade love life, you have to put in the work. But unfortunately, unlike A-levels, there are no study aids or revision guides