Thank you, please hold!

So since operation ‘blog shut down’ 60 people have signed up for email alerts and I’ve had many tweets from long standing followers to complain about the disappearance.

So, I just wanted to reassure you that the blog might be offline but the writing isn’t. I’m here, I have the stories and I will share them. Just as soon as people in Kuwait stop bothering to look me up. I’m not ashamed of anything I have written. I am who I am and quite frankly I couldn’t give a toss what the haters think. I have never given away friends’ secrets (and my god could I!) and people I have blogged about (The PIC for example) know about the blog and are proud of it.

So please hold the line. Normal service will be resumed soon!

Excuse me, my friend fancies you

I have threatened my male friends before with the ‘my friend fancies you’ line. If they spend too much time debating whether to approach a girl I threaten to do it for them unless they stop me. They invariably stop me. Not because they actually then talk to the girl. No, they just distract me with alcohol. I once got talking to a girl in the toilet queue to check out if she was single for a friend. She said she was. She also walked out of the toilets and proceeded to snog someone else. I told him she wasn’t.

Never have I had the line used on me. Until Saturday night.

There I was, dancing away on a raised stage (yes, I am 30, what of it?) when a girl came up to me to ask if I was single. I said yes, but I was also straight and she laughed. She explained that her friend (who we’ll call Kevin as I’ve no clue what his name was, it was 2am) was very shy and that Kevin would like to come and talk to me. Would that be ok?

Before I had a chance to think of a reason why the pale-faced, floppy haired Kevin was probably best talking to someone else he was in front of me, all wet lips and hopeful eyes. I was brought up to always be polite and even when steaming drunk in a nightclub at 2am I would like to think I still am. So I talked to him. I can’t remember what I said but it couldn’t have lasted long and I was searching over his shoulder for my friends the whole time. I do remember him launching in for a kiss so he wasn’t that bloody shy. Or maybe my politeness made him think he was in there. I ducked and ran.

Or at least I thought I did…

In the cab on the way home my phone beeped…

“Hey! Just to say you are stunning! I fly to France next week, would love to treat u to dinner? Xx”

I had no recollection of giving my number out, let alone the real one! But I figured it would all come back to me in the morning so I replied:

“That would be lovely, I’m free Tuesday”

(see, I’m awfully polite when pissed)

I didn’t work it out in the morning. In fact I was even more confused in the morning when he woke me up to say ‘good morning beautiful’. If I wasn’t retching because of the sambuca I was now. A few texts back and forth and nothing was shedding any light so I came out with it and asked him who the hell he was and when did I give him my number? Then he explained who he was, and the eager little face popped in to my head. I stopped replying. He then asked for my name… I would LOVE to know what he had me in his phone as because surely that is a key piece of information you acquire when asking for a girl’s number?

Anyway, the date never happened because he didn’t get in touch until after 8pm Tuesday and that was only to apologise for not getting in touch. Wasn’t that bothered to be honest so haven’t replied again.

Morals of this week’s blog?

If you don’t find a guy attractive, don’t give out your number.
Don’t talk to strangers after getting to the shallow end of a bottle of Grey Goose.
Don’t approach girls on you male friend’s behalf – he may be lovely but he’ll always be the ‘my mate fancies you’ guy.

A Little Forward

As many of you who follow me on Twitter know, I recently spent three days in the Middle East. Kuwait specifically. It was more for business than it was pleasure so my free time was limited, I did however get a couple of hours to explore a massive shopping mall, and mix with the locals. Some of them a little forward!

In the UK, one of the (many) annoying things about men is their inability to approach women. Usually the men that chat me up are drunk, desperate or in relationships and looking for a bit on the side. You can spend hours making eyes at a cute boy across the room before he gets the hint and comes over. My male friends never approach girls yet will bemoan the fact they are single. What’s the worse that can happen boys? We say we are not interested so you move on. No girl is going to be rude and obnoxious about your approach because it’s flattering, unless of course they are a complete bitch and if that’s the case then you’ve actually had a lucky escape.

In Kuwait boys do not have this problem with nerves. In Kuwait they are a little too forward for an innocent Westerner like me!

I was stood outside a shop in the mall talking to a friend whilst we waited for another of our party to try something on. As we were chatting away a Kuwaiti boy in his twenties approached us and said he could guess our nationality by our accents. I had flashbacks to the Mind Reader from earlier blogs. When he got our nationalities wrong twice I definitely getting flashbacks. We eventually revealed we were British and were in town for business meetings and his friend approached asking:

“Are you trying to chat these girls up?”

Our Kuwaiti explained that yes he was. I turned to the friend and agreed that yes, he was trying, but trying and failing. Mr Smooth then turned to his friend and asked where the nearest hotel was so he could just ‘get it out the way’ with both of us. There was only one thing to do… laugh and walk back in to the shop out of the way.

Whilst I am sure the boy was joking it did make me think about the approaches that boys use with girls. The British reserve can mean that our men waste time and fail to talk to attractive women whilst some other cultures just admit they are only after one thing and dive straight in there. How hard is it to find a happy medium?

Greedy Girls

I’m 30, therefore I have become quite accustomed, although not yet immune, to the constant parade of wedding and baby photos on Facebook. There are very few more depressing places to exist on the internet than Facebook when you are single and childless sometimes. It starts with the constant status updates about ‘my wonderful hubby’ and how ‘lucky I am to have such a man’. Although these don’t make me jealous, these make me a little sick in my mouth until the wonderful hubby runs off with someone else and I remember the bile-inducing statuses that once were and I smile to myself. Because yes, I am evil, and there is nothing more us single girls like more than karma and wedding shots that the bride looks fat in. The baby photos that pollute my feed currently don’t make my womb skip a beat, they make me call the nurse to book an appointment for a contraceptive implant. Yes, we get it, you can breed whereas our eggs have probably all dried up by now. but do we really have to see DAILY photo albums of the world’s ugliest child? Surely that thing should be hidden from public until it grows in to its face?

However, there is a new breed emerging on my wall that really makes me want to throw things at the computer. Not leastly because I think it’s a sign that I am officially getting old and should make my space on the shelf comfy because I’m going to get left up there. These are The Greedy Girls. These girls are in their late 20s and early 30s and are on husband number two. In fact, one has just left husband number two and is dating again. No doubt she’ll have landed number three before I’ve managed to get past date three let alone got engaged. Husband number one spent your mortgage money on cocaine and fucked his secretary or you found your wonderful hubby in bed with your slut of a sister (both happened!) or you just lied and said you really really wanted children so that you could get the white dress and big party but three years down the line you’ve had to admit you’re still taking the pill so he’s left you and got someone else up the duff within six months. I agree, your life really sucks and you’ve had it so much worse than the rest of us. What us single girls that have never been married really need to hear is that within a year of the divorce being finalised you are married again and, in most cases, pregnant. How have you found it that bloody easy to nab one of the few remaining marriable men on the market when some of us have been searching for years and can’t get past date three? Is it like a practice run the first time? So if I had one wedding under my belt I’d find The One next time around no problem? If I’d have known that I’d have ignored The Ex and his wayward cock and married the arsehole, safe in the knowledge that within 18 months The One would have replaced him.

If you are a Greedy Girl, please have some respect for your single sisters. Do not write all over Facebook that dating is ‘soooooo hard’ followed a week later with photos of a romantic weekend away for two. We have degrees in dating and don’t appreciate ex-smug marrieds swooping in and succeeding where we fail. And to all those newly-weds that think their husband is so wonderful… we’ll see you out on the playing field in a year!

All I Want For Christmas…

So the summer has whizzed by (so quickly I missed it), Halloween saw me dressed as a red devil and being interviewed (drunk) for a YouTube channel and Bonfire night I spent tucked up at home in the warm watching other people’s displays (the joys of living on a hill with nothing blocking the view). So now begins the countdown to Christmas. The supermarkets have been doing it since September but I prefer to wait until Bonfire Night is over. You can have too much of a good thing, and starting too early does make you a little sick! (the same can be said about wine).

So it’s time to celebrate another Christmas as a single girlie. Or time to stock up on Port as inevitably I will be found crying in to it by 22nd December at the thought of waking up alone in the parental home and then spending the day eating enough to balloon up and ensure no man looks twice at me until February.  And this year girls, we have the John Lewis advert to REALLY make us want to hang ourselves with the mistletoe. Even the snowmen are getting more action.

So will I be trawling the Christmas parties looking for a 6-foot something, broad-shouldered hunk to stick a bow on and unwrap over and over again until twelfth night? Will I sit in hope that Santa will see fit to send something down my chimney that will really clear the cobwebs out?

No thanks.

You see, more than any other time of the year if you meet a guy on the run up to Christmas you get your hopes up. The ‘magic’ of Christmas will wash over you and you’ll spend days missing him, re-reading the sweet texts he sends on Christmas morning saying he wishes he’d woken up with you and hopes that Santa brought you all you’d hoped for and counting down the minutes until your family duties are done and you can hop on the motorway back to him, playing Mariah Carey on loop. You’ll wait with bated breath every time he mentions New Year’s Eve in the hope he’s about to invite you along and you’ll drive your friends mad by not committing to any of the invites that they extend to you.

You won’t spend new year with him. You won’t even get a text at midnight. In fact, he won’t text you for weeks afterwards and you’ll have absolutely no idea what happened. And even then when he texts it’s because he wants a photo of your boobs, and not to ask how you are.

So this year I am taking a dating sabbatical. I am taking myself off the dating scene until 2013. This way I can avoid the “should I buy him a present?” debate if I meet him before December and I can wave the mistletoe around freely without having to wonder whether he’ll call the next day.

So this year Mariah, you can stick it. All I want for Christmas is me.