How many warnings does it take...?

So the whole dating thing. I was quite resistant to Internet dating, not because I thought only weirdos and freaks used it (several good friends have met lovely partners via Internet dating) but because in a way I'm quite fatalistic when it comes to dating 'if it's meant to happen and I'm meant to meet someone then it'll happen'. Funny attitude in a way- but the thing is that for me, there's a very fine line between finding dating fun and entertaining, and finding it horrible and stressful ('why hasn't he called? Shall I call? What if he doesn't like me? WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME??!!') I don't like the whole dating game, I've never had to play it before (whenever I've met someone before it's been 'right, I like you, you like me, now we're together'). So I wasn't exactly enthusiastic and my first couple of experiences earlier in the year didn't really endear me to it (one guy who never got in touch again after what I thought was quite a good date, and one guy who was just really, really dull).

But, you know, it's summer and the sun's shining and seeing people walking down the street kissing and holding hands makes you think, 'well, maybe', so I picked the nicest photos of me and psyched myself up...and before I knew it I was chatting to several guys and planning dates, the first one being with an Australian banker, A. His opening line was to ask me which surgery I worked in which in retrospect should have been the first warning...

Fast forward to the day of the date and I woke up to a message saying 'I found you on Facebook and you look lovely. And I can see you must have recently got divorced, I hope you're OK'. This should have been the second warning...

For some foolish reason I still went on the date. God only knows why, I think I felt like giving him the benefit of the doubt- in fact I told him that when we met. I knew straight away I shouldn't have gone when he said to me 'I'm sorry if I freaked you out looking at your photos but you should really be grateful to me for showing you your security settings aren't good enough'. That should have been the third warning...

Eventually he asked me the question I knew he would, 'tell me why your marriage failed- if you don't mind talking about it'. I said 'It's hard for me to talk about, not because I'm still in love with my ex, but because it's inextricably linked with my mum's illness and death which is hard for me'. I started telling the story and got as far as 'and my dad was going into hospital for spinal surgery and my mum was having chemo and so I was moving home for a month to look after them but the night before I left my husband said to me 'I can't do this any more, I'm moving out' ' and he said 'I can't believe it, you were newlyweds... Did you give him lots of sex?' I tried to laugh -assuming he was making a joke, albeit one in very poor taste -and he said, 'No, but seriously...did you?'

Do you know what makes me saddest of all? I have always, always wanted to throw a drink over someone, it's one of my life aspirations (like being chased through an airport as per 'Love Actually') and yet this was the perfect opportunity and I didn't take it.

Any Other Party

So I'm pretty sure I deserve the Bad Blogger Award 2012 (or maybe just the Absent Blogger Award 2012) and worst of all this isn't even a blog post, it's simply a redirect. Last week I (wo)manned up and on Friday night I took myself off to Any Other Party, the fabulous social gathering organised by the girls at Any Other Woman. The only person I'd met before was the gorgeous Gemma and I was beyond nervous about meeting everyone else because I knew they'd all be COOL and FUNNY and SMART. Turns out- yes they were, but somehow I still felt like I belonged. Anna K, in particular, it was a delight to meet. And of course Rebecca.
More about the evening over at Any Other Woman: http://anyotherwoman.com/2012/09/any-other-party-the-london-edition/ that's me in photo number 6, laughing like a loon with Rebecca (no idea what at). Thanks so much ladies!

I hate bad grammar. Too annoyed to even think of a good title.

I've just had to stop reading a post on a blog I normally like because the grammar is so appalling. I'm not going to apologise for being a grammar snob and I'm not going to apologise for the fact that reading the phrase 'would of' makes me cringe.

I spend enough time being angry, frustrated and sad on a daily basis because of what my job exposes me to. Why would I subject myself to it in my free time? True, you might think that with everything else I contend with in life, getting upset at people murdering the English language should not even register on my scale, but what can I say- it really, really does. Some people don't like rudeness (it doesn't bother me, I can give as good as I get). Some people don't like spiders (they don't bother me either). I don't like bad grammar.

Thank you. Rant over. How are you?

I wish I was one of those girls...

...who can look chic on a flight in thin layers, leggings, ballet pumps and maybe even a Mulberry handbag. What I am, actually, is a girl who feels the need to take so much stuff on holiday that my suitcase is crammed to bursting so I have to wear jeans, trainers and a jumper (or maybe 2 jumpers, that's layering for you) so the bulky stuff isn't taking up room in my case. And don't even get me started on the handbag issue- I can't stand not having stuff to entertain me on a flight (have I talked before about having the attention span of a goldfish? If not I will soon...) so my absolute minimum travel requirements are iPhone, iPad, book, vaguely trashy mag (currently favouring Glamour and Red), and if I can get it past security my knitting/sewing. This necessitates a shoulder bag the size of a small country. I will never be a chic-on-a-plane girl.

How to be a woman...my arse.

Have been intending to get/read Caitlin Moran's 'How to Be a Woman' for a while ( http://www.amazon.co.uk/How-To-Woman-Caitlin-Moran/dp/0091940737/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1332200269&sr=8-1 ) but flicked through it in the bookshop today and found myself on the weddings chapter where she has a rant about a friend who's getting married on the Isle of Wight....

'All that money and trouble!! 4 nights in a hotel!! Well all I can say is they'd better not get divorced. In fact I'm thinking of sewing them together so they can't ever split up'....

Well, screw you. I got married in Italy and 'dragged' 35 close friends and family out there for a week. It was amazing and the fact it ended in divorce is the biggest disappointment of my life. And apparently my friends are the ones who've suffered most because they were the ones who had to go all the way out there for something that ended in failure.

Perhaps I've had a sense of humour bypass but I now refuse to buy it on principle.

The big smoke

When I first started telling people I was planning to move to London, I was mostly pleased by my friends' positive comments, but also slightly saddened by a few negative comments. 'London's very big' and 'you'll miss your friends' were the main ones (though there were many others).

A month in and I have no regrets, not one, nada. Well actually maybe one -that I didn't do it sooner, that I let the bastard M stop me for so long.

Why do I love London?? I can't entirely explain it. It's the buzz, the energy, the feeling of endless possibilities. The knowledge that I can do what I want, be who I want, almost completely unconstrained. (Don't worry, I'm not planning on running amok through North London with a sawn-off shotgun). The wonderful Anna K puts it better than I ever could:
http://anyotherwoman.com/2012/01/dear-london/

Happy Valentine's day.

Well, there's timing and then there's timing... Just had a phone call from my solicitor to let me know that my decree absolute has been granted. I knew there was a reason I hated Valentine's Day.

Screw you St. Valentine, and all you (allegedly) stand for.

New year, at last.

Very glad 2011 is over... surely 2012 has to be better... Has been a rough few weeks.