Socially phobic

I'm going home at the weekend. Well, my second home.

I'm quite proud of myself, I've managed just two trips this year, and that for me is quite the record. Actually, scrap that, I went to Istanbul didn't I? Maybe not so good then, I've been Turkey-bound three times again. Can't keep away from the place, I tell you.

Now if you believe the general consensus at the moment, the reason I can't keep away is nothing to do with me quite liking the place and going to see my friends, no it's clearly because I'm addicted to the male population of the country. I say this with my voice, and words, dripping with sarcasm. But hey, let's not get into that - it's a can of worms I really can't be arsed to open again.

This is partly the reason why I haven't been blogging lately, because I figured that once I started down that road, I'd rant and rave for weeks on end and nobody wants to read that.

So other than fretting about my suitcase weight, causing me to buy a new one - one of those ultra-light ones, just so I can fit an extra pair of shoes in, I've been mostly avoiding dates I quite fancied going on.

Yes, I am date-phobic.

I don't quite understand my problem; I can talk, I can jabber away for hours on end quite happily, so why do I clam up and find it utterly terrifying when faced with a male I don't know that well, and am forced to make small talk for an indefinable length of time?

It's because you can only talk about the weather for so long. I'm English, this is what we do, we bitch about the weather. This is all well and good, but how do you spin out precipitation and broken clouds for a couple of hours? I find it hard enough filling five minutes.

So I'll 'fess up. I've been asked out a few times lately, I don't know why this has happened, maybe it's because I gave up looking, but anyway, I've bailed on two dates, with two different dudes, and I'm considering bailing on another because the thought just brings me out in a cold sweat. I'd actually rather sit in my PJs, watching Eastenders, than go through the gut-wrenching terror of small talk. I don't like going to the hairdressers for this exact reason.

I think I need help.

My friend suggested alcohol, but from past experience this does not help matters, in fact it hinders it considerably, as me falling over and getting high pitched doesn't really help paint a positive picture.

This is why I'm eternally single, and will remain so if this little problem continues.

I'd be quite happy to fast forward the first few weeks and head straight to the more comfortable time where everyone knows where they stand and text/conversation analysis has gone out of the window. See, I'm not cut out for this, I'm far too paranoid to be questioning things at the best of times, without hearts and emotions getting in the way. I'm not the best at going with the flow either.

I might join a convent, what do you reckon?

Or failing that, emigrate to Turkey - you don't have any of this getting to know each other business out there, if you believe everything you hear.

Anyway, I'm hoping that my jaunt over the length of Europe re-ignites my love for blogging, because if I'm honest, I've been finding it rather difficult. I've had a crisis of confidence as far as my writing's concerned, to the point where I've asked several different people to read what I've done on my book so far, to give me a honest opinion on whether to carry on, or scrap it. I love writing, I just wonder whether anyone likes reading it, because as much as it's fun to do, it's always nice that someone enjoys the fruits of your labour.

Oh woe is me.

So the next time I write something, I will be sipping, sorry, gulping an Efes, scoffing a chicken kebab, looking out to sea from (hopefully) my sea-view hotel room and chilling the hell out. I wonder what drama will unfold this time, let's face it, it always does, and it's a full moon during the first few days .....

I can guarantee however that whatever goes down will remain in Marmaris.

Watch this space!

Option eliminated

I think I've found my balls.

Not literally thank god, but metaphorically.

I'm not entirely sure if blogging about this right now is entirely sensible, considering this little incident only occurred about an hour ago and I'm still absolutely FUMING, but blog about it I will, because I can, so there.

I am sick and tired of men thinking they can pick me up and put me down whenever they see fit, playing with my mind in the process, making me smile for a couple of days, before whipping the carpet out from underneath my feet and deciding that there's something better over their shoulder, plunging me back into boredom and slight unhappiness. In this case, that something better would be a statuesque Russian to get engaged to.

I am not a statuesque Russian, in case you hadn't noticed.

I will never be a statuesque Russian, and quite frankly at this moment in time, I never want to set eyes on another statuesque Russian as long as I live.

I am done.

I am not falling for it again, I'm worth more than an option, in fact dammit, I could give the statuesque Russian a serious run for her money, but quite frankly I can't be arsed, because what's the point?

I shouldn't have to compete, so I'm not going to. I've cut myself from the equation, you can't have both. Or even six or seven, because there's probably more too.

What a lucky, lucky girl, eh? Such a trustworthy dude she's found to spend the rest of her life with. I'm more interested in finding someone with whom I'm the ONLY one, and not one of many, even if that does mean being on my own for a bit longer, or possibly even forever the way things are going.

Is it ever going to happen for me?! Just once?!

The art of poking

Shame on you and your dirty mind!

Of course, I'm talking about the Facebook variety of prodding someone you may or may not know. Lately, this seems to be more the latter in my case, as half of Turkey somehow deems it socially acceptable to prod me at all hours of the day and night.

It goes without saying that these rather uncomfortable nudges don't generally come from females.

Now don't get me wrong, I don't mind the occasional friendly poke, especially from my friends; it's more of a "remember me" kind of thing, or just a "hello". However, this week things have taken on a more slightly dodgy air.

Friends of friends now think I'm fair game to prod to the point of bruises, and do I know these people? Do I hell as like. Do my friends know these people? Well they're on their lists, but hell, I've got people on my list that I've only met once.

For all I know, a mass murderer could be inflicting these nocturnal nudgings on me.

It's for this reason, I don't retaliate. In fact, I'm not being old-fashioned when I say this, but who the hell wants to be poked?! It's not very romantic, is it? You wouldn't randomly walk up to someone in the street and start poking them in the arm going 'oi, look at me!' would you?

Well maybe you would, but I wouldn't, not where I'm from anyway, you'd get slapped for your efforts. I wouldn't recommend it.

I was "reliably" informed by my friend that Facebook poking has become a bit of a male dating ritual, to get the attention of any girl they like the look of. He also went on to tell me that during a decent poking session, this can generally involve anything up to 20 victims. Talk about spreading your net wide.

I'm not sure I'd be that flattered by it to be honest.

In fact, I'm not.

I'm ashamed to say I did actually involve myself in a poking war a few months ago, purely becuase I had nothing better to do, but I got bored after five minutes - what exactly is the point? And who wins? And what's the prize?

Bugger all, basically.

I'm off to tend my metaphorical bruises, I'm black and blue.

The sun has got his hat on!

Welcome to the British summertime ladies and gentleman - where it's boiling and hotter than Egypt for a few days, thunders and then rains for about a week, before remembering that this is Britain and the weather is meant to be crap, so it goes back to being grey.

For today however, it's hot, hot, hot.

This is putting me firmly in the mood for holidays. I've even got my flip flops out and boob-tubes, I am determined to get myself a strapless base tan, so I won't scare people on the beach in three weeks' time.

Yes, three weeks!

Other than the sun shining, this week has been a topsy-turvy one, mainly because I've been ill for some of it. I don't do illness, I turn into a baby who just wants her mum. I spent most of Thursday looking like an anaemic vampire, thanks to a particularly nasty bunch of antibiotics, which clearly did not suit me. Thankfully I'm better now, although more than a bit freckly. I love the sun, but seriously, why do I have to look like someone threw freckles in the air and I looked up at the wrong moment?

This week has also presented a developing problem. I'm a bit confused to be honest, so maybe you could share some light on it.

There's this guy who I'm friends with on Facebook, who I went to school with but didn't really have much to do it, mainly because he never really spoke to anyone. Now, he seems like a nice guy, but he's in the middle of some messy long-distance relationship, one that is in the midst of a possible breakup. Whilst she's making up her mind, he seems to have found his voice and started talking to me. A lot. Apparently I'm on reserve.

Nice.

Now it's good to talk, you ask Bob Hoskins in those BT ads, but I can't help feeling like a second option. The other thing is that I don't actually like him like that anyway, I'm just chatting because I'm a chatty kind of person, and if someone talks to me, well I was brought up to think it rude not to reply.

Maybe that's why I get myself into such messes.

So I'm sort of struggling to not get progressively more insulted by this. Maybe it's harmless, but this does tend to happen to me a lot. Guys tend to navigate in my direction when they're in the middle of a break up, having major relationship problems, or just split up with someone. They chat to me, blah blah blah, and then they miraculously sort our their problems, realise they were with the right girl all along, and I'm forgotten.

Maybe they should put me on prescription for those with relationship problems - send your fella my way, he'll soon realise he was better off with what he had before.

This might sound a bit dire, but come on, once is unfortunate, twice is a bit of a bitch, but three times? You have to start asking yourself whether you're the problem.

So whilst I'm thinking it's nice to chat to people you haven't spoken to in ages, I can't help but have to bite my tongue whenever a compliment is thrown my way - I don't see why I should be anyone's reserve - you either want me or you don't, and more to the point, I also get to decide whether I want you or not.

I tell you, the nunnery is the way to go. If I wanted confusion and games, I'd go to Turkey.

Speaking of which ....

I can't wait, I'm so ready for sun, kebabs and Efes. I'm wearing suncream right at this moment, sunning myself in the garden, and the smell of it is transporting me somewhere eastern.

I've recently started wearing contact lenses again for the first time in a long time. I am meant to wear glasses, but because I'm shallow and far too bothered about appearance, I just don't wear them, so I often end up looking like I need a really good sleep. I've decided that the time has come to yet again get to grips with my eyeballs - literally. I'm alright with them actually, touch wood, although I get freaked out when I take then out, in case I can't do it and I'm stuck with one in my eye. This came about because the first time I wore them, a few years ago, one of the lenses split in my eye and I ended up having to fish it out in two bits. Not the nicest of experiences. But technology advances and all that, and now they seem easier.

The point of this ramble is that I'm going to take them on holiday so that I don't look like I didn't get in bed til 6am throughout the day, even though I possibly didn't get in bed til 6am. What I am worried about is having a slight incident like last time and ending up at a Turkish hospital, having some random poking me in the eye. My travel insurance is slightly substandard at the best of times, I don't think it would cover the psychological trauma.

Anyway, I have a life plan update.

Are you ready for this?

I'm so proud.

I've paid off my credit card.

I know this may not sound like a major event to you, but this is one huuuuge step in the right direction for me, and I have to say, I'm quite impressed with myself.

The more I think about it, the more I think the traumas of the last few months were sent my way for a reason - to give me a firm kick up the backside and sort myself out. Luckily, it's working.

You know what they say, every cloud ....

Like a phoenix from the flames

... or something less dramatic.

Dear readers, I am feeling good. Cue James Brown-style dancing.

If you managed to bring yourself to read my last post, you'll remember that I was wallowing in a very deep pool of extremely hideous self-pity, over something that should have been over with a loooong time ago. Well, I promised I'd rant and rave then get over it, and I've done just that, in fact I've gone one better and can officially say that I'm pretty much alright.

It's done with, I'll keep my memories thanks very much (because they still make me smile), and I'll bid it goodbye.

So onward and upwards.

I'm actually smiling again, how good is this?!

So other than super-gluing my stubborn heart back together in a very over-due fashion, what else have I been doing?

I've been propositioned by a trans-sexual.

I hope you weren't drinking coffee reading that, I wouldn't like to be responsible for third degree burns or broken laptops due to water-logging.

Yeah, you read it right - propositioned by a trans-sexual.

The person in question asked me if I fancied trying something with extras - literally. You'll be pleased to know I politely declined the offer. Which means I basically ignored it.

This is why I think it's probably wise that I give up on this other half business, because I clearly don't attract the right ones. I've got nothing against trans-sexuals in the slightest, if you like that kind of thing, but not for me - nor are overly-suggestive artists, erotic massueurs, stalkers or downright weirdos.

It's a losing battle, I tell you.

One thing I have decided though, is that I want Will.I.Am to be my best friend. He's hilarous. I want him and Gok Wan as my bessies - can you imagine the fun we'd have?! And I'd be seriously well dressed of course, and uber confident thanks to Gok's magic words. I've decided that this plan will complete me as a person.

A girl can dream.

Other than deciding which celebs are going to be in my posse, I've generally been panicking about the size of my suitcase, whilst at the same time deciding that the size of my belly is just as it will be, and sod anyone that has a problem with it. See - this is serious progress going on right here. I've come to the conclusion that I am what I am, and that's basically the end of it. The suitcase however, that is slightly worrying.

This has all come about because the wonderful Havas bag handling people at Dalaman wouldn't know the word 'gentle' if it bit them on the backside, and because of this my pretty pink suitcase that up to now has gone around the world with me, is looking a tad bit tired and battered - not to mention sporting a pretty hideous hole on the side. So that's gone to the big luggage park in the sky and I've had to have a new one. Now you should know that I'm not thrilled with it in the first place because it's red, not pink, so we started off on the wrong foot anyway, but it's a litle smaller than my other. This wouldn't be a problem had I not had trouble zipping the other one up, but I did, so this is posing somewhat of a challenge. Packing for this jolly is going to take some serious creative thought.

Looking on the bright side, summer is meant to be putting in an appearance tomorrow - it's sort of peeking through the curtain as I type this. About bloody time too, I've never known having to wear a coat, scarf and boots in May before. Of course, now I've jinxed it and it will probably rain for the rest of the year. Sorry folks.

God, this blog's random today - it's because I'm feeling a bit light y'see, it's all this getting over the boy thing, it's a really nice feeling - y'know feeling normal and not mental. If I could ever be classed as normal that is .....

The D Word

Dating. A word that strikes fear into the heart of single girls everywhere.
Before you smug coupled-up types start sniggering, just remember what life was like before you decided to stick with the one sat at the side of you for life, thus giving up the trauma of having to meet random weirdos in a mix and match type situation, trying to figure out whether the dude sat opposite you is the right one or not. More often than not, said dude is certainly not the right one, hence why dating is a hideous exercise.

Now I'm not anti-social, I'm a pretty chatty and friendly kind of girl, I'm just not the world's biggest fan of sitting in a pub or restaurant with someone I barely know, attempting to make small talk as though we're long-lost friends, whilst silently figuring out when is a socially acceptable time to leave. I'm crap at small talk you see, I'm even rubbish at the hairdressers.

It makes me shudder thinking about it.

The whole dating scene in America would just make me want to emigrate. They're really big on dating aren't they? Well, if Hollywood is to be believed they are. In chick-flicks, the girl in question is jauntily going out with about four different guys on dates, all very non-commital, before whittling it down to the one she fancies most of all - which is generally the bad boy who leaves her bawling her eyes out into a tub of Ben & Jerry's, whilst the one that got away runs into the sunset with a giggly blonde. Of course, this being Hollywood, the one that got away always sees sense and they're reunited in some teary-eyed event, usually accompanied by crowds and running into each other's arms with appropriate music in the background, usually Coldplay or something equally Dawson's Creek-esque.

Sigh.

Why can't Hollywood be real?

But anyway, back on topic.

The whole dating scene terrifies me. What happened to just meeting through friends, being mates first and then hey presto! Suddenly you're three months in and the awkwardness never really happened. Nope, now we're forced to arrange meetings and do the whole 'let's talk about you' routine, silently dreading the offer of a lift home and the cringe-worthy 'will he/won't he' first kiss scenario.

Am I coming across negative? Well that's probably because I've never had a good first date. It's a catalogue of disasters that have left me wondering whether it really is me that's the problem.

Maybe it is, maybe I'm just far too picky, but I'm a Cosmo girl and I've been brought up to believe that I deserve nothing less than the best for me. I had a blip last year, I will admit, I thought I could settle into a life of half measures simply because I was blinded by something akin to love, albeit what I now realise was one-sided. I know now I could never have lived that life, because I could never enter into a relationship where it's considered okay to treat me like dirt because I'm English, and therefore in his warped mind, considered untrustworthy and lacking in morals. Charming isn't it? The quite ironic thing about the whole affair is that the only person in the pairing that was untrustworthy and lacking in morals was him, and certainly not me.

Ain't hindsight a wonderful thing?

The thing that worries me about this whole anti-dating stance of mine, is how the hell am I ever going to find anyone if I refuse to date? It seems that I am certainly not going to just casually bump into someone over the satsumas in Tesco, that stuff just doesn't happen in real life, so what I've realised is that I need some sort of Baby and Jonny Castle-type situation a la Dirty Dancing - preferably without the dodgy perm.

Now where to find my Mr Castle? Hollywood?

I'm out of ideas. Answers on a postcard people .....

Flying Solo

This is a bit of a blast from the past, a guest blog post I wrote last year. It's reminded me of my old writing style (which is arguably better than now!) and definitely gave me food for thought - enjoy!

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I am eternally single.

Now before you start with the ‘awww’ faces and the ‘bless her’ pats on the head, really it’s fine, it won’t last forever – I hope. However, in the meantime, it would be nice not to be treated like some sort of social leper because of my lack of a ‘plus one’ situation. Yes, it’s official, wedding/party invites are the single girl’s arch enemy.

Single ladies out there, I’m sure you’re familiar with this, it seems to be something me and my flying solo friends all agree on – that and the myth we all look like something out of Hogwarts, because that must be why we’re single,  of course - god forbid it could be out of choice.

Take one of my closest friends for example. We’ll call her Kelly, just for the hell of it. In the 11 years I’ve known Kelly, she has never been single. I know, jammy cow. I love her to bits, but she is unfortunately a smug, coupled-up type. I met her when she was in a long-term relationship, and when that split up, she immediately met someone else. She married him and now has two adorable children. From the age of 16 she has been part of a couple. It’s for this reason I think she finds my single situation a bit strange, and possibly abnormal. Actually, I’m convinced she thinks I’m weird, but then she might not be far wrong on that score.

But anyway, when we catch up, I always know the first question she’s going to ask me, without fail. The day she doesn’t ask me this question will be the day I know something is very, very wrong.

“Have you met anyone?”

Arrrgh! I hate this question with a passion. And no matter how unbothered I am about having to say ‘no’, I always automatically feel like a failure for a few minutes, before I mentally slap myself back to normality. Again, it’s that infamous ‘aww bless’ look which always follows my answer to this question that really gets my goat.

The simple truth is that my life does not revolve around frantically trying to find a man to make me feel complete. This is what Dairy Milk was invented for.

I recently read an article that said half of all women in their 20s and early 30s are single. Does that mean that all these women, a huge amount, are unsightly, socially inept and unable to hold down a relationship? No it bloody well doesn’t! It means that we don’t feel a totally desperate need to be half of a couple, we are perfectly able to have a good time without hanging from a man’s arm, although I will admit, a bit of male company doesn’t hurt occasionally.

But the point is, no man is better than just any man. And this, ladies and gentleman, is why I am eternally single. Because I am picky and refuse to settle for anything less than my ideal man. Yes I know, nobody’s perfect, and I don’t want him to be, he’d make me feel highly inadequate if he was, but there’s certain things I’m just not willing to budge on. Excessive facial hair being one of them, yuck.

Take recently, a work colleague of mine told me that I shouldn’t go for a man who was good looking because I’d never keep him, he’d always have wandering eyes, looking for his equal match in the looks department. Lovely. Thanks for that. What she meant then, was that I should find the most minging man I could pull and stick with him, because at least that way I’d be sure he wouldn’t stray and I could rest peacefully at night.

Now I’m not shallow, ... okay I am a bit, but in my eyes, you have to at least fancy it and half the time, the guys I meet, well I just don’t. The guys I do fancy, they often tend to be a) married, b) taken, c) gay, d) weird, or most often e) massive, massive players who do nothing but stamp all over my heart.

He will come to me one day, and it will happen when I’m least expecting it, so I’m told. There’s a saying ‘one day your prince will come’, well, one day my prince will come, I have faith in this, but he’s probably got lost and is too stubborn to ask for directions, or can’t speak English.

So during this rather extended period of time when I’m single, I’ve made sure I do what I want to do, without having to check with someone else first. I have freedom, I’ve gone on fantastic girly holidays, I’ve learnt how to do cool, new stuff I’ve always wanted to do, like Indian head massage, I’ve read as many books as I’ve wanted, disappearing off into my own world and not having to hold a conversation, I’ve discovered that I love to write and spent hours doing it, I’ve had girly shopping days that have gone on for hours and then extended into nights out, I’ve danced til dawn, and I’ve had time to figure out what I want from life. I’m not saying I actually managed to figure it out, but I’ve had time to if I ever got around to it.

I’ve pretty much been selfish and lived my life how I want to live it. So when the time comes that I find this illusive, possibly illiterate, prince that can’t read a map, I won’t resent the fact that I have too many things left in my life that I still want to do, without him getting in the way. Basically, through doing all this stuff, I basically know who I am and not what someone else wants me to be.

All this ‘I am woman, hear me roar!’ speak doesn’t mean that I don’t occasionally get lonely, and that I don’t sometimes wish I had someone to cuddle up on the sofa with, but then I just cuddle my Jack Russell instead, and he is a constant that will never fall out with me because his football team lost. 

So I say embrace the single life, because it won’t last forever, and from what I’ve heard, being coupled up ain’t really all that either – just think, snoring!

Expand or shrink .....

Shrinking progress
Lost 1lb
Gained 1lb
So all in all ..... uneventful.

What happened to the determination of my last post, I hear you ask. Well it lasted until Friday afternoon then decided to go on holiday until Monday morning - my determination is very much like me you see, addicted to holidays. I was doing well, it was the hideously calorific pizza that did it. I'm allowed 1200 a day - this pizza had 1000 in it alone.

I know, shameful.

But it had to be done.

So now for the wake-up call, and time to step away from the Jelly Babies. There's a reason Jelly Babies are chubby, it's because they're eating their own arm half the time - they're the devil in disguise! They get a bit peckish and decide to nibble their own finger - bam! Another pound gained. Damn you Tesco, with your buy one get one frees!

Anyway, I've discovered something amazing, well actually I didn't, my friend did and shared the knowledge. I am now counting calories instead of points and I'm actually not hungry, which is y'know, useful.

So we'll see how long this one lasts for.

On the plus side, this health kick made me shake my arse a little harder at Zumba, and my oh my did they make us wiggle. I think it might be bordering on obsene, and I'm very sorry to whoever stands behind me but the Lord blessed me with a sizeable behind, and so shake it I must. Good fun though.

I have stalker progress! Yes, he has got the message, he has stopped sending me hopeful emails and I think (think) he's moved on to someone who gives a damn. See, the cowardly approach works sometimes! I did however have someone send me an email saying that I should only reply if I fit into a long list of strict criteria, which he continued to set out quite clearly. I was in a mood, so he got the full brunt of my hormones - don't think he'll be bothering me again either.

See, this is my problem, I'm a cow half the time, I think I scare people off. However I have been sending a few chatty texts to a guy who seems alright, I say 'seems' because I don't really know him, and only just found out his name - which alone sounded alarm bells. Now I swear this isn't intentional, but it turns out he's Turkish, well actually no, he's Kurdish but from Turkey. Sound familiar? I don't know quite how I managed that one. Plus point is he lives in England, so y'know, small mercies and all that. I have to say I'm not feeling it though, I think the ex has put me off for life, I'm not really willing to go through that gut-wrenching agony all over again, at least not quite yet anyway.

And anyway, I've only been talking to him for a day and I'm bored now.

The odd thing is, I complain about being single, but when the chance comes for me not to be, I freak out and decide I'd rather be single after all.

Yes, I know what you're thinking, I'm scared. You'd be right.

Now show me that rocking chair and golf course, maybe a few cats to keep me company.

Werther's Original anyone?

Around the world in 600 words

Oooooh big news, big news!! I, yes, little old me, am now a freelance travel writer. And get this, I've actually earnt money for it. Yes, it may be peanuts but I don't care, someone has actually paid me to write at long last. So I can't be that crap then, surely?! I'm ridiculously excited, I don't think you understand what this means to me, wooohooo!

Anyway, when I finally stopped grinning, I got down to business and did some writing, and seriously enjoyed it. So who knows, fingers crossed some more assigments come my way.

I don't want to speak too soon, and touch wood and all that, but I think things might be looking up. I'm feeling quite positive, and I like it. I think this has a lot to do with the sun finally deciding to shine. This also goes some way to proving that I certainly need to go and live somewhere hot and sunny. It's obviously a medical need, I mean when the weather starts affecting your health and mood, you have to take notice.

One thing that certainly is not looking up however, is love life disaster central. Oh my days, when will it ever end? Disaster after disaster, in fact, I'm not trying anymore, sod it, Mr Right can find me, I'm done trying, all I ever find are nutters. The current walking disaster has took it up on himself to "save me". This is all very well and good, but I wasn't really aware I needed saving. I'm running out of excuses, soon I'm just going to have to be painfully honest and say 'look mate, I'd rather saw my own arm off with a rusty butter knife', or words to that effect. I've even tried the old 'it's not you, it's me, I'm just not over my ex', because really I wouldn't be completely lying, but that just led to the infamous 'I'll save you' line. Best way to deal with this? Ignore. Yep, I am a coward.

I went out with my mate the other night for tea. It was meant to be a nice little sociable gathering, and to a degree it was - enter stage left half a lager and lime. Regular readers will know that I am not a hardened drinker. I try, lord knows I try, but I am, and always will be, a lightweight. This has it's advantages - cheap nights out. But anyway, hello gobby Nicky. In my defence, I had reason to get a little defensive. My friend made some quip about me still living at home, in a not particularly favourable way. Now don't get me wrong, yes, I would rather have my own house somewhere, with no bills to pay and a nice easy life but unfortunately life isn't like a Hollywood film. Nor do I need a man and a mortagage to make me a whole person, I do a good enough job of that as it is, thank you very much.

So anyway, when I may have normally bit my lip and silently seethed for a little bit, well instead I snapped her head off then silently seethed for a bit. Am I wrong in getting a bit annoyed though? I suppose you should know that said friend is engaged, living with her fella and planning a family. She is 5 years younger than me. Am I bothered? No. I won't go into the whys and wherefores but let's just say her life isn't my idea of fun, and I'm sure my life isn't hers either. I'm also sure she won't mind me pointing this out, because I would say exactly the same thing to her face. However, what she fails to understand that I'm currently in a little planning stage for the next chapter of my life, and really it isn't her place to judge - carry on debating the colour of your new curtains love.

Phew, rant over.

Anyway, onto less controversial subjects. Have you been watching the new series of Take Me Out? Remember I was offered an audition but didn't go? Well thank god for that is all I can say. Have you seen some of the munters coming down that lift? I don't think it would have helped my disasterous love life in the slightest.

See, I must have known.

Running before I can walk

I think I might have massively overestimated my stage in the heartbreak recovery process. Over the last couple of days, I have definitely tried to run before I can walk. This is not good news, I think I need to go back to Istanbul to find myself again. Now wouldn't that be a damn shame?!

I think the 'oh I'm fine, I'm cured' stance adopted during and immediately after my fab little trip east, might have been fuelled by that wonderful emotion we call anger. The only problem is that anger does not last forever, and like most things it fades into something less dramatic. In my case that's going from happy, positive Nicky, back to mooching, feeling bleugh Nicky. It was nice for those few days though, I guess that's something. Just need to find a way to make the high last a little longer next time.

So trying to be proactive, refusing to mooch if I could help it, I decided to try something drastic. Now, don't laugh, this is not something I would normally admit to doing, but my god it has made me chuckle, so really it would be rude not to share.

Okay here goes - I attempted onling dating.

Never again.

In the space of half an hour, I was propositioned, insulted, freaked out and reduced to tears due to laughing far too much. One guy wanted to show me his art work, I'm not sure if he really meant his art work or something else.

Now I'm sure for some people this method of meeting people works, in fact I know a couple who met over the internet and are now happily married. I can only assume they were both a hell of a lot more patient than me, and happy to weed their way through countless weirdos before finding someone with a basic level of sanity. I have no patience, so it looks like back to the drawing board for me.

The worrying thing about this is that during my time of searching for potentially half decent guys, I found myself comparing them all to the boy. This is not good news either. I read an age, my immediate thought was 'oh he was 27 last week too', I saw a photo of someone vaguely ethnic looking, my interest immediately piqued, only to crash back down when I realised he looked nothing like him, so therefore was not attractive in my eyes.

Arrgh! I'm trying, honest to god I am. I know that I've done all I can and need to walk away, so I'm trying to be proactive, trying to move on, albeit half-heartedly, or even quarter-heartedly, if there is such a thing. Why is it not working?!

Yes, I know, I must be patient. Like I said before, I have no patience.

This may also be because the basic reality of it all is, I don't really want to let it go. But let it go I must. So I'm told.

I really am starting to believe that maybe I'm destined to be alone. I even sat and thought about this in some depth the other day, tried to convince myself that it really wouldn't be so bad, tried to see the positives in it. There's a few I came up with - no male moods, no dealings with man flu, no having to pick up wet towels off the bathroom floor, nobody leaving the toilet set up, no odd, dirty socks on the bedroom floor. That's it. A pathetic bunch of positives to come up with really.

Of course, I don't need a man to make me happy, I'm thinking maybe that seeing as everybody I even look at these days seems to come up short and be compared to someone who really doesn't treat me properly anyway, and has questionable eyebrows, then maybe I really am better off on my tod for a while. If you read Cosmo, which I do quite frequently, then all the twaddle they spout about being happy with yourself, and needing time to heal after a relationship break up, really could be quite true. I think I might try and find out.

So needless to say, I won't be seeing anybody's art work, and I certainly won't be going to other dude's house to bake bread (yes, this was a serious request), in fact this whole experience of delving into the world of internet weirdos has put me off for life. I apologise if I'm insulting anyone that uses these sites, I'll quite happily admit that not everyone is like this, it's just that I seem to attract weirdos.

They say opposites attract, you see.