Smile like you mean it ...

Warning - depression-laden post ahead. Read at your own risk.

 

Marmaris has done a number on me again.

I'm not sure how it manages it; I mean, this is a sunshine drenched holiday place, it's meant to make people happy. I leave the airport a generally undepressed person, with a decent job, friends (albeit ones that never want to go out) and a fair few hobbies to keep me occupied, and I return a borderline depressed, post-alcoholic, no hope for the future, would-rather-be-somewhere-else shell of a person.

This surely is not healthy.

This is why I have decided to put the grand plan into action, for the sake of my health, sanity, and the sanity of those around me too.

Why do I go if it makes me feel this way? I hear you ask. Well basically, when I'm at home, I'm on countdown to go back, so I don't do anything, and I settle - and when I get out there, I live. Go figure.

I've realised that settling is not for me.

I've been going to Marmaris, and Turkey in general, for the past 5/6 years and during that time I've made lots of friends, lost a few, had more arguments than I can remember, laughed more than I ever thought possible, had a relationship that nearly broke me in half but came out stronger, lived and generally smiled quite a lot. Every single time I leave I cry, every single time I leave I swear blind next time won't be as bad, but every single time it's always worse and I come back more and more down. This time is the worst of the lot, and I thought last October would take some beating.

Oh you lucky, lucky readers!

There is no man involved, not really, before anyone asks, because last year's antics taught me that Turkish men are a species like no other, and if you want to keep your brain and heart intact, you're best having your fun and leaving it behind, as much as possible anyway. I'll admit I find this difficult, but it's a work in progress. No, my heart breaks every time I leave Marmaris because, as dramatic as this sounds, I feel like I leave part of me behind.

I'm slowly building up a support network and a life over there, and the damn frustrating thing is that I can't live it yet, because I was stupid when I was young, and I signed a piece of paper that meant I owe the bank a decent amount of money. The other frustrating thing is that I seem to have fallen in love with a country that doesn't pay wages as high as here. If it did, believe me, I'd have been gone years ago. So unfortunately I'm left with no option but to stick it out, well unless I do a moonlight flit but I seriously wouldn't be able to handle the guilt. Therefore plan A is in full swing, well it's trying to be in full swing, it's more of a shuffle at the moment, but I'm hoping it gathers momentum.

I'm looking for an evening and weekend job.

I've decided that I can cut my waiting time down to a year, rather than two, if I can just earn enough money to make two repayments every month, rather than one. Why didn't I think of this sooner?

Of course, I'd love nothing more than to be saving up to get myself out for the summer next year, but life is a bitch and that is one hugely unrealistic option. So, save like a bitch I will, and I'll just get myself out on as many holidays next year as possible, and suck up the coming home depression. It'll all be worth it though, right?

Now, the downside of this great idea is that Britain seems to have turned into a place where jobs are like gold-dust and nobody wants you to make money. And people wonder why I want to leave. I'll do anything, seriously, I'll clean nighclubs if I have to, anything to get this dream off the ground because there's no way I can carry on like this. Aside from the fact, I'm not getting any younger ...

I can see you all rolling your eyes and thinking I'm 'doing a Nicky' - let's pat her on the head - but wait there, this is the first time I've been deadly serious.

I love my home, truly I do, my family and friends are there and I love them to pieces, but my future doesn't feel like it lies in my home town, or even this country, and I know the one place that pulls me back time and time again, and the one place I feel alive, the one place I've lived more than anywhere else, despite being in England for the past 30 years .... when you get a pull that strong, sometimes you just have to listen to it.

Maybe I'll fail, maybe those doubters (of which are are many) will be right, but at least I'll have tried, and at least I won't have a 'what if' hanging over me.

So first things first, I need a job. Or a lottery win. Whichever comes first. And then I need to work my arse off like never before. If I had a social life I might be bothered, but I don't, so really it shouldn't make much difference. It seems these days that any night out with friends needs to be planned around three or four weeks in advance, after checking multiple diaries, boyfriend/husband's commitments, kids' parties etc etc. Being the only single one amongst your group of friends is no fun, let me tell you - they think you have a party party social life, well if I managed to get out of the house once in a while, yeah I might have. Alas, I do not, as a girl sitting alone in a bar is never a good look, it screams 'loner'.

So please, if anyone out of the three people that actually read this blog have any ideas, they're very greatly appreciated - but please make them serious ones, I don't think I'd make much money selling my body, I'd probably end up owing them money.

Are you suitably depressed?! Welcome to my world ....

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.

Down with the violins ... hello tissues

Cue the violins.

I am miserable. I am borderline depressed. I am full of cold. I need to go back home.

There, that's got it all out in the open.

Now let's get onto something more hopeful ... oh, wait, there is nothing.

I made the mortal mistake of looking through old photographs last weekend; anyone who is friends with me on Facebook will see that it triggered a week long sulk and depressed everyone within a five mile radius. I then decided that I hadn't tormented myself enough, so I dug out my old holiday blog from last October, and that really sunk me into the depths of despair.

Why, oh why, do I do this to myself?!

And I've been listening to Adele.

I might even have made a couple of ill-advised phone calls in an easternly direction ... which got me absolutely nowhere as per usual.

Someone slap me now.

I'm feeling the need for copious amounts of vodka, but I fear that'll just send me into a Bridget Jones-style 'All By Myself' singalong, but without the dodgy PJs. I don't even like vodka that much.

So whilst trying, and failing, to distract myself from my unfixed heart, I've decided I want to explore the country that I've decided my future lies in.

I love Marmaris, I really enjoyed Istanbul, but I want to see more. I want to see the real Turkey, I want to experience the real culture when the tourism element's taken out. I want to see a willage, sorry, village, and experience that. Forgive me and my western girl sensibilities, and yes I'm very grateful for all I've got, but I think there's something beautiful and stripped-back about the way of life in a south-eastern village, and I want to really see it for myself.

Problem with all this is, how the bloody hell am I going to manage it?!

I don't know anyone in a south-eastern willage, well I do, but he doesn't want me, so it's going to be a difficult one to sort out. I've found some places that do home-stay tours, but I don't really want to do a guided tour thing, I want to wing it. Might take some thought. The other places though, they're much easier to visit, so maybe I'll start with those and hope I make it back in one piece before I get too ahead of myself.

Anyway, anyone with any ideas, feel free to throw them my way ...

I'm still on countdown, as I always seem to be, and I'm starting to feel progressively more guilty for feeling this way. I have a good job, I have friends, I have a wonderful family, yet for some reason my heart screams for me to be somewhere else completely. It's got to be wrong, surely.

So yeah, as well as feeling heartbroken, lost, lonely and like I'm not where I should be, I now feel guilty.

Happy, happy days.

And here's me thinking my 30s were going to be fun ...

Consulting the oracle

I am feeling the need for a spooky intervention.

I get this sudden urge every so often, mainly because I'm impatient and can't just go with the flow. Patience is a quality I was born mostly without; I missed that queue, possibly taking too long in the queue for other more desirable qualities at the time, y'know the ability to eat one's body weight in chocolate and the like.

But this week, more than most, I've felt the need to consult the spooky oracle.The problem is, my spooky oracle is no longer in the spooky business, and a quick search on Google didn't really fill me with much confidence. There are some seriously questionable "psychics" parading as the real thing, it's quite insulting to the real ones.

As you'll probably guess, I've had a few readings over the last few years, some fantastic, some not so. One in particular was memorable for all the wrong reasons, when the lady in question told me I was going to see a spaceship and that I'd know it was it was, even if no-one else believed me.

Hmmm. Quite.

I did actually see something strange in the sky once ... but it was after copious amounts of vodka and we weren't that far from an airport at the time ...

I'm not sure why I feel this sudden compulsion to know what's going to happen, or what could happen if I take a certain path, or someone else decides to do something, or not, or ... oh God, my head hurts with the possibilities. I guess at the end of the day, what will be, will be, so maybe I should learn just to go with the flow. I like the excitement of a reading though, it fills me with possibilities and makes me feel positive. One area no psychic has ever managed to get right is my love life.

I've had spot on readings on career, home life, loads of other stuff, but my love life is only ever half-right - usually before the dude in question takes that other path we were talking about. Usually to someone other than me, much skinnier and usually with swishy blonde hair. Think Pantene advert and you're not far wrong. They're often Russian, or anything but northern-English too.

I'm starting to get a complex.

Anyway, you'll be pleased to know I've booked a flight back in an easterly direction, so I'm resuming doing what I tend to spend an overwhelming part of my life doing - counting down the days. It's worrying really, surely I should be living in the moment and enjoying life here as well as there, but noooo, time here is spent saving, planning and counting down, until it's all over, I get depressed, and then have to book again to semi-drag myself out of my stupor. Repeat process. When will it ever end?!

In the meantime I'm busying my mind with my writing, from which I have travel articles coming out of my ears and I'm actually running out of destinations to write about, and I've just enrolled on an online TEFL course. In case you're ignorant to such things, as I was until a few years ago, TEFL is Teaching English as a Foreign Language and it's basically the qualification you need, amongst other things, to teach English abroad. It's a start if nothing else, we'll see where that leads.

Back to the writing, and I started re-reading what I'd written on my book the other day. All 167 pages of it. I'm half way through. It's not bad y'know, it's not Harry Potter (thankfully), but it's not half bad. Hopefully by the time it's finished and tweaked to within an inch of it's life, it'll be even better than not bad. I've got a few other little plans on the horizon where my writing's concerned too ... it's all exciting stuff.

Maybe I don't need to be consulting Mystic Meg after all, maybe I should just go with that flow that seems to infuriatingly avoid me most of the time. Or maybe I should just do what normal people do ....

Read my daily horoscope and be done with it, or head to Yoga and realign my chakras.

All together now - ooohhhhmmmmmmm

Therapy

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm going to rant and rave and wallow in self-pity, but I can assure you that once it's out of my system, it'll be gone. I promise.

I think some people might see this as good news, in fact I know a lot will, but right now, to me, I feel like someone has punched me rather hard in the stomach - and I'm not talking a little weedy punch either, I'm talking a big, fat Amir Khan punch.

Ouch, to put it mildy.

As soon as I mention his name, well sort of name, you'll all moan and groan and probably not read anymore, but I can assure you, this is purely for my own therapy, because if I don't write about it, I'll probably cry and rant about it, and there's no way I'm messing up my eye make-up again.

The boy.

I'll pause for the groan.

It's been hanging but over for months, but I'm a girl and a cancerian one at that. And us cancerian girls fight when we feel, and oh my, did I feel. So despite it all going a bit wrong and him being, what I can now confidently call a twat, I still had the knowledge in the back of my mind that I'd see him in summer - and y'know, maybe like the films - he'll change, he'll see what he's lost and he'll want another chance. Yeah, I know, hilarious, more chance of Kilamanjaro melting. I can now quite categorically say that I've had my pink, sparkly bubble very much burst.

Hello reality.

The basic truth of the matter is that all the signs were there, I just chose not to see them, and I made some pretty crazy choices in the process. The only saving grace in the whole thing is that there literally is nothing more I could do, so it's not like I could look back on it and think 'if only I'd done ....' or 'what if', because the only 'what if' in the whole sorry state of affairs, is 'what if he wasn't such a monumental dick?'

Alas, he is a monumental dick, and sadly not in a positive sense either.

A coward too.

With dodgy eyebrows.

Who owes me 16TL.

But anyway, that's one year of my life I can't get back. Not the good bits, I'll keep those, because despite the whole pathetic story, I have nice memories and I had a hell of a time, but the bad outweighed the good, I just chose to sugar-coat that and pretend it didn't happen.

I've now woken up to the fact that it did happen, which is just as well really because it is now official that I will never see him again. And that's not a threat either, it's a geographical fact. There's something very wrong when a dude decides to up sticks and move cities to get away from you. I'm not sure whether I should take that as a diss or not, but I don't think I will, I'll just put it down to him being ... yeah, you guessed it, a monumental dick.

So, what now? Sigh, mope for a few minutes, block, block, delete. Goodbye forever. You have made your choice - you also made the wrong one.

Oh, and try and phase out the negative voice in my head going 'it's because you were ... (insert here), a) too miserable, b) not pretty enough, c) not slim enough, d) not rich enough (ha bloody ha), e) too clingy, e) just not memorable enough.

Yeah that's just me being a monumental dick now, I'll get over it, nothing a huge bar of Dairy Milk won't solve. I guess that's another positive to it, see I'm finding them now, the whole slim right down, glam right up and sashay my arse past him to make him see what he's missing plan can end. It's sad really, I was looking forward to that bit, I've now been robbed of the look on his face. Mind you, the diet wasn't really going that well to be fair.

So now that's all over, I do feel a tad bit bereft and feel the need to fill my head with something else, because I'll be honest, I've not thought of much else, despite protestations to the contrary. Right at this moment, I do feel a little free though, which is a novelty, maybe this holiday will be one to remember for all the right reasons, and one I won't come home from with borderline depression.

One can hope.

So I'm sorry for the hours of ranting and raving, I'm sorry for being so hideously blind to what everyone else could plainly see - but I'm a romantic and I wear my heart on my sleeve. The major positive? I know my worth, he's taught me that.

So y'know, thanks.

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?

A case of stolen identity

Is that the sun??!

Oh my days, what a week!

I'm not quite sure where to start, well I am actually - cue rant.

This week, I discovered I have an evil twin. I didn't know about her, in fact had a friend not told me, I'd still be none the wiser, and she'd be off causing all manner of chaos, parading as little old me.

I shall explain.

There I am, chatting to a friend on Facebook, and I'm asked why I have two profiles. Er, I don't, why would I? So in all innocence I say exactly that. Yet no, he tells me he is friends with me twice. Thinking this is all very odd, I go off to investigate. Well I ain't no Poirot but it wasn't difficult, and yes, he was right, he was indeed friends with "me" twice. Some weirdo had decided to create a fake profile and pretend to be me. I should be pleased really - immitation is the greatest form of flattery, after all.

I don't know if this has ever happened to any of you, but seeing yourself staring back with an almost right date of birth (although they'd made me a year younger, so thanks for that), and a single relationship status that all manner of random Turks had 'liked', is a bit creepy. I couldn't see the rest, which is probably a blessing.

Now, as I said before, Poirot I ain't (for those of you that don't know, he's some weird looking, mustached, TV private investigator, circa 1990) but I didn't really burst many brain cells figuring out who could be the culprit.

I highly doubt they're reading, but if they are (and I say "they" in the plural sense) - grow the hell up.

Why the silly games? Lord only bloody well knows, when I start to understand the workings of this, then I'll know I've stooped hideiously low, so good thing I don't understand. For a short while there I thought I'd been transported back in time to primary school.

So anyway, normal service has been resumed, Facebook have been informed, fake profile removed, and thanks to my friend, it's sorted.

So imposters discussed and over with, let's move onto the positive.

I got another writing assignment! Happy days.

All this writing about summery, beachy places is giving me majorly itchy feet though. I can't wait for summer. Actually, when I woke up Monday morning and saw this strange circular, bright light in the sky, I wondered what it was. Turns out it was the sun, and it's been shining quite a lot this week. It's stopped now, of course, we only get a few days at a time, and that's probably English summer over with now. I got my legs out though, I blinded the masses. Actually, that's probably why the sun's gone in .....

It's true what they say though, the sun shining really does make you feel better, I've felt like i've had a spring in my step this week, and I don't actually know why. Nice feeling though.

You're waiting for the weekly disasterous love life update aren't you?

Well obviously imposter me has a better time of it in that department, people "like" her status. Mind you, she's probably been off slapping about with all manner of randoms, and I, on the other hand, have not. Thankfully.

So the stalker - still stalking. I shouldn't call him that really, he's not a stalker in the figurative sense, he doesn't turn up at my house and hide in the bushes or anything. But yeah, still not giving up. Still trying to convince me to give it a go. I'm still telling him the same as I have done all the other fifty thousand times - No. I'm beginning to wonder if he comes from some planet where 'no' actually means 'yes'. I'm not going to try saying the opposite though, things might get a bit confusing.

I did have a little progress though, not in the sense of anything actually happening, but in that for the first time since I met the boy (remember him? Turkish dude, questionable motives), well I actually saw someone and thought 'yeah I actually could really like him', amongst other things. So that's got to be positive. Of course said dude is coupled up, so no chance there. I really do have bad taste in men.

So anyway, the real me is signing off now, not the fake me. The real me has articles to write.

Ciao for now!

Juggling with a pineapple, and other weird events

As I sit here drinking my yummy double choca mocha, I know for the first time all week, I am actually safe. Well, kind of, I suppose said drink could decide to throw itself all over my netbook, but other than that, yes, quite safe.

Why? I hear you ask. Have I been chased across the shire by gangsters? Am I being stalked (well sort of, but we'll get to that later)? No. I have turned into officially the clumsiest person in the world this week.

Now, I'm not normally like this, but this week for some unknown reason, I am disaster central. The first incident was very narrowly averted, and thank god, because it could have been bloody expensive. Let's just say that pineapple in a box with juice + new iPhone = do not mix. On the plus side, it smells nice. On the even bigger plus side, it's still working. Can you imagine the bill to have that fixed?! Makes me shudder even thinking about it.

I've had stumbles, twisted ankles, twisted knee, spillages, dropping stuff, walking into doors (yes really, with no vodka involved), and not being able to get my words out. So I've decided I'm hormonal. And that shall be my excuse for every single mistake I make ever, every falling out I have and anything else I deem it necessary to blame it on. Perfect excuse. You can't help your hormones.

So aside from being a walking disaster, albeit smelling rather fruity, I've been mostly falling out with a woman I've never met on eBay. This is actually nothing to do with hormones, and everything to do with ..... well, I don't know what, but it's not good. Now, I'm about to start ranting, so bear with me, but why, oh why is it okay for someone to claim they've never received the item you sent and get their money back because of it, but I can't defend myself?! I didn't have a leg to stand on (that's a saying by the way, not another of my clumsy episodes), and now this person who I've never met, and quite frankly don't want to meet, has a really nice top free of charge. I am without a really nice top and a fiver worse off. How does that work?! Then! Then someone decided not to pay me, yet that's alright, they can get off scott free, literally, just because they didn't bother answering the dispute. Erm, how come eBay can take a fiver out of my account and force the issue, but they can let this non-paying person get away with it?! It's a world-wide injustice I tell you. I hereby declare that I shall not be selling anything on eBay ever again.

Of course, I've said this many times before and always done it again .....

But anyway. Rant over.

The love life is still dire. It's like a weekly update that never changes this, but semi-stalker is still at it. I'm ignoring him now, I've decided it's the way forward. I tried to be nice, I tried to explain why I didn't want to go and look at his artwork, literally, but he was having none of it. I tried telling him I was mentally scarred by the ex, didn't work. I even tried telling him I was going to a convent because of previous bad experiences - nothing. So I've lapsed into silence and shall stay that way until he gets the message. This could take some time by the looks of it.

Where do I find these people?!

On the plus side, I've been holiday clothes shopping this week. Yes, again, don't roll your eyes. I'm on a mission to have a totally different look to last year's jollies - this is a new start. Yes, last year's escapades were amazing, wonderful in many ways, but this is a new year, and deserves several new maxi dresses and a few playsuits. Unfortunately it seems the Great British Highstreet, doesn't want me to have several maxi dresses and a few playsuits, because they either sell out or want to squeeze me into a size 6 - yeah, hilarious, never gonna happen. So it seems online shopping and (whisper the world quietly) eBay is the way forward. My bank balance is groaning, it seems trying to pay it off whilst adding to it doesn't work, hmmm, funny that. On the brighter side, at least I'll look nice.

So anyway, as it seems I've managed the last hour sat here without any major disaster happening, I think I'll test the theory and venture outside .... wish me luck.

When did it all get so complicated?!

Hello stranger. It's been a while. How've you been?

I've had writer's block, that's my excuse. It's hideous. Especially when you're trying to write a book. I've had to force myself to try, and sitting in front of a laptop with a flashing cursur and nothing flowing is just ... eurgh. I'm surprised I've got any hair left, and don't get me started on the state of my lip with all the chewing. Thank god for Carmex is all I can say. Because of this I've been eating my body weight in chocolate and it seems my body in turn has decided it wasn't heavy enough to start with, so it figured it ought to make a bit more room. Joy. Yeah, the diet starts tomorrow.

I've also had my first rejection since I decided to start this writing thing seriously. It got to me for a bit actually, I don't like criticism - who does? I take it too personally, I'm a sensitive little flower - apparently it's something to do with the cancerian in me. But then I read something about writing and rejection going hand in hand, and I figured that hey, that must make me a writer, and isn't that what I wanted all along? So I am a rejected writer, officially. Raise your glasses. 

So what's been going on whilst my brain has lost it's ability to make me write? Erm, not a lot really.

Actually, that's a lie, I've had progress. Good, positive progress, and it's about bloody time too.

I think all those years reading Cosmo may finally have paid off, because yes, finally I am a strong, independent woman! Or something like that anyway.

I think it's something to do with age, which isn't a good realisation to have when you're five months off being 30. But anyway, remember the boy? My gorgeous, exotic but totally clueless when it comes to women, boy? Remember how he managed to almost snap me in two emotionally? Well, y'know what, it's true what they say about time being a healer. I think I'm okay. Sort of. Well, I'm getting there anyway. It still hurts, I still care, but it's fine. The true test will come in summer when I will have to be restrained by my friends and anyone else I come into contact with, and also avoid wine because if you know me at all, you'll know that wine makes me do bad, bad things. The last time I drank wine, I ended up belly dancing in front of a room full of strangers, wearing someone else's bra. Not one of my finest moments.

Being hurt and a tad bit heartbroken has made me realise what I do and don't deserve, and the way I should be treated. I guess I should thank him really, sort of anyway, because he's taught me my value. It's also taught me that next time, and let's face it, I'll get hurt again at some stage in my future, I will do it a little more quietly and not moan and groan, cry and snot on anyone that cares to listen. I got sick of hearing me, so I guess everyone else did. I apologise. Blame him, I do, for most things actually. I find it quite therapeutic.

Carrying on with the positive theme - I have a new obsession. Paying off debts. Yeah, I know, yawn. It's hideous but oh so fulfilling. This is because with every little thing I pay off, I take one step closer to where I want to be. And if that's not progress, then I don't know what is. I've got a few more steps to go, but I'm closer than I was a year ago. Aren't you proud?!

Despite all this debt paying, I've managed to have a little break in it and I've booked my first summer holiday of the year. How many are there going to be? Lord knows. There was only meant to be one last year, and look what happened there. But anyway, I have to wait a few months - boo. I figure I'll have earnt it by then though, what with all this being sensible lark - I intend to be anything but sensible when I jet off to the sun. Bring on the Efes. Let's not bring on a stamped all over heart though, eh?

But y'know what - tears, wailing, upset aside, I don't regret a second, it made me smile at the time. I'd do it all again ..... oh good lord, that doesn't bode well. You know what I mean though, right?

So anyway, mind away from a few thousand miles east (which it's not very often away from if I'm honest), I've come to the conclusion that when you hit 25 and move upwards (eeek), having a social life gets suddenly very complicated. This is something I've learnt lately.

I'm sure a few of you can appreciate what I'm saying here, that suddenly you reach a stage where most of your friends, if not all, are married, coupled up, sprogged up, about to be sprogged up, trying to be sprogged up, or somewhere other than where you are. I am at the stage where my friends are all of the above. This makes meeting up incredibly complicated. "Fancy a catch up" suddenly becomes a minefield of clashing commitments, childcare arrangements and checking with the fella. Before you know it, you're planning a drink four weeks in advance. What happened to spontaneity? A few years ago, "fancy a catch up" would usually end with meeting up about four hours later and working our way through the cocktail menu at Yates, whilst discussing the pros and cons of Rimmel's new nail varnish collection and what to do about that cute guy at the bar.

I miss spontaneity and I miss my girly nights out.

Damn you upcoming 30th, you're making me think about what has gone and passed, and making it incredibly hard to look at what is to come without thinking "oh my god, I should be (insert here) married/attached/travelling/living somewhere exotic/doing something exciting by now", and "oh my god, it's only 10 years til I'm 40!"

Oh good lord, someone pass me the wine ......

January .... one week down

So, it's 2012. We're all still alive, and the world hasn't imploded. Yay! Mind you, I'm not sure what date that's meant to happen on anyway, I didn't watch the film. It's a load of old twaddle anyway.

I hope.  Eeek.

Anyway, so we're alive, and it's January. Everyone hate's January don't they? I'm not the world's biggest fan, I have to say. I ain't so keen on February and March either to be honest, and don't get me started on April and it's showers ....


Anyway, I degress.


So January, it's cold, it's possibly going to snow, everyone's skint, nobody goes out and it's just so damn depressing. The not going out thing is a problem, as that was one of the things I said I was going to do more of this year. It wasn't a resolution, because let's face it, they're made for breaking. It was more of a general musing. And my general musing for the year was to get myself re-aquainted with vodka, and have a damn good time a lot more often. I spent far too much of last year pining over what now appears to be a lost cause. Well, I think anyway, who knows, the world is a funny place.


One plus is the return of Take Me Out on ITV1. Woohoo! Paddy has returned to Saturday nights and my life is complete. God, I'm such a drama queen. I could've been on that show, I got a phone interview and audition date through, but I was too chicken to do it and didn't call back. I don't regret it though, I'd have turned into a gooey mess when I met Paddy, it would've been embarassing for all concerned.


What is also getting me through January this year is that I am going away at the end of it. Yes, my first jolly of the year! I'm off for what is apparently a city break. Hang on, "city break" that's what old people do isn't it? Argh, no it's not a city break then, it's a weekend away. Yeah, that sounds better. I might be 30 (sssh!) this year, but I'm not about to start booking SAGA cruises.


Packing for this "weekend away" is causing me somewhat of a headache. It's going to be freezing. The last time I went away for a few days somewhere freezing was Disneyland Paris, and I didn't really care what I looked like there. I do however care what I look like on this one, so some serious thought is going into perfecting a winter wardrobe fit for a jolly in January, as well as far too much sales shopping, which causes me headaches, stress and makes me swear a lot. Beauty comes at a cost, I tell you.


I've made some progress on the reinvention of the life mission, which is good considering it's only the first week of January, I mean business clearly. I've passed my holiday rep/tourism diploma. See if you want to go work in Turkey, for some jobs, soon you'll have to have a diploma in the area you're going to be working, whether that be repping or general tourism stuff. So I had to sharpish get me a diploma. I'm £80 lighter but I have my bit of paper, so hey, that's progress.


On the shaky subject of that area of the world, we'll get the obvious question out of the way, the one everyone seems to like asking me on a daily basis. What's happening with the boy? Answer - god knows.


And we'll leave it at that.


However, on the subject of the male species, I have come to the confirmed conclusion that they are downright weird. Yes, I have realised this before but bloody hell, they say we're a complicated species. This week I have spent a considerable amount of time ignoring "pokes" from a guy who I know for a fact has a girlfriend. This doesn't seem to bother him, and hey, maybe in his mind this is totally innocent. Which is fine. The emails however, are not so innocent. Shameless, I tell you. Needless to say, he's been ignored and defriended pretty sharpish. Weirdo. Poor girlfriend is all I can say.


This is further evidence that points me in the direction of the convent.


Maybe it's a sign ....


Speaking of signs, has anyone ever been to Sri Lanka? If you have, please get in touch and let me know what's it's like. I've suddenly got this weird pull towards the place. This is all of a sudden, it's quite strange. My grandad was stationed there when he was in the Marines years and years ago, and there was an advert for it on the TV the other night, ever since then I've been strangely pulled there.


Mind you, having looked at the prices of actually going, I'm slightly repelled from it, not pulled towards it.


So slightly more affordable, another Marmaris jolly looks on the cards. Looking at June I think, although I don't think it'll be the only time I'll be heading out this year, maybe sooner, maybe later as well. Who knows? It'll be weird this year. So much about my three visits there last year was totally to do with the boy, no matter what rubbish to the contrary I might've spouted at the time, that I'm going to have to create some new memories this year. I'm up for that challenge though, and it's sunny there, when it ain't so sunny here. There's nothing really bad about it when you look at it that way.


I should've been going to America for two weeks in October. I'm not anymore. I cancelled my place when I got back from Marmaris in October. Why? Hmm .... partly to do the boy I think. I wanted to give it a shot, and having to save up that amount of money to go away to America was going to be impossible if I was going to be travelling back and forth to Turkey all year. Despite the fact it appears to have gone pearshaped, I don't regret my decision to cancel. I'll be sad not to go, and I felt horrible cancelling on my friend, but thankfully she has now booked her family onto the trip and they'll have a wonderful time. I've been to Florida, so it's not like I haven't seen it, and my decision to give it a go really was the best one, despite what I gave up, because I'll never have the 'what if'. And if there's one thing I can't be doing with, it's 'what if'. I've done everying I could possibly have done. It also frees me up to chase my dreams and really put my plans into action, so yeah, I'll miss Mickey and Minnie, but whereas that would have been two weeks of my life, this is the entirety of it. Sort of puts it into perspective really.


So anyway, we survived the first week of January! Pat yourself on the back, well done you.


Is getting up for work in the mornings getting any easier now it's dark, cold and grimy? Is it hell.


Roll on summer readers, roll on summer.