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?!

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 .....

Meet my friend Ben .....

It has begun.

A little sooner than I thought, but it's certainly here. With avengence.

The burning desire to jump on a plane has crash landed into my life and caused Travel Republic's web traffic to shoot through the roof.

I so want to go. Now.

Why?

I haven't got the foggiest. The weather's still a bit crap, nobody's really there yet and not everything's open.

So why, oh why am I having to literally restrain myself from packing a suitcase?

I suppose I should explain what the hell I'm banging on about, just for the benefit of those that don't really understand, or aren't aware, of my colourful travelling history.

I'm holiday addicted.

It's a very expensive habit, and one that I don't really see myself kicking any time soon. Now, I get stick for this, not because I like going on holiday, but because despite protestations to the contrary, I always generally end up going back to the same place.

I'm addicted to holidays in Marmaris, Turkey.

If I had my way it would be one very long, extended holiday. But alas, I am skint, so holidays will have to do for the time being.

I think I know what's caused this to start so early on - it's because I had a plan. Yes, it was a rather ill-timed and niave plan, but it seemed like a good one at the time. Had things worked out with the boy, and by that I mean, had he not been practicaly mute for most of the winter, causing me to seriously question my own sanity, then I planned to go out there for the week, which would have been next week. Instead, the reality of the matter is, I'm not going out next week, in fact I'm not going out for a little while yet, and things certainly have not worked out with the boy, because I actually don't even know if he's working there this year at all.

Part of me hopes not.

One day I will be over this, I promise.

Is it wrong to be very excited about a holiday, yet at the same time, really quite worried about the state I may come home in? I don't want it again, I can't do all that again, it doesn't work, I've tried, so I'm going to try my damned hardest not to. However, me, vodka and the sight of a certain person really don't go together well, if you throw Efes into the mix, then my god, you're really asking for trouble. So that's why a little bit of me is hoping I don't have to deal with it. Will I succeed? Only time will tell I guess, but this time I know how it ends, so really, what is the point? Just show me the Efes, baklava and a chicken kebab or three, and I'm a happy girl - I don't need a broken heart, thanks very much.

I wouldn't mind, but he still owes me 16 TL.

Git.

Another reason why I'm quite keen to escape is the weather. I can't swim very well, so this torrential monsoon-like situation isn't filling me with much joy. It certainly didn't fill me with much joy when my ceiling started leaking yesterday either - trying to sleep with a 'drip drip drip' backing track isn't easy, let me tell you. Will it ever stop?! I have beautiful summer clothes that need wearing before they go out of fashion!

This is quite a depressing post isn't it? I do apologise, it's the rain - again blame it on the weatherman. I think I've got a derivative of SAD. Show me the sunshine and I'm smiling.

Speaking of which, I think I may go and indulge in something else that never fails to make me smile ......

Ben & Jerry's.

If you were thinking other things, shame on you and your filthy mind!

I have discovered Ben & Jerry's Karamel Sutra and OMG - who needs a man when you've got a tub of that bad boy? It hits places that no dude ever could. So of course I've bought three tubs. It would be rude not to.

In fact, I think I can hear it calling my name ......

Diet? What diet?

Dastardly deeds are afoot

Mwwwaaahahahah!

That's my attempt at some sort of evil genius laugh by the way, but why you wouldn't have got that the first time is beyond me, honestly, it's quite obvious.

I shall explain.

I have a plan. A fantastic plan that will bring me many things, such as:
a) closure
b) satisfaction
c) baggier fitting clothes
d) eternal happiness

Okay, the last one might be a bit hopeful/borderline crazy but the rest stand.

Yes people, I am on a mega diet. It is day 1, granted, but hell I feel goooood! Okay, I'm ravenous, slightly delerious, and am writing this post purely as a distraction from the contents of the biscuit tin. BUT! But I have stuck to points today! My stomach is gurgling very loudly as I type this, so that's got to be progress. And I will continue to tell myself this until the scales read about 5 pounds lighter than they do at the moment.

Oh good lord, I wish I'd been blessed with thin genes. Alas, I was not, I am doomed to work hard at maintaining a healthy BMI for the rest of my days.

But anyway, back to my evil genius plan.

I have around two months until my bikini is forced into the light of day. That is plenty of time to streamline a little more and achieve said bikini body. However, the plan is about much more than not scaring people on the beach, oh yes, the plan is a form of ..... would you call it revenge? Hmm, maybe, but whatever it is, it'll be damn good.

Oh god, there gurgles the stomach again.

But anyway, the plan, yes the plan is designed to show the boy, yes him again, just what he lost. Oh it will be sweet, believe me. I shall make him rue the day he decided to only very infrequently call me throughout the entire winter, albeit with nice words when he finally decided to get his arse to a computer, leaving me sobbing into my pillow for much of the first few months of it, and then randomly last night when I had a rather ill-timed, and out of the blue wobble. I blame that Pink song, you know, the one I couldn't listen to for a while? Yeah, turns out it's still not so great even now. But anyway, onwards and upwards.

My line is drawn, it is done, but oh, come on ladies, who hasn't wanted to sashay past their ex looking every inch the glossy, groomed, svelte princess? I shall be the one that got away. And matey, you will rue the day, believe me.

I think I might have gone a bit crazy through lack of food. Don't worry though, I'm not going crazy crash diet mad, I know what I'm doing, I've done it before plenty of times, I'm a sensible girl and all that. But give it a few weeks and I'll be a sensible, thinner girl, with new glossy hair, the definite abscence of that rogue spot on my chin and a nose piercing that won't be as red as it is at the moment. I shall be flawless.

Sort of.

The one who made my heart thud and flutter, made me go back to Marmaris three times in the space of a few months, hence making my bank balance look a lot thinner than me, and the one who ruined my Christmas because I couldn't get him out of my head - he shall shake his head and go 'what was I thinking letting her go?' or whatever the Turkish is for that. Because believe me, I've realised this lately, he lost a good 'un, and short of a near miracle in the form of a total personality transplant and a time machine to change all the bad, he lost her for good, and that's really quite sad.

So roll on breakfast time, I'm bloody starving.

Silly season begins

I've written this blog three times now, the first was the stupid computer's fault, and the second was because I just ranted on for about four A4 pages, and I realised people would stop reading after the first few lines. Doesn't make for repeat readers, let me tell you.

Anyway, this weekend I have been mostly eating far too much chocolate and writing about exotic, and not so exotic places, whilst dreaming about my own upcoming jollies to slighty exotic places. The eating chocolate thing proves that I have a serious problem with moderation, i.e. I don't know the meaning of it. Diet starts tomorrow. Or maybe the day after.

The worrying thing about it being April is not the rain, although that's not compatible with good hair, but that it's only a month to go until the sinking feeling will return. I've got a slight sink going on already, it's building up to be a shocker, I can tell. But no, next month the desperate want to jump on a plane and head east will begin again. It's hideous, I'm trying to sort myself out, not get into more trouble, arrgh! The only person's finances that are going to be looking up at this rate, are Travel Republic's - certainly not mine. Roll on a couple of years when I don't have this trauma because I'll already be there.

Phew. Deep breath.

Anyway, the whole imposter at large thing seems to be sorted, I think anyway. For all I know I could have an evil triplet by now, but to be honest, by summer there'll probably be an army of imposters causing havoc that I won't know about, so why worry? I guess the ones that matter know the truth, and that's all that counts.

Further evidence (god, I really do sound like Poirot now) has come to light, pretty much confirming in my mind who's behind it. Lordy lordy me, it's a sad state of affairs.

What I affectionately refer to as silly season has begun. This is where any female with Turkish/Kurdish friends on Facebook suddenly gets an influx of randomers 'poking' them. Why, oh why? Well I can only assume that in the mind of these randomers, 'poking' tourists will of course lead them to visit said poker during season, and as if by magic, bam! There's that week's girlfriend. I've become bitter and twisted over winter, can you tell?

I blame the boy.

I still blame him for most things.

I also blame him for the nasty irritation in the pit of my stomach on the realisation that now silly season is upon us, he'll be unleashed on the female visiting population of Marmaris again and I'll be forgotten. But then I probably have been already, so what's the point in thinking about it?

Because I'm not as heartless as him, that's why. Grrrr, it must be nice to have an on-off switch like that.

But hey, it's my challenge to get over that thought, let's face it, it's gonna happen, if it's not already.

So that leads me seamlessly (anyone would think I'd been writing articles) onto the weekly disasterous love life update.

In short - still disasterous, yet slightly more humourous.

When I'm not battling my Kurdish demons and memories, I'm batting off overly amourous advances from randoms - one wanting me to help him practice, and I quote, "tantric massage". I kid you not. He even offered to reimburse my travel costs. Do these people have no shame?! And before you ask, no I did not take him up on his offer!

The stalker is still at it. Clearly not at all lacking in confidence, because rejection doesn't seem to bother him in the slightest, and the excuse of not having a mobile phone for him to call me on is still working. Come on dude, open your eyes, who doesn't have a mobile these days?!

I'm reading a book at the moment, total chick-lit but quite good, called The Dating Detox. It's about this girl who's so sick of all the crap that goes along with dating, so she calls time on it and goes cold turkey. Is it wrong that when I typed that, I automatically put a capital letter in front of Turkey as if the country is all I would ever be typing about? Sweet baby Jesus, I need to go somewhere else.

Anyway, back on topic, when she decides she's not available, all manner of opportunities come her way, but she realises that she's happier without a man, without any of the drama, washing-machine stomach of anxiety and worry that comes with dating. I think she might be onto something, and maybe that explains why the more you say 'no', the more it becomes a challenge to make you say 'yes'. Not gonna happen mate, not gonna happen.

So I might try this, I mean I'm not going to admit it's an enforced detox, because hey if I wanted to there's always ..... erm ....the stalker ....

But that's my thing now, I'm detoxing my life of randomers, pokers, tantric masseurs and people trying to clone me on Facebook.

Surely these things don't happen to normal people?!

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.

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.