I’ve wanted to go to Oktoberfest for ages and finally, this year, it’s been organised. In true rugby spirit, I’m going dressed up.
I’ve tried on the dress.
I’m not going to get out alive.
These girls have nothing on me.
Bugger.
I was told off on Friday night.
It’s been a long time since you… you know…
Rightly guessing that even good friends of mine wouldn’t be so cruel as to rub in my total lack of love life, I can only imagine he was referring to this, my little corner of self-indulgence.
And he’s right, of course, I haven’t been here for a long time. Half developed thoughts sit in the drafts folder, none of them warranting the time and effort required to form them into something nearing readable. Toe-curling, cringe inducing memories of recent nights out crowd my brain, shouting at me to be written down, committed to posterity and yet, for reasons of I don’t-know-what (shame?) I can’t quite bring myself to do it.
And so the page remains static. Un-updated.
Keep watching. I’ll come back.
Once a guy fist-bumps you or tries to high-five you, it’s all over.
My life is currently a never ending whirlwind of lust. I flit from one crush headlong into another, never stopping, never tiring of agonies and ecstasies of the heart swooping, stomach curling, head turning maelstrom of emotion.
I rarely get anywhere.
Maybe it’s because, frankly, I’m truly terrifying. Maybe it’s because I’m just the kind of girl men like to be friends with. Or maybe, in combination of both of the above, “he’s just not that into me“.
Yes, despite mocking The Rules in my last post, I have a confession to make. I actually sat down and read the master of all female self-help books – He’s Just Not That Into You.*
Grammatical clunkiness aside, the book (and I can’t believe I’m saying this) actually resonated with me. I saw behaviour that I put up with over 4 years with N and I saw behaviour that I put up with now. In a startling moment of self-realisation, I’ve come to the conclusion that, actually, the crushes I’m currently harbouring aren’t ever going to go anywhere.
Popeye – although we still talk most days, he’s never made any kind of move to make it anything more than a gentle work-based friendship. He mentioned his unrequited love problem very early on after us meeting and he’s not talked about it since.
Conclusion: he’s just not that into me
J – I’ve known J for a while but it’s only recently that we’ve started to get on. Despite the fact he’s charming, kind and flirtatious again, there doesn’t seem to be anything else. Yes, when I see him randomly on a night out he invites me to stay drinking with him and his friends. Yes, when I don’t, he brings it up the next day and asks me why. Yes, he asks me what I’m up to at the weekend. But it’s a friend thing. How do I know?
Yesterday, he tried to high-five me (and we all know the kind of problems I have with men I’m crushing on trying to high-five me)
Conclusion: he’s just not that into me
K – funny, not immediately goodlooking but still compelling. Single (but, as he was quick to point out, with a recent long term ex) and with a lovely self-deprecating humour (which, because I do it a lot myself, I find attractive in other people). Yes, he texts me and emails me. Yes, we made plans to hang out (albeit with company) however a) he bailed on me and b) he organised drinks with a prettier, funnier acquaintance of ours (and didn’t think to invite me which kind of hurt)
Conclusion: he’s just….
I think you get the picture.
However, despite this, and despite the fact that last night the realisation made me eat three bowls of pasta in an orgy of self-loathing**, I think I’m ok with all this. I deserve better. I deserve someone who actually likes me. And yes, I know I’m not going to find it here.
And yes, that makes me feel shitty and lonely but you know what? I’ve got to man the fuck up and stop worrying about it. There are people out there who are perfectly happy to be alone – I used to think I was one of them. I think I still can be.
I just need a little bit more practice.
P.S. I apologise for the cacophony of emo posts I seem to be spouting at the moment. I’m going to blame the fact I watched Twilight over the weekend. All three of them. Back to back.
* I’m still not entirely sure why. A moment of weakness I like to think.
** goodbye WeightWatchers apparently
Mondays are never the most productive of days for me. With too much to catch up on after a weekend off, I tend to spend my time wading through emails and phone calls and not getting round to getting actual stuff done.
This Monday is no different but, as well as the normal deluge of admin, I’m heady and glowing from a weekend visit from Bad Influence.
It makes me incredibly proud to know that I have friends who are (and I quote from the myriad of comments from friends who met her over the weekend) “really hot”, “excellent fun”, “amusing”, “great”, “just like you, you could be sisters”, “funny”. Hell, it makes me look better.
The weekend included:
All in all, the weekend was a mad whirlwind of laughter and sunshine, interspersed with “food poisoning”, fry ups and new friendships.
Who’s coming to see me next?
… away.
Bad Inflence is jetting over to see me tomorrow.
I’m preparing myself.
Now, before you all scream “yes” at your computer screens without reading another word, wait. I’d like to think through the issue.
(heehee, see what I did there?)
In a week where I found out that four of my friends are newly engaged, thoughts in Nuttycow Towers has, understandably, moved back to the well-worn path of weddings, marriage, relationships and impeding mad cat-woman status.
My past form on this subject should be well known by now but, just for the benefit of you newcomers, to save you rooting through endless drivel, here are the Nuttycow thoughts on love and marriage:
< a little sidetrack >
I think this love and belief in marriage is my parent’s fault. Well it is! However many years after first meeting, they’re still together. Happily, from what I can see.
Plus, they got engaged 3 days after first meeting each other. There’s hope for us all!
A story for another day perhaps.
< end of sidetrack >
Such is my passion for this lifestyle that it has started to change the way in which I think about new relationships.
I was with N for over four years. After about two, I started wishing and hoping that the question would be popped and I’d be able to start on the next stage of our life together. As we all know, it never happened (although it was talked about – searching through the archives it seems I didn’t ever really tell you about that one – just as well really.)
And so there I was, nearly 5 years later, alone, older and no closer to getting what I actually wanted. (As we also know, and I’ve since discussed at length, the break up with N was one of the best things I ever did. It got me back my friends – and personality – for a start.)
So how did this change me? Well, for one, it’s made me a hell of a lot pickier (I know, it doesn’t seem like it, does it?) I think if I ever got to the ‘starting to get serious’ part of a relationship, I’d have to have a proper think about whether I saw it going anywhere. If, when I got my crystal ball out and looked into the future, I couldn’t imagine myself married/settled down/living with said chap, I’d have to end it.
Why? Because there’s no point in dragging out a something that’s not going to go anywhere.
Similarly, if the chap in question had completely differing views to me on what he wanted out of life, I’d have to think twice about whether it was worth carrying on with the whole thing. I mean, even though I may be fall-over in love with the guy, there’s little point in prolonging something where the future is different for the two key characters.
I was talking about it in passing with the girls over email. I put the following poser to them:
What would you do if you were in a relationship and, several years down the line, it came to light that future plans weren’t in sync. One of you wanted the whole hog – wedding babies, house in the country – and one of you didn’t.
It became abundantly clear that thinking about the future is something us woman do a lot. And we have very clear opinions on it too.
Friend one: I stayed with my ex for 8 miserable years. We split, he married the next girl he met in super speedy time. I was left feeling I had wasted a lot of time and was very miserable about it. So my personal perspective is that if marriage is what you want and the other person doesn’t, you have to accept that they aren’t the one.
Friend two: I would be frustrated that he hadn’t brought it up earlier in proceedings. It seems deeply unfair to (effectively) keep secret an opinion that could have a huge effect on your relationship.If one of the two wants to get married one day and the other doesn’t and won’t then it is never going to be properly resolved – and sadly the longer they wait the harder it will be to leave.
Friend three:I think people have an aversion to marriage when they know deep down they aren’t with the right person. Marriage really shouldn’t be that scary. It isn’t about being “locked down”. If you really, genuinely love someone, then marriage is one way of showing that love publicly to everyone, including the person you marry. And if for some reason you don’t want to do that, then sadly, it’s probably because you aren’t genuinely in love with the person.
Friend four:The conversation about marriage should come before the moving in. There’s nothing wrong with saying to someone “what’s your vision?” I don’t mean “what’s your vision with ME”, I just mean it as an opportunity to scope out if someone is like minded or not – so do they like the idea of having kids, marriage, etc. There’s a big difference between having a possibility vs. a dead end.
Friend five:Sometimes love just isn’t enough. EEK! But it’s true. You can be a different as chalk and cheese on what movies you like, what clothes you wear, what jobs you do, but you’ve got to be on the same page for the big stuff. If the fundamentals are there then the rest can be worked out.
It’s clear from these comments that it’s not just me (hoorah!) It seems a lot of women have clear thoughts about the shelf life of a relationship if the fundamental views on the big stuff is different. We all seem to want the possibility of a future in our relationships. Not such a big ask, you’d think.
I shared the conversation with a male friend of mine. He said:
I am now officially terrified of your species. You think so much about this stuff and can’t just roll along. Why can’t women just carry on in a relationship and see how things go?
Do we over think things? Would it just be easier if we went with the flow, let the relationship do what it was going to, see how things progressed? Maybe, but we can’t.
And that scares men. Petrifies them.
Tell any man that you want to get married and see them suddenly have an urgent appointment with a maddened bull/become gay/admit they’re actually on day release and have to run back to prison before their parole officer finds out.
What they don’t seem to understand is that we don’t necessarily want to get married RIGHT NOW or even, imagine this, to THEM. We do, however, want the option to be open to us. We don’t want to go into a serious relationship thinking we’re wasting our time. We want to believe that somewhere, there’s a future with the man in question. Because hell, we like him enough to sleep with him, we’d like to think he likes us enough to consider something serious with us.
But why? Why do we need this comfort, this possibility? Should we stop all this thinking and be a little bit more like men, so grateful that someone wants to have regular sex with us (and potentially cook for us/clean our dirty rugby kit/buy beer) that we just want to take advantage of that while it lasts?
Or, conversely, should men start thinking more and stop being so scared? Should they realise that although living for the moment and being spontaneous is all very well, some day, unless they get their act together, they’re going to end up being that slightly sleazy old bachelor who insists you call them Uncle all the while squeezing your arse.
I think it’s a little bit of both. Yes, us women have got to chill the fuck out a bit. Just because you’re 10 years on from longer 25 and still unmarried, it doesn’t matter. Enjoy what you’ve got for what it is. It’ll happen someday. (although, to be fair, the advice from above does still count – if you and he are in completely different places on something fundamental like marriage and babies then I’m thinking that it probably isn’t going to work. If, however, there’s a bit of wiggle room, just be patient).
And men, you’ve got to realise that us women think about these things. A lot. And it matters to us. You might not give two stuffs about whether you get married or not but have enough forethought to realise we might. Similarly, you might be Mr Groomzilla and she may be a bit “meh” about the whole thing – you have to take that into account too and don’t push it. She may change her mind.
The moral of the story – it’s got to be about compromise. Relationships can’t be black and white the whole time (rarely, in fact). Most of the time, it’s a lovely shade of grey – some of you, some of them which, together, makes the two of you.
CAVEAT: I know that there are plenty of men out there who aren’t scared of commitment, who do think things through and who do plan for the future. You, I love. Well done. The others, come along now.
You may remember, way back when, I wrote a post exploring my feelings about an announcement made via Facebook pertaining to N’s marital status?
Well, on arriving home this evening, what do I find in the postbox but an invite.
To a wedding.
Between N and his fiancee.
I’ve read and re-read it a couple of times now and I’m still no closer to figuring out what to do about it. In conversations with Fursty Ferret on the matter, I’d come to the conclusion that, were I invited to the whole thing (ie the wedding and the wedding breakfast) then I’d book my flight and off I’d go. If I was just invited to the evening thing, I’d RSVP a polite no.
However, on reading it, I can’t quite figure out what the invite means.
Dr XYZ
requests the pleasure of
the company of
[nuttycow]
at the marriage of his daughter
[fiancee]
to
[N]
at the
[church]
on [date]
followed by a reception
at [venue]at 2.30pm
Now, in my mind, 2.30 is quite late to be holding a wedding. But then at the same time, it’s too early to just be an invite to the evening event.
Oh the confusion.
Nonetheless, it looks like I’ve got 3 months to get my act together and start looking fabulous.
I start tomorrow (or maybe the day after. I am, as ever, the queen of procrastination).
What do you think? Would you go if you were me?
I’ve always been one of those girls who’s more likely to be friends with men than women. It’s not that I don’t have female friends (see the cast, there’s a healthy mix there) but generally speaking, if I want to go and drink away my sorrows, I go out with the boys. If I need someone to explain the vagaries of men, it’s my male friends I turn to. If I need someone’s shoulder to cry on, it’s more likely to be a masculine shoulder (to all my female friends whose shoulders I’ve cried on, I’m not casting any aspersions as to your physique here).
Female friends are wonderful for many things. They’re great for bitching about men, they’re great for telling you when your bum really does look big, they’re great for knowing the right thing to say at exactly the right time. They’re great for long random chats on Skype, cheering you up by fashioning moustaches out of coat hangers (thanks, Bad Influence). They’re great for big belly laughs that make you snort, tears running down your cheeks. In summary, girlfriends are great.
But there’s something about male friends which I can’t quite put my finger on. I find their company easy. I find their company comforting. I don’t need to look my best around them – my male friends are gratifyingly blind when it comes to our friendship – in fact, I don’t think they’d know the difference between me slobbing on a Sunday and me dressed up to the nines (or, at least, if they do notice the difference, they certainly don’t say anything – a blessing and a curse)
So when it comes to establishing a strategy for man-hunting (and yes, believe me, I do come up with strategies – I’m very military in that respect) invariably it’s Fursty Ferret, Model of a Modern Major General and, more recently, Sir Charmsalot, that I turn to.
They compliment each other through their stark differences.
They all have different relationship status’: FF has moved in with a lovely girl and is happier than I’ve seen him for a while. MoaMMG has been married for a number of years now and SCaL is on the perpetual prowl for someone who deserves him.
They all have different approaches to love, life and everything: MoaMMG is pragmatic, SCaL is optimistic, FF is go-get-‘em.
Three completely different people with only one real thing in common – me.
Over the last few weeks, the three musketeers have been each giving their own bits of advice on my current conundrum: as someone who finds it horribly easy to “fall in friend” with men, it seems I have a real problem it’s done to me against my will.
Popeye* (named for his beautiful forearms amongst other things) is the latest chap to appear on my radar. Poor chap, he never even saw it coming.
On the face of it, he seems to be the antithesis of everything I have ever purported to like in a man – younger, not 6’2’’, non-rugby playing – and yet, there’s something about him that intrigues me (it might have something to do that he uses words that I have to look up in the dictionary. Me! An English graduate!).
Mulling it over last night it finally hit me. I like him because he’s desperately trying to “fall in friend” with me.
(As well he might. As a chap who could be the poster boy for an “it’s complicated” Facebook status, I really can’t blame him.**)
However, his own personal complications aside, I’m quite affronted that, for once, I haven’t got my own way. I don’t want to be his friend. At least, not yet.
Popeye is not the love of my life – I don’t think there’s any question about that. However, it would be kind of nice to have a smidge of interest from him without being so unceremoniously dumped into the platonic category. I mean, he’s flirtatious enough when we meet, when we talk, why not act on it and then we can get on with being mates.
The Harry theory (named after Harry in When Harry Met Sally, of course. Pay attention in the back!) suggests that a man and a woman can’t be friends due to the fact that there’s a residual sexual question between the two protagonists which gets in the way of the friendship.
I subscribe to this – but with a twist (maybe I should name this new theory the Harry-Nuttycow theory?)
In some cases you become friends with an ex (or even a “sort of” ex) as was the case with MoaMMG and I. Sometimes, it’s a drunken snog with a friend which was bound to happen at some point (hello SCaL) and sometimes it’s just a drunken snog (*waves at FF*)
The point is, however, that despite these minor deviances, we remain friends (or, in the case of FF, we became friends). The question was put and was answered (evidenced by the fact that I’m not with any of the aforementioned men). To me, it’s because of our various histories that my friendship with these men survives.
And here is where the frustration with Popeye comes in – he’s not even willing to try and answer the question.
What do I want from him? I want us to have a dalliance, for it to fail and for us to be friends. Or not. I think all I really want is for more posibilities to be open to me– not to have him give up just because it seems like the easier thing to do.
Once you’ve closed the door to the Harry-Nuttycow theory, it’s very difficult to open it again. If this forced “just friends” thing continues to happen, Popeye and I will become random acquaintances who pass each other in the pub or on nights out but aren’t close enough to have the fun we’ve been having over the last couple of weeks.
The question will never be answered and so we’ll forget to ask it. This potential friendship will die.
So what to do…? For now? Nothing.
For now, I’m going to play it by ear.
Why the passive approach, I hear you ask. I know, it’s certainly not like me, is it? Answer? I don’t know. I don’t know what I want, who I want it with and when I want it. The state of flux isn’t disturbing me as much as I thought it would, however.
Could it be that I’m finally growing up, finally letting go of childish notions of the fact that everything has to follow to a plan? Possibly in my old age I’m starting to understand that stuff will happen and, whatever it is, it’s going to make you the person you are.
And that that’s ok too.
* copyright Fursty Ferret
** As I’ve already explored in previous posts, I’m not in the market for a guy with a girlfriend, but seriously, this man isn’t in a relationship, he’s in a Hardy novel.
*** Please note, the Harry-Nuttycow theory does not apply when either party is in a relationship.
With just over 9 months until I reach the big 3 – 0 (yes, I know! I haven’t aged a bit! I don’t look a day over 21! etc) I think it’s normal to be getting mild feelings on anxiety over the fact that actually, my twenties are over and 40 is staring me in the face (and by mild, I mean heart palpitations, panic attacks and days on end curled up under my bed rocking slowly while sobbing quietly)*.
It seems to be the norm in situations like these for one to make a bucket list. I did a bit of reading ’round the subject and it seems to me that most people have unashamedly high expectations over what they can achieve in a year (call me a pessimist but if they haven’t done something in the past 29 years, what makes them think they can achieve it in 12 short months?) For example, one list I saw (no link to save the embarrassed) read
Wow. That’s a hell of a lot to achieve in one short year. I’m surprised they didn’t chuck in “cure cancer” and “achieve world peace” in there, just for the shits and giggles.
Similarly, there are things on people’s lists that I just can’t believe they haven’t done already. Such as…
Go on a picnic? Really? Even in England where it rains, ALL THE TIME, most people have been on a picnic. I despair.
Anyway, I digress. My list. Right.
When thinking about it this morning I decided that 10 months didn’t really warrant a bucket list as such. Time is too short and I’m fundamentally lazy (oh yes, and busy!) and so therefore I present to you:
The slightly shallower, slightly shorter version of a bucket list.
What would you add to my saucepan list?
*I jest, I jest.
