When I last went through a breakup I dyed my hair red. We aren’t sure why. But I did it. It was quite a special look, and by special I mean truly awful. White eyelashes, white eyebrows, ( oh the joys of being a natural blonde) a red compleshion ( oh to be an olive skinned hotty) and my obsessions with baby pink lipgloss turns out should never be framed with a big old pile of red hair. But I did it.
And for those brief few seconds when I walked out of the hairdresser I felt bloody fabulous. SCREW you ex, I have red hair, I am fierce and hot. If it is ok for Rihanna, it was ok for me.
And then I saw my dad. “ Laurie, Laurie, Laurie, the only thing you had going for you was your hipbones and blonde hair. Your hipbones are fading, and now you have red hair. WTF. Tell me it is a wig.”
Suddenly I was less Rihanna, more Ri-pulsive.
Three trips back to the hairdresser later and close to £300 lighter I quickly learnt a valuable lesson – don’t rush into things. On a little side note I do think it should be illegal for hairdressers to touch your hair post break up for at least three months. I swear correcting broken hearted girls rash hair request’s mistakes is one of the only things that keep them in business. They are the modern day bloody builders but instead of sniffing out lack of building knowledge and whistling through their teeth “It will cost you love” they instead say “If you want a man to ever touch you again, it will cost you..”
Breakups should involve wine, getting a shed load of new clothes, buying some expensive new perfume and showing them what they are missing. Never read hair if you are cursed with red skin.
Anyway, you may remember I broke up with my blog a few weeks ago. The blind dating was a complete ball ache. And that is mega – I don’t even HAVE balls, and yet mine ached. The pressure that I was putting myself under I can only liken to the pressure that trouser seams feel when Kim Kardashian ass is wearing them. (From the outside all looks ok, but you just get the feeling one wrong move and it will all be over – ass exploding situation.) And I guess that is how I felt with my blog.
So I waved goodbye in a rather dramatic Eastenders type of fashion ( I am your mufffffaaaaa!! Dum dum dum dum dummmm) and swore to not blog again. (Virtual equivalent of dying hair red). And then I thought about it and realized that I wanted my blog back, that I loved writing and all of my followers (virtual equivalent of returning to blonde hair).
So I am back, or should I say My POTL is back. And I have a new look, and new things to write about, and a lot more going on than my old look. ( Virtual equivalent of new clothes, shed load of wine and a general lightness following a traumatic breakup). I feel great. My POTL looks great- I hope you agree!
So stay tuned lovelies!
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I would also like to thank Alex at www.wpeagle.com who truth be told has been a bloody angel listening to my constant, constant, honestly constant queries with how you self host a blog. For anyone who isn’t a computer nerd and who doesn’t want to feel like a freak for not knowing what the hell all this internet, “computer gumf” – Alex is your boy!!
The rubbish heap…
Today, over lunch ( Pesto pasta and roasted veg, thanks for asking) I was reminded of a guy I went on a date with a few months ago. He was tall, educated, handsome, and a true gent. ”Oh yeah, what happened to him I remarked?” to my friends.
“You sacked him off Laurie. Because after your wonderful date, where he surprised you to flowers and a meal out in a restaurant you had wanted to go to for months, you had a terrible journey home on the train. You sacked him off because of National Rail problems.” said a friend. ( Bloody friends reminding you of the actual truth!)
But she was right. I instantly remembered the date. We had enjoyed a nice night. The conversation was pleasant, the food was superb- swimming in butter. It was all very nice. We kissed on the cheek when he dropped me off at the nearest train station and bid each other adieu.
Something on the line, a piece of dust if I remember correctly, meant that the train sat in the middle of no where for 2 hours, in the middle of the night. It was just me and another guy on the train. I felt vulnerable, scared and a bit too drunk to be safe. Then after some chugging along for another 10 minutes the train driver ( do they drive trains?) announced that this would be the end of the line and we would have to wait for another replacement train. So, like instructed I waited on the platform and started to curse wearing a skimpy outfit. A replacement train came after an hour. Then that train didn’t move. I was cold and now completely sober. Scary man had been replaced by 2 scary men. I was cold and freaking now. It got so bad that I walked up and down the train collecting paper, beer cans and old pissy newspapers and fashioned a makeshift blanket just to keep warm. It was about hour 4 into the hell when I think I made the decision to not see the guy again. I text him saying that I still wasn’t home and was freezing my little titties off and scared. He replied- “gutted, I’m in bed. Speak tomorrow“. No-one was worth this. 6 hours later I had well and truly directed my coldness and irritation to him. We never did see each other again. I didn’t explain why.
This situation recently made me think how fragile dating is at the beginning. We are all just one slip up, one misunderstanding away from the dating rubbish heap, and in time, and with a bit of retrospective thinking you start to wonder – did I do the right thing there? Could he have been My POTL?
I guess with the more I have dated, I have learnt that you should – Be open, be honest, don’t play games, and say what you really feel. I probably shouldn’t have cast him to the rubbish heap because I was cold, but I should have said that it bothered me that he didn’t want to know I had got home ok.
Things can be really big at the beginning. Little disagreements can be mega. Small differences mean the end of the world, or atleast the end of you two. But, in time, when are in a relationship you both have got the benefit of some foundations; these little things can be laughed off and worked out together. How many people have you tossed into the dating rubbish heap early on because of lack of communication, or a misunderstanding?
So with all this in my mind I am being “me” with this new chap I am dating. I tell him if I am pissed off and give him the opportunity to either change it, or not. I tell him that I like hearing from him, and I ask to see him again. And I guess, it could be working. Not tempting fate or anything.
Here are my tips for avoiding the dating rubbish heap
- Vulnerability is not a weakness.
- Treat others how you wish to be treated. Think about if you would be happy with the same treatment. If it is a no, why should they accept it?
- Be honest with yourself. Not happy? Not got a good feeling about something? Say. Say. Say.
- Never ditch someone because you think they are better than you. They will be thinking the same thing about you, trust me. You are a lot hotter than you think.
- Don’t get your knickers in a twist for no reason. He hasn’t text you back instantly? Whoooo cares?
- Don’t put all your eggs in one basket. It might work out, it might not. Not every person you date is going to be the one. Not every person you meet is going to be your best friend.
- And finally – Bro’s before hoes. Sisters before Mr’s ( quotes courtesy of @Laura_McFarlane
I would like to talk about my day yesterday.
Peacefully dreaming and dribbling about the Gosling, I was suddenly woken up by the sounds of the bin-men. “Shit!” I hadn’t put my bins out. Again. I hadn’t since Christmas, shit was getting cray cray bad with my household waste. (I was one more cereal packet away from the council slapping my wrists). I ran down stairs; sporting a granny nightie, hair wild, and raced to the bin man ‘hotty’ ( no teeth, but wearing a nice high vis = hot enough in my eyes). He collected my bin and remarked – “Hey you, we’ve seen you undressed more over the years then we’ve seen you dressed ey.”
Now while it is indeed true that the bin-men over the years have seen me on numerous occasions running in a towel after the lorry wailing PLEASEEE don’t drive away, no one wants this to be their thing. ”Oh I am sure not” I said, “you’ve seen me in clothes lots of times” I casually replied. ”Nah, you’re that lady, Birthday suit Boullevard”. Oh dear.
Next I will start thinking this is acceptable…
Next- I ate a Cadbury’s Creme Egg for breakfast. Washed down with a pack of frazzles and a black coffee. You know that shit has got real when this is your breakfast. I tried to do it while watching BBC Breakfast, it just didn’t feel right. So I instead watched Daybreak and that Keith Chegwin bloke bounce around knocking on people’s door giving them a fiver. Whatever next, smoking crack in my bed, watching Ice road truckers? Surely that is the next step after deeming a creme egg as an acceptable breakfast. My life was catapulting out of control.
Yep. Worst nightmare.
Then I went to do my makeup and I saw it. A fricking grey hair. Goading me in the mirror- You are getting old it said. You are getting grey. You are ON THE SHELF. I couldn’t believe it. My mum isn’t even grey. And she has bigger boobs. And can cook.
After a brief weep on the floor, I thought- Laurie, pull yourself together, if Britney can get through 2007, you can get through this ( JESUS, remember that phase, bald hair, awful trainers, attacking photographers with an umbrella – how crazy was that!!) Anyway I digress, I put on some clothes and headed to work.
The day was a blur of meetings, phone calls, and emails, but one thing was constant. I was wearing bad pants. You know what I am saying. Pants that make you all day curse lace, curse your arse, curse the fact that you have been brought up to not pick your knickers out of your arse in public. At about 3pm I had had enough. Commando I would have to go. I went to the loo, and that is when I realised I had been wearing them not only inside out, but back to front. Thank God I hadn’t been knocked over by a bus. Doctors would have probably decided to not save me. Grey hair and back to front pants. Repeat after me – I am not a catch.
The main offender…
Last but not least I ate a packet of Monster Munch pickled onion crisps in the car home. Well the day was a write off; I had eaten a creme egg for breakfast. May as well truly disgust society. (Monster Munch are a common crisp. They reek of a lady that will soon be drinking cider in a park at 10am. But they are good, and to be fair to me I only eat them in the privacy of my own home. In real life I eat Kettle Chips). Anyway I was gorging on them, like flies gorge on a shit birthday cake, and then I tasted it. I had eaten a whole Monster hand of pickled onion flavour. No crisp, just flavour. Putrid, strong, onion- a second of hell which I regretted for the rest of the evening. I swear it was like a giant onion was following me around, every hiccup was hell, every time I opened my mouth, it was hell.
I thought no one would notice and then my friend came around. I kissed him hello. ”WHAT have you eaten Laurie?! Its like kissing a pervy waiter from Greece, you truly stink.” ”Well I have a grey hair too, so deal with it” I replied, covering my mouth.
We sat down, and discussed our mutually crap days. After a few glasses of wine, we played Tinder. Confidence in tatters I was not hopeful of a single match. But then, something miraculous happen. I matched with every single right swipe. After 5 matches, we started counting. The final count was 28 matches. All after each other.
And just like that I realised that it didn’t matter that I stunk of onion, that my vag vaj vaj was red raw from awkward lace chafing, that the bin-men think I am coming onto them, I am a hero. I possess a tinder superpower. I can lull men in with my pout pictures. It turned out to be a great day. I danced around my living room.
And then I played again today. Haven’t matched with anyone yet. Hero to zero I guess. Story of my life. Bloody Tinder. Next stop- The bin-man.
It is their face, but just 3D.
Seeing someone’s face 3D is a little weird. You’ve looked at their pictures – either from Tinder, or POF, or in my case JustSingles. 4 pictures max. But boy, do you know those pictures! You’ve judged every inch of his face, looking for freckles, wrinkles, and blackheads even; trying to work out- Is this man hot? Is this man going to be my lover? Is he going to be a freak? Just looking at these 4 little pictures you’ve built up a picture of who he is. But real life faces are a completely different ball game.
You will have talked a bit via text. You might have talked on the phone even. And then you agree to see each other. And then it starts. You progress onto 3D life.
3D faces are strange. But occasionally if you are lucky, 3D faces – how they look, how they talk, how they act, how their hands move when they talk, just might turn out to be even better than you had hoped. Better than those four little pictures had let you to believe.
I guess this happened to me last week. I met the guy online. Through JustSingles of course, and we had talked our little socks off for quite a while. First over the text. Then we progressed onto the phone. Then back over text. Then back again over on the phone. Hours flew by. Texts flew back and forth. But as much as we both kept saying those immortal lines ‘ we must meet up soon’ it hadn’t happened for some time. Until last week.
Can you find love online?
I walked to the restaurant from the nearest tube and saw him in his car waiting for me. I waved. He ignored me. Then I walked over to his car. I waved again. He looked a mixture of confused, and for want of a better word, repulsed. Oh shite I thought- I have made his shrimpy want to shrivel and die. He hates how I look. (To be fair to me I had just come from work and was having quite a severe ugly day – thanks God) but JESUS, my first thought was – this is going to go bad. ( We later learnt that this ‘look’ was just his humour.)
He got out of the car, and went to shake my hand. Talk about formal. I went for a hug. We did neither. We fumbled both. Awkward moment 1.
He was wearing a suit. I was wearing jeans. We walked into the restaurant, up a flight of stairs (he followed me said my arse was “nice” – good arse, shit face – LOVELY). We made our way to the bar where he pulled out my chair and we sat down to make small talk. Only his small talk instantly consisted of – “Oh shit, there is my boss with the guys I work with. I have left work early to come and meet you. I need to go and speak to him I am going to be in trouble.”
So he left. I sat down alone, ordered the wine and checked my watch- how long till I could leave I pondered? Talk about small world. We had met at a place that neither of us had been before. Chosen for its romantic dark light. Why would his boss be there? Either way, I was left to ponder these questions alone as he was talking to his colleagues and they were looking at me. Awkward moment 2.
He came back; we sat down in a nicer table and started to relax into seeing each other’s 3D faces. He looked nice, but different. I guess I did too- he said I looked different. But “nice”. Another “nice” compliment.
After a glass of wine, the face in front of me seemed normal and the nerves went. Well for me anyway. He, on the other hand seemed to be having trouble putting his arm somewhere (guys rest their arms in order to appear cool). At one point he moved it from resting on the chair next to him, to resting it on a candle. He burnt himself. Smooooth. Awkward moment 3.
We ordered some bar food. I binged on cheese. He binged on calamari. I binged on another gin. He binged on mini hamburgers. The night just flew by for us both. We talked like old friends. I liked his 3D face. I liked his stories. I enjoyed his time. I think he thought the same.
Are we seeing each other again? You bet your skinny arse. We are arranging as I type.
So I met a nice man. Is it love? No. But was it an enjoyable evening for us both. Yes. Yes it was.
P.S. he didn’t have the beard like his pictures showed. I know- Sucks ey. I was just as upset as you. I might start subtly nagging perhaps. That bitch has got to come back again. Beards getteth the girls.
Statistically women are most likely to meet our potential one true love online. Yep – Through online dating. I know, I am not best pleased about it either, but what other choice have we got. We don’t meet people at dances anymore. Or, however your granny met your granddad. We meet them online so says stats. So, as part of the challenge set by the lovely people at Just Singles (I must stop calling them sexy people, or hot people, or fitties at Just Singles- It really is not professional) I set to with my challenge – go on a date with a man from the online world.
I have to say, in typical negative Laurie way I wasn’t too excited about the prospect. I had heard some pretty crazy thing about the online world, and in particular the men that take part in it. (I could tell you the story but think I have been super injunction to silence- juicy juicy juicy story). But, anyway, I put my negativity to one side/ drowned it in gin and logged onto my profile.
And just like that- a few hours went by. I talked to some nice guys, flirted and was asked out three times. It was great. It was easy. And it was rewarding. I must say- online, I pretty much rocked. I flirted, I was coy, I was coquettish (not cock fetish) and best, best best of all – I didn’t have to wear matching underwear like on a date. I didn’t have to even get out of my onesie and fake tan my back. I could sit down, watch the Kardashians and flirt. I am selling it to you aren’t I.
I guess the main thing that I hadn’t taken onboard about online dating as a whole perhaps, was that people on there would be normal, and looking for love. Shocking considering the prats that are on Tinder and POF let me tell you. Sure there were some strange ones, mainly a 68 year old who favourited me and said while I wasn’t his type he wouldn’t mind a blow job from me (sweet ey) there were some nice men, who were easy on the eye, who seemed to actually want to meet a nice woman. But the biggest shock horror of the evening was that as I got talking to more and more men it became obvious that they wanted to take the fake online life into the real life and meet.
I had for some reason thought that online dating involved talking for a few years. Men on the site were instead using it as an opener to talk to me, but not their only means of communication. They actually planned to see me.
www.justsingles.com is a great site. Easy to navigate, cleanly laid out and with a great personalized feel to it. Come on don’t be single next valentines day – sign up. And if you needed anymore information- here are my tips if you are new to online dating or thinking about it.
- Forget the rule that you don’t approach people in real life. This kind of crap doesn’t work online. Like the look of their profile- say hi, because if you don’t, someone else will. If you get a reply, great. If you don’t – no bother. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket. As your mother used to say- there is plenty more fish in the sea.
- I hate a lol, or a haha, or a lmao, but used sparingly they aren’t that awful online. It is hard to see sarcasm or humour online- don’t judge a lol, it probably means he is just being funny. Or trying to anyway. And we love a trier.
- You get what you put in. Spend some time on your profile. Spend some time searching. Spend some time talking. After only an evening I had lots of potential dates and had enjoyed myself.
- I hear lots of people saying – but what happens if someone sees me that I know. To these people I say – Who cares. There are thousands of people online- no one gasps, or judges – don’t flatter yourself.
- Be truthful. Be you. Trust your gut instinct.
- Like it or not, people do judge what you look at. Always include a picture. A recent one please. Get a friend around, doll yourself up and have some fun taking pictures. Smile.
- Read and personalize your email hello’s. No one wants to read a copy and paste jobby. If you haven’t bothered to read my profile, I doubt you are going to listen to me on a date. It is sloppy. Your opening gambit doesn’t have to be book – just something more exciting than hey.
- Meet, meet, meet in real life. Keep safe, wear something you feel comfortable in and read the rest of my dating tips ( more tips)
Remember- fear is temporary, regret is permanent.
Now, who wants to hear about the date…? ! You want to hear how my online dating date went.
Oh you do do yooooou!
My latest obsession…
Starting from now- I am back in the blogging vibe. It has been too long. I am not sure why I have stopped recently. Illness at home. Stress at work. Revived gym addiction. Yes these points factor in my silence. But mainly I’ve been too busy stuffing my face with the new Cadbury’s egg and spoon thingies to blog… Those things will be the death of me. ( No seriously those things will kill me. I am fast approaching being bed bound, just me and my choc egg spoon thingy. Downing in chocolate gooey amazingness.)
Either way – what is important is I am back… And I have lots to tell.
After reading so many amazing blogs dedicated to makeup and beauty, I have got obsessed. I love makeup. I cannot have a conversation without dropping in something about banana powder ( omg it looks amazing, I have ordered some from Amazon and will deffo do a post on it when it arrives). My evenings are also now are spent looking at before and after contouring shots. Fat little pudding faces are transformed into overly made up sort drag queen-esque faces simply by applying layers and layers of makeup, and drawing like a dark cock on the end of your nose. I am fascinated by it. So I too have bought the kit, and will be contouring my 6/10 face asap. Just a shame that the guy I am dating likes the natural looks. Which leads me onto…
The guy I am dating. Those of you that follow me on Twitter will know that I have a little wobble about him( for those of you who aren’t – come on now, stop being silly – click on the tab on the right). I had well and truly got my knickers in a twist. Why? Well, he pissed me off. A conglomeration of little things, and a lack of understanding of how things could seem to him made me fly off the handle, properly. I got all raj on his ass. But, when I finally allowed him to speak, without interrupting him every time he spoke by saying – “annnnd another thing I am annoyed about” I actually realised that he had quite a good point- what we were arguing about was just a difference of opinion, and both of us playing the dating game. So then I was left in a quandary. Old me would have continued to argue with him, even if I knew he was right – God forbid I admit defeat. Instead I licked my wounds, blamed it still a bit on him, said sorry for my reaction and didn’t sack him off. I think I am getting older and wiser.
Which leads me onto the next point, while I might be getting older and wiser, I am not getting fatter. No way. While I still want to Jodie Marsh it up ( get like scary muscle bound) I am neither particularly motivated, nor can I give up buttery toast, so I am making do with a great app that I have downloaded called – interval timer. The great thing about this app is that you can set up complex interval training routines. Take last night for example, I had set up a spin routine which was 45 minutes in length and consisted of four rounds of 10 sets – hover, squats, uphill and constant. The app simply vibrates and instructs you to move onto the next part when the time is up, all you have to do is focus on breathing and not collapsing. A definite download if you want to try out circuit training- because lets face it- if you count yourself, you cheat.
How have you all been? Any gossip I should know about?
I think I hate second dates more than I hate first dates. Bold statement.
First dates are a step into the unknown. It is like a game of poker – Double bluff this. Lie/ exaggeration of the truth that. You don’t want to show your cards too early. You analyse what they might be meaning with everything they say. (FINE – poker is too intellectual for me. I don’t have a clue what I am on about)
But the fact still remains- what I love the most about a first date is – you don’t know if they are thinking-
- My, my, my, she is a total babe, I cannot believe I am out with her. I am a lucky guy.
- Is that a beard she has on her chin? Surely that hair cannot be attached? It’s a cat hair, right? ( I have explained my worry about this previously)
- Will she please shut up and let me eat my steak in silence.
- She looks like sodding Steffi Graff. My penii has literally jumped back into my body.
Similarly they don’t know when they are talking if you are thinking-
- Jesus, he ordered a bacardi breezer, what a chump!
- Oh please don’t let me see someone I know. If I do I am going to pretend this date is my brother.
- He literally makes me want to skip the pudding and cut to the good stuff.
- He looks like Thor. I want to see his hammer. Witness the fitness.
Second dates aren’t like that. You have had to give a little something away. You have to have said – I would like to see you again. And, I believe this simple little thing can often make a big difference to the date. For me anyway. You see second dates can often determine if it is going to be the start of something beautiful, or, well the end of nothing.
As a rule – First dates don’t generally manifest themselves into second dates for me. Speaking too much, nope. Speaking too little, nope. Hell one guy had to tie his shoelaces up three times and I sacked him off for that. I just can’t see a future with a man who clearly is awful at doing his shoes up.
But, earlier this week I went on a second date, because rather worryingly I wanted to see him again, and he wanted to see me. Weird ey…! I figured that someone who made me so nervous on the first date deserves another date. He figured the same. So we went on a second date. It was nothing major. Nothing planned. Nothing scary. Just two people deciding to see each other again. No biggy.
But just like last time, rather frustratingly I can’t tell you very much about it.
- I have no recollection of what we talked about, what we laughed about, what we “bonded” over – this is despite the fact that I saw him for approximately 5 hours. I hope he did talk? Did I talk? Or, did we both sit in silence, for 5 hours?
- I know that as our time wore on, we managed to look at each other for more than 2 nanoseconds without each blushing and shying away, unlike date 1.
- I know that I liked how he smelt. ( Apparently if you like how someone of the opposite sex smells you are genetically compatible – honestly -how do I remember this bullshit, yet find myself unable to even remember my postcode)
- I know that I spent a lot of the time thinking – is he really nice, or is he an amazing actor and an actual tosser who has women across the globe throwing themselves howling onto their bed in despair? ( Still not sure on this one)
- I know that I also fleetingly wondered what his body was like, and even more fleetingly contemplated chucking my drink over him so he would strip – just top half, I am not a pervert. He caught me looking. I pretended I had something in my eye.
- Finally. As the evening went on I also started to hope he would pluck up the courage and kiss me. ( I can’t blab but we did kiss, but shhhh. I think I instigated it, although once again, can’t be sure – either way- he didn’t reach for his pepper spray- the naughty little bugger kissed me back. WITH tongues. ooooooh).
Maybe this second date malarkey isn’t that bad. There is just one problem. And, it is a big one. I think now I am paranoid about third dates.