Sometimes a girl just needs to vent….

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Hotter Online

Me Tarzan…Oh wait no, that’s not right…Me Superman… (Photo credit: Cali4beach)

So…two months ago I joined an online dating site to “improve my social life”. (OK, find a nice man – oh OK, a hot man who’ll make me laugh.)

It was a free site, and as I didn’t find anyone I clicked with…I joined another where you have to pay real life money to join. I figured if credit card statements were involved I may meet someone more invested in starting a relationship. With an increased likelihood of them actually being single.

So now I’m on two dating sites. (Hang on, does this make me an online floozy? OK don’t answer that.) And I’ve been recommended to join yet another! This one asks you to do a psychological questionnaire type whotsit to deduce that your ideal man is George Clooney. But then as George Clooney isn’t registered on “idealpartnerforyou.com” or whatever it’s called, then they deduce that Barry from Leeds is your perfect soulmate. Apparently it’s foolproof. So now I’m considering revealing my credit card details yet again. Is it possible to be addicted to looking for love online? If so, will someone please confiscate my router?

To date, my foray into the world of techno arranged romance has produced the following results:

  • 40+ (approx, but hey who’s counting) hours of dating site window shopping. This bit is a lot more fun than I thought! Also more time intensive. Yet slightly frustrating when your “friend” logs onto your site and starts emailing people on your behalf. Gemma has an appreciation for the male topless selfie. I do not.
  • 36 x emails from potential suitors.
  • 1 x email including a massively *ahem* inappropriate photo.
  • 19 x emails from potential suitors which didn’t scream “One night stand only/Definitely married/Potential psycho/Wears socks with sandals”.
  • 5 x exchanges of telephone numbers.
  • 5 x actual dates with real life human men!
  • 4 x actual dates with real life human men who looked like their photo.
  • 2 x actual dates with real life human men who hadn’t lied massively about either their job or relationship status. (No, being unemployed does not make you an entrepreneur, although full props for the creative self marketing. And, no, just because you’re currently sleeping in the spare room of your family home – wife and three kids- does not make you single)
  • 1 x date who told me he had to leave as he was meeting another girl for coffee in half an hours time.
  • 1 x really great guy who made me laugh.
  • 1 x great guy who didn’t call again.

Sooo, 80 days into my project and I still haven’t met the Yin to my Yang. But *whisper it and don’t tell anyone* this is actually good fun! And it has to be better than my Mum trying to set me up with the nice guy who works behind the counter at the local Co-op. Hi Mum if your reading, I’ve met Neil at the Co-op, and he’s lovely, but not my type.

Will keep you posted. Although if I do meet the love of my life then I’m taking an Ad out in the Daily Mail.

Big Love,

Evie XXXXXXXXXXXXXXx


UsedToBeWithMate.jpg

Apparently all they need is my credit card. And my self respect. (Photo credit: acb)

So this is what is has come down to. Brass tacks. I am selling myself on the internet. Not only that but I am apparently paying for the privilege. I have spent the past two weeks umming and erring over whether or not this is:

A) A bad idea

B) A stupid idea

C) Just plain desperate

My friend Gemma however has advised me that this is my only option. Non negotiable. She has pointed out that all my friends are in relationships and my only other arena for meeting men is my work place. Which is not going to happen.

I have pointed out that I don’t need a man, and I’m perfectly capable of replacing any romantic interest with many small kittens from the local rescue centre. (My cat is now eyeballing me with the intense distrust of an only child, who plans on keeping it that way.)

But apparently I’m not allowed to stay single. I didn’t realise this but according to society, if I am single, I must have something wrong with me. This is a revelation! What is so wrong with not wanting to share your bottle of wine in an evening? Why is it not ok to spend quality time doing whatever you want to do, without compromise? Why can I not just enjoy having complete control over the TV remote? Last time I checked being single hasn’t afforded me a personality transplant. So why does my Mother keep looking at me like I’m a little lost Dodo?

I’ll admit I like to have a grumble about my Ex every now and forever, but I’ll always complain about something. It’s in my nature. If I was ever one hundred percent happy I’d probably implode, which would inevitably start the grumbling cycle again. My perfect equilibrium is low level anxiety, peppered with mild dissatisfaction and a smidgen of neurosis. I’d love to be one of those zen, calm, yoga types, but even the thought makes my eyes roll with the knowledge I’d have to become vegan and wear Lycra.

Which brings me back to the dating profile. What the hell do I write? My highly tuned female intuition senses that describing myself as a single female, low level hypochondriac,  who writes a blog about hating her ex boyfriend, and who owns one cat (at present), is not going to garner the results that Gemma is expecting. I can see I am going to need to work on this a little. I have a sinking feeling I am going to have to take up kite surfing, at least on paper. Either that or I’m going to have to find a really flattering photo and cross my fingers that my Ex never ever sees my profile. Wish me luck!

Big Love Evie XXX


English: Maldives Meeru island

Why am I not here? (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

If so I most definitely have a bad case of it. And I’m worried it may be contagious. Viral even. With a slight trace of an envious rash.

My Ex has recently been traumatising entertaining me on Facebook, with pictures of him on holiday with his new girlfriend. Yup, I know, I was supposed to delete him off Facebook weeks ago. But as we’ve already established, I have the willpower of a squirrel with a bag of nuts.

But it’s not just pictures of my Ex that cause mild vexation. According to Facebook the whole world is on holiday, drinking a cool glass of Pinot Grigio, whilst I’m stuck at work. (Admittedly I’m usually avoiding work by playing on social media sites, but still, I’m at work. It’s my location that counts. I obviously just need to explain this to my boss at some point.)

For example there’s an old friend from high school. Let’s call her Carol. She posts endless pictures on Facebook of her rather pretty Audi, and stunning villa holidays in the Maldives and Bali. (Although not at the same time, I don’t think even she earns enough to ship the car to the Indian Ocean.) She has an amazing job. And as we haven’t actually spoken in years I am convinced her life is movie star perfect.

Then there’s the endless pictures of friends’ children. Lots and lots of babies. Which makes me feel like I should have a baby. Not because I’m broody. But just because everyone else has one. And if you take too many photos of your cat…well, people think you’re mad. Which isn’t really fair when you think about it.

Plus thanks to the wonders of Instagram, people look distinctly more beautiful online. They should invent an Instagram mirror, to provide the same effect in your own home. I would buy one. I appreciate it would provide an overly flattering, and somewhat false reflection. But it would make me feel way more perky in the morning if my skin was a beautiful senna hue. Although, it would be a cheaper, and more realistic option, to see if B&Q sell light bulbs in a burnt brown colour.

I don’t think people are intentionally trying to brag. After all you can’t complain about your job on Facebook in case you get sacked. Or complain about your partner in case you get dumped. So people self censor by being terminally happy.

But according to the wonders of technology, I am constantly under achieving, under travelled, and under sun tanned.

It would be nice if they could invent a new social media site. “Ventbook” would work. Completely anonymous, personal photos banned. A grumble site. Just so whenever life isn’t going particularly your way, you can log on and realise that the rest of the world is perfectly imperfect too.

So for the rest of the day I intend to bypass Facebook for once. Instead I am going to look on holiday websites. Much more productive. My boss will be sooo pleased.

Big Love

Evie XXXXXXXXXX


I went on my blind date at the weekend. And it’s official. I have forgotten how to interact with human beings of the male variety.

Bridget Jones's Schpaastler

I am currently feeling rather like Bridget Jones. But without Hugh Grant or Colin Firth for entertainment. (Photo credit: Andreas Brixen)

But I’m sure I can learn. I just need to produce my own manual on the appropriate etiquette. And learn some basic social skills. And eventually….. I’ll succeed in not looking like an absolute divvy when I’m out in public with a guy.

I wouldn’t mind, but I didn’t even fancy him. This is what I have learnt so far…..

  1. DON’T APPROACH THE FIRST LONELY LOOKING GUY STOOD AT THE BAR – It is possible he’s not your date. It’s also possible his girlfriend is going to come back from the ladies and give you death stares for the rest of the evening.
  2. TRY TO OBTAIN A RECENT PHOTO PRIOR TO THE DATE – See tip number one. Plus, if all you have seen is a rather tiny, out of date photo, you can’t help but be disappointed when he turns up with no hair.
  3. THINK OF CONVERSATION TOPICS IN ADVANCE – Saying err and erm a lot does not constitute stimulating conversation. Neither does tapping your fingers on the table and humming along to the background music.
  4. DON’T GET DRUNK TO EASE CONVERSATION – You just end up over sharing, then slurring, then finding yourself way too amusing. Not particularly attractive Evie.
  5. DON’T DISCUSS YOUR EX.
  6. OR HIS EX.
  7. OR POLITICS.
  8. OR THE KARDASHIANS. (That really didn’t go down too well.)
  9. DO SHOW AN ACTIVE INTEREST IN HIS HOBBIES – Just don’t suggest joining his tennis club on the first date. It’s not polite. It just makes you look like a stalker.
  10. DO ENSURE SOMEONE KNOWS WHERE YOU ARE – It’s important, for safety, that friends or family are informed of your date. But when they turn up and wave at you through the window it is perfectly acceptable to pretend you do not know who they are. Even if they are shouting your name and wolf whistling.

I doubt that the blind date guy and myself will be eloping to Vegas any time soon. But at least I didn’t cancel. And at least he didn’t cancel. And neither of us went to the toilets mid date and did a runner. Which are all great positives. Onwards and upwards! And I haven’t checked my Ex’s Facebook page for a whole week. Result! If you have any dating tips please share. I think I’m going to need all the advice I can get.

Big Love

Evie XXX


English: An unclothed woman in Washington, D.C...

The female mind. Part sweet, part stubborn. Mostly a total mystery to men. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My friend Rebecca had a doozy of a “misunderstanding” with her boyfriend at the weekend, which naturally we dissected over many hours and too much wine. Whilst mulling over his (way too) familiar mismanagement of her emotions, I couldn’t help but think that a user guide would be helpful to men who’d prefer to successfully date a woman without thinking she’s totally mental. What women say and what they really mean…. so here goes with a few of the basics*.

  • “DO I LOOK GOOD IN THIS?” – Ok, so you guys may not care what clothes your girlfriend/wife chooses. I mean really not care. We could probably go out dressed in a piece of old carpet and jelly shoes if it means you get to leave the house on time. But shrugging and emitting a noise similar to “Meh” will not get a female out of the house any faster. This is the time to fake a little enthusiasm.  A big “wow, you look great” will get you to the pub way quicker. Unless we have spinach in our teeth. Always mention the spinach thing.
  • “DO YOU THINK SHE’S ATTRACTIVE?” – Aaaargh. Answer with caution. This is a trick question, a verbal land mine. Never admit to finding anyone else “hot” whilst in a relationship, least of all a close female friend. As a guiding principle, the less time you’re likely to spend with the woman in question, the more flattering you can be. After all, chances of you running off with Beyonce are slim to middling (I’m being kind here). Best response, if pushed, is “she’s ok, but not my type”. That generally diffuses the bomb.
  • “NO, REALLY, I DON’T WANT ANYTHING FOR MY BIRTHDAY”- It’s a lie. What we’re trying to say, is that if you knew us as well as we want you to, you’d be able to psychically guess that we want a miniature pony, diamond bracelet, weekend in Paris, that emerald encrusted gecko wall art we saw in the local art gallery. But if in doubt just buy us something pretty. And not noticeably cheap. And for God’s sake wrap it. And not in newspaper. And yes, a card is required too.
  • SILENCE – Silence is a generally a bad thing. A very bad thing. Most guys seem to like silence, you think we’re giving you a little space to watch sport in peace. But women aren’t naturally programmed to be quiet. Most of us like to chatter. If we aren’t chattering at you you’ve done something wrong. You know that little comment we couldn’t possibly take offence to? We took offence. If you want us to be quiet without an agenda, take us to the cinema. Or feed us.
  • “YOU’RE NOT LISTENING TO ME” – Ok this one is normally our bad. We know, deep down, that the first time we told you what was wrong with our day/life/career/hair that you possibly did listen. Where you’re falling down is by not letting us recount the same information in slightly different formats, for the next three hours. Chances are you’ve probably offered some perfectly sensible advice, and expected us to move on. This is the thing. We don’t want our problems solving. We don’t want to move on. We just want to talk. A lot. If in doubt grab a beer, try to look sympathetic, nod a bit, and hope we book an evening out soon with our “non hot” girlfriends. Do not stare at your iPhone or the TV, it will only start the Silence thing off again.

Aargh now after all that I miss my Ex again. This post reminds me of him rather a lot.

If you can think of any more please let me know.

Big Love Evie XXXX

*Of course I can’t speak for all women. Just the lovely (wonderfully bonkers) ones I’ve been lucky enough to meet in my lifetime.


English: Taylor Swift at the 2010 Time 100.

Taylor Swift and I should get coffee!(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Did you know there are dedicated websites where you can actually sell your Ex’s stuff?!? Now I am assuming these sites are for people who have been left with something more valuable than a toothbrush and a Stone Roses CD, but I’m wary of delving too deeply into such things in case I get Ex envy. It’s bad enough having a significant Ex, without thinking that some other bastard could have bought you much nicer presents. For my last birthday Richard bought me a bra that was one size too small (I could never work out if that was a compliment or an insult) and a pair of knickers that were one size too large (which yes, I took as an insult). So I don’t really have anything of huge sentimental or monetary value to dispose of.

But seeing as I have almost/nearly/just about ish….got my head round the fact that we are potentially/ possibly/probably…. never ever getting back together (damn you Taylor Swift). I kinda need to work out what to do with/how to dispose of his stuff. My friend Gemma helpfully advised me that burning his things is probably out of the question, as I live in a smoke free zone, and I’ve missed bonfire night. And I’m not mental. But it’s been a few months now, and I think it’d make me feel better to shed his clutter.

I have enquired many times if he would like to collect these items, or have them delivered back to him by Fed Ex, but he does not seem inclined to coordinate schedules. Which is rather strange as I still had his favourite hat. And he loved that hat.

Anyhoo, I’ve separated his stuff into three piles, bin, keep, and charity shop.

BIN PILE: Toothbrush, Deodorant, Comb, Razor, 7 socks, 4 pair underpants, small bra & large pants gift set, football sticker books (yes that’s supposed to be plural), 2 t-shirts with suspicious looking holes in them.

CHARITY SHOP PILE: 2 t-shirts without holes in them. Stone Roses CD. Call Of Duty game. Large toy dinosaur. Lego. (in case you are wondering he was 29)

KEEP PILE: Scrabble, Valentines day cards, and Birthday cards. (Not quite ready for that purge just yet.)

Big Love EvieXXX

PS I was wearing Richard’s favourite hat last week. It is a rather nice stripy wool bobble hat. And it was cold. Our nice local Big Issue seller guy looked chilly. He now owns Richard’s hat. This makes me happy.


Facebook logo

Facebook logo (Photo credit: Wikipedia)  I really need to get out more.

Much like diamonds, fast cars, and hot men, dignified indifference is something I admire. And like most things I admire, I do not possess any.

And so, I fear I may have thrown myself head first off the New Year’s resolution wagon, and into a giant muddy puddle of angst. Not only did I have a drink. (Only one drink, but it’s amazing how much wine you can fit into one large glass. Try it!) But I also checked my Ex’s Facebook page. Drunk Facebook curiosity was expressly forbidden. And now I know why…….

Because my Ex now has a “Facebook official” girlfriend. Proudly announced to the world with the flick of a status update. Technologically rubber stamped with the introduction of a recently cropped profile photo, showing their conjoined twin, smiley happy faces. My Ex and his new lady.

The girl I saw him with on New Years Eve has been promoted, from random festive grope, to timeline approved partner.

Epic. Just when I think I’m about to turn a corner, I do a bloody U turn instead.

So now the merry little head dance commences……If I looked more like her (devastatingly pretty) would we still be together? Why her not me? (Ok so I’m slightly in denial about the devastatingly pretty thing.) If I bleached my hair, got extensions, manicured, pedicured, didn’t eat for six months, and had extensive plastic surgery to look more like her, would he take me back? Would the bank give me a loan for the surgery? Would plastic surgery hurt? Would I end up with identity issues after surgery? Will he ever want me back? Will I ever not want him back? How do bees fly?

Way too many pointless, futile questions. I would quite like to switch my head off, quieten it down from its pointless rambling. Frankly I probably need a slap, but I have a low pain threshold and I bruise easily. Like a peach.

Hope your New Year’s resolutions are panning out a tad more successfully.

Big Love Evie

XXXXXXXXXXX

Current January Resolutions points tally 195 points ish.



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