Wednesday, 27 September 2017

Me, You and a Ghost or Two

There are too many negative dating terms lately. I've been benched, breadcrumbed, cushioned, ghosted and bloody french toasted more times than I can count at this stage. Ok, so I don't think french toasted is an actual dating trend term but I'm sure it will be eventually. You heard it here first, folks. Funnily enough, anytime I read about the latest dating trend it seems it is happening to me at this exact moment. Whether he is sending the odd sexual suggestion every few weeks or cancelling every date we plan, when rain begins to fall on blossoming relationships in 2017 you can guarantee that Fenella Fox has been hit by gale force winds, severe floods and a flying trampoline or two.

I can't keep up with my own hunt for love these days, anytime I start to develop any sort of feelings I feel like I'm going on some deadly expedition with Frodo and that dodgy ring. To be honest, for me the amazing excitement was taken out of dating once I hit man number 7 who told me he didn't want a relationship and my mum's "There haven't been that many, you can still count them on one hand!" logic went down the toilet quicker than my phone on a night out.

For me, love comes with too many limits these days. Unfortunately, my alcohol intake doesn't though, nor does my cheesy pasta consumption. In more recent years, this little girl's dream of her wedding dress has definitely morphed into the dream of an outfit for a second date. Actually, even a first date because I don't know if we can consider spooning with one eyelash hanging off after 3am or vomiting out of his car door as a first date. I'm kidding of course, I don't vomit while in the presence of potential love interests, only old ones who shook me off a long time ago and I begin to feel lonely after that third shot of tequila sets in and they start to look like a great idea, similarly to the platefuls of cheesy pasta.

I had to change my music taste recently too, I soon realised eighties love isn't welcome in 2017 so I feel perhaps it is more appropriate to listen to the music from the Conjuring or Insidious instead whenever I start to develop feelings. I mean, you can't say you've been too badly ghosted by a man if you're being dragged out of bed by the devil, can you? Surely that's worse? Although sometimes these supernatural forces are less scary than the ghosts from my romantic past and at times I wonder whether I would prefer to be dragged out of bed by the devil rather than happily climb into bed with him.

My nan asked me whether my hair frightens men away, but to be honest, in my dating life the excessive volume of my scrunch dry is the only thing that keeps protecting me from the force of the blow. And as for the ever changing colours? I like to keep them on their toes.

So many people don't want labels on their dating life, so why do dating trends have so many names? Why do people think it's normal to have a ghost in their life rather than a boyfriend? Why do I have to scroll through Cosmo anytime my love life goes pear shaped and I need to put a name on what has happened this time? Or more importantly, how can I be told I've been benched when I wasn't even aware I was sitting on it? Why are we allowing men to treat us as subs when it is quite clear we're wanted out on the field by the real players who have no intentions of playing us at all?

Time to get off this bench and stop the ghost hunting because this woman has got a life to live and dating trends are harder to keep up with than Game of Thrones when you've missed the first three seasons. No, don't bother texting me in six weeks time because all you'll find is a dusty bench and strands of my old hair colour. Byeeeeeee.

Ok I'm bored and desperate for attention, maybe I'll just reply the once...


Monday, 4 September 2017

Am I Going Crazy?

There is something surprisingly comforting about the moment when you hear girls talk about the lads in their life who have referred to them as "psycho." As a female, you can often feel like you're in it alone when you're storming around your room and blaring Dua Lipa New Rules. Sometimes things can build up to the point where you can actually feel yourself gradually going insane. You want nothing more than to text a load of boys who couldn't give a crap about you while you mentally attack the master of mind games in your life with a shoe. Yes, there is something comforting about the desire to fall into the arms of men who will only hold you for a moment while you're on the mission to get over the arms who act like they want to hold you but somehow always end up letting go of their grip.

Tip toeing around your problems is about as elegant as a Saturday night dance floor grind. I am curious about how many girls are currently staring at their phone only to see plenty of messages from the girls saying "Don't text him!" but there are no texts from him. Not one text has been sent from the phone of that man who had sent you so many sweet texts previously. No matter how many squad members try to help you keep the psycho in (bless them the sweethearts, they always mean well,) sometimes you need to take control of your own life before your own thoughts suffocate you or convince you to do stupid things to intentionally try and ruin his life because you believe that is the answer to long term happiness. Example 1 - Hitting on his best friend. Example 2 - Eh, only to be looked into if example 1 doesn't work well enough, but it might be an idea to have a supply of eggs ready to go. Also, if you're anything like me, every group needs that bold member who always sends that third unanswered text to determine whether Saturday night needs to be a vodka or wine night.

As much as we hate to admit it, every girl has at least one guy, if not two, who make her blood boil like the contents of Mount Vesuvius just before it took out Pompeii. You try your best to act completely normal around him but all you can think is "Wow, here you are talking to me about your new job yet yesterday evening I was almost shaking backwards and forwards in the corner of my bedroom or about to come down the stairs backwards while my head was spinning 360 degrees." Yes, this is normal, it just means you care about this little peasant boy who at this moment in time just looks like the poo emoji in your mind. Mature I know, but whatever helps you to drag him kicking and screaming off his pedestal.

The most frustrating thing about all of this? The fact that you probably just stubbed your baby toe on a door or hit yourself on the head with your phone by accident while in a complete fit of rage (just me?) and he is probably sitting on his own bed laughing away about the influence he is having on you while he throws more junk into his bubbling cauldron.

Is it just me? Am I just easily wound up like an old fashioned music box or are today's men becoming increasingly good at making us question our level of sanity?