Funny little things known as "feelings" have taken hold of me recently. They're a particular bitch, however, when met with none of the intensity with which they were projected. So when such niggling thoughts such as 'why hasn't he... yet' start boiling over the brim of your mind, making you want to pull out hair to starve the little buggers, what can one do to soothe the soul? Yoga, meditation, or scream-therapy?!?
Well no, the right thing to have done, I suspect, was to persevere until I became a potty-trained super-bitch and cultivate an innate rebel of romance. But I have no time to wait at the finish line, arms held out in anticipation for a meaner me – stood in a sort of chair pose squat, I tend to envisage.
My new life philosophy was instead to live life 'in-the-moment' and ignore how painful undesired consequence can be. The idea came to me while listening to the radio – the Exciters (a 60s American pop group) advocate a form of straightforwardness called 'honesty' in their classic "Tell Him", which quickly became my relationship anthem. To be fair, it worked for Ally McBeal (yes the 90s TV character), and she's my idol.
Huh, I thought. That's what I've been waiting for? A tortoise would have been better. Even so, I persevered, adamant I would be able to squeeze blood out of stone.
"OK, call me when you're free?" I added.
A friend at work recently introduced me to the book "Why Men Love Bitches". It highlights the broadly "unattractive" traits women tend to exhibit in dating and urges its readers to act in opposition to what you really want to do. The theory is that women's natural inclinations are likely to drive men sprinting down the nearest alley rather than the aisle.
After being gripped by its analysis of the male psyche, exemplified by simple explanations of why men exhibit specific behaviour, I began to see sense. I had always believed that male stereotypes only applied to a subset of emotionally unavailable, stubborn, arrogant, self-righteous guys who I had no pleasure of knowing, but the book strongly advocates the power of suppression and the forgery of emotions as conducive to making you irresistible to the man of your dreams.
After being gripped by its analysis of the male psyche, exemplified by simple explanations of why men exhibit specific behaviour, I began to see sense. I had always believed that male stereotypes only applied to a subset of emotionally unavailable, stubborn, arrogant, self-righteous guys who I had no pleasure of knowing, but the book strongly advocates the power of suppression and the forgery of emotions as conducive to making you irresistible to the man of your dreams.
So the next time wriggly head-worms were disrupting my zen, I tried to suppress them by practising the book's techniques with vigour. It started out promisingly, and I blitzed the life out of ebbing insecurities with like a dictator taking out dissidence. Splat, went my need for a man to validate my self-worth.
Unfortunately, this mighty stronghold crumbled within days – my exasperation outstripped the patience of my calm conviction, and I was once again out of control. I found myself teetering, on the brink of heated emotional outburst that was a sure springboard to an icy pool of rejection.
Unfortunately, this mighty stronghold crumbled within days – my exasperation outstripped the patience of my calm conviction, and I was once again out of control. I found myself teetering, on the brink of heated emotional outburst that was a sure springboard to an icy pool of rejection.
So now what? I've not managed to learn how to be a bitch and so no one will love me?
Well no, the right thing to have done, I suspect, was to persevere until I became a potty-trained super-bitch and cultivate an innate rebel of romance. But I have no time to wait at the finish line, arms held out in anticipation for a meaner me – stood in a sort of chair pose squat, I tend to envisage.
My new life philosophy was instead to live life 'in-the-moment' and ignore how painful undesired consequence can be. The idea came to me while listening to the radio – the Exciters (a 60s American pop group) advocate a form of straightforwardness called 'honesty' in their classic "Tell Him", which quickly became my relationship anthem. To be fair, it worked for Ally McBeal (yes the 90s TV character), and she's my idol.
So off I went, humming my song with the full chorus of imaginary harmonies behind me and texting the man I'd been casually seeing to tell him that, in fact, I missed him when he was away. I even admitted to knowing that I shouldn't have, yet I still missed him. Honest. To the point. Heart on sleeve, like the girl in the song.
I sat back and waited, I did. Until I thought was close to making out the shape of a tortoise edging into my eye-line.
Buzz, my Blackberry messenger, jolts me out of the Mirage: "I fell asleep, let's talk tomorrow".
Huh, I thought. That's what I've been waiting for? A tortoise would have been better. Even so, I persevered, adamant I would be able to squeeze blood out of stone.
"OK, call me when you're free?" I added.
And call, he did. One week later, and in response to a text I that said "[complaints]... you d*ck"; followed by another which apologised and explained that what I really meant to write: "you f*cking d*ck".
A d*ck he was. But I should've known better. Or maybe If I had learnt to be a super duper bitch, the way of the best selling dating bible, he may have long gotten down on one knee and begged for my forgiveness. Fat chance; but oh, conjecture, how you tease me.
A d*ck he was. But I should've known better. Or maybe If I had learnt to be a super duper bitch, the way of the best selling dating bible, he may have long gotten down on one knee and begged for my forgiveness. Fat chance; but oh, conjecture, how you tease me.
