Friday, 30 September 2005

Not the usual

I've just googled an ex. Turns out he's still living in this city despite keeping completely quiet and avoiding sightings by mutual acquaintances. Unless they're lying to me, which I can't really imagine they would.

Is googling exes acceptable when in a relationship? And how about emailing them? I still receive emails from a handfull of connections from the past. Even with the ones I don't love anymore I am still strangely comforted to know they are OK.

Every person you get to know allows you to become a slightly different you. Sometimes a better one, sometimes worse. If you don't keep in touch with them, it's like leaving a piece of yourself behind.

A woman with a lot of arms; but she still looks happy even with all those extra bits. Winner of one of the categories of Visions of Science 2005 by Amanda Rebbechi.

And if you keep moving on a lot like I have, that's a lot of pieces. I wonder if the pieces add up to a big chunk of me, percentage wise, or if there's a constant chunk (say 78%) that's 'me, now'. That would mean the old pieces shrink as they multiply to fit into their 22%.

I knew A-level maths would be good for something

Thursday, 29 September 2005


I think, shockingly, that I may be over that initial phase of being completely obsessed with J. I only know this because I've noticed that he has entered that phase himself; a number of months after me because he's just naturally more cautious.

It's quite charming if tiring: he thinks everything I do or say is 'cute' (which of course makes me wonder if he secretly thinks I'm stupid, which he of course claims isn't the case), he is constantly kissing and hugging me and brings me coffee from Starbucks (which he hates) in bed. All telltale signs of a fallen man.

But whereas I probably would have loved this a few months ago, I now find that I'm not exactly mildly irritating, but just indifferent to it. This could be because I'm generally feeling low, but I think it's just one of those things. Love never seems to match in a timely fashion for me.

And a second point today; as I'm watching the news about relief efforts for Katrina and Rita victims, and even still for the Asian tsunami from last year, I'm wondering how long it will be before the climate changes so drastically that we stop caring about these things. Or will we still care when there are seven or eight grade 5 hurricanes per year, when hurricanes start originating outside Brazil on a regular basis?

It is not completely off topic. Is that what a relationship is like as well? Where the grand gestures in the beginning seem really daunting and impressive, but then as time passes by they just become less and less so.

Then again there are people who remain compassionate; women who foster 50 children over the course of their life and love the last one as much as the first one. I hope I'm one of those people, at least in this relationship.

Now I am going off topic. Does anyone else have problems uploading photos? It's really pissing me off!

Tuesday, 27 September 2005

Pending cohabitation

So J has made up his mind; despite him not being overexcited about moving into my flat for a month, he has decided he 'doesn't really mind' and it's a nice thing to do for me, so he will be making his semi-permanent arrival shortly.

Despite this, I'm feeling a little low, and I'm not quite sure why. Possibly I feel a little cheated, not by J, but by life in general.

I remember when sleeping with someone meant you possibly wanted to have Sunday brunch with them.

Nowadays it apparently means you possibly want to have a mortgage and children with them.

There was a period of about a year between the two where I was generally panicking about turning from the first stance to the other. Now, however, I'm quite calm about my urge to grow courgettes in a joint back garden.

But I didn't know that it would be such a struggle; I don't feel I have the right to complain about this, but it is a struggle.

I expected it to be a smooth transition, that one day I'd be happily sleeping around and then the next day find myself safely snuggled up in the front seat of a Volvo with picked fences and a labrador. I didn't expect all this inbetween-ness.

But as J dipped out yesterday morning to fetch me a Starbucks latte as I was feeling low and in need of a sugar boost, I am just a little bit optimistic, too.

Thursday, 15 September 2005

Household issues

To live together or not, that is the question.

Which I fielded to J not so long ago. I thought he might say no, which he did, which was probably just as well, as the thought of actually living with him fills me with a certain amount of commitment phobia.

The best way to counter commitment phobia is of course to be with someone who is even more phobic than yourself. This solution does however make for difficult navigation when it comes to matters like living arrangements.

Rubber gloves & dishes - the way to gage the success of any cohabiting couple

I've been in live-in relationships before, and had both good and bad experiences. Nothing is better than waking up to the person you love every day, to live in your own private space where you can run around naked, and to snuggle up in bed or on the sofa in front of the Ten O'Clock News.

Then again, nothing is worse than waking up next to a person you can't stand, have disinterested sex with them and then proceed to bicker about the dishes / whose turn it is to clean the bathroom.

At any rate, I was quite relieved that he said no, altbeit a bit sad as part of me of course desperately craves reassurance in the relationship.

And now, fate has thrown a middle way solution in our direction.

J is stranded without a flat for a month due to his present landlady being a greedy cow (multiple to-let property owner greedy? Now there's something you don't hear every day…), and as the super-girlfriend I am I've of course offered that he can come to stay with me and Depressed Flatmate until he moves into his new flat.

Time will show if he takes me up on the offer, but I'm already a little excited.

Watch this space...

Tuesday, 13 September 2005

More or Less

So which do you prefer? Being the one who loves more or the one who loves less?

Ideally of course both parties should love each other equally, but this is rarely, if ever, the case.

Having tried both, I think I prefer being the one who loves more.

You get the advantage of loving someone so much it hurts, rather than putting up with someone cause they're quite nice and you don't want to break their heart (both elements of which are horrible feelings).

You usually will not crave being with someone else - the main reason people love their partner less is of course that they love someone else more, but the someone else is unavailable at the time being.

Most importantly, you will not have to break up with anyone.

Breaking up with someone is awful, as self-inflicted pain often is, but in addition you have to contend with the guilt of hurting someone else and with the lack of sympathy from surroundings (who don't think that self-inflicted pain is something which deserves a lot of sympathy).

The reason I mention this is that I notice every time that I see J, he likes me a little bit more. The things that used to annoy him about me in the beginning annoy him less, he looks me in the eyes more and takes pleasure in things simply because they can be related to me in some obscure fashion. In other words, telltale signs of falling in deeper.

I love him more, because I love him at all, but what if that changes? I'd like to say that the quality of my feelings for him wouldn't change at all, but they might.

Being loved more than you can love in return is an immense responsibility, one that I don't know if I'm ready to shoulder again any time soon. Or should I simply grow up, put my issues behind me and strive for that elusive power balance in a relationship? Watch this space...

Friday, 9 September 2005

The perfect woman

If men knew how easy it is for women to pretend to be the perfect girlfriend, they'd probably loose all faith in humanity.

Nothing like a girlfriend absorbed in Silent Hill 5 hrs a day. Although Tekken would be preferable

After about 20 years of trying and sometimes unfortunately succeeding at projecting myself as the perfect girlfriend, I've come to the conclusion that she has the following characteristics (this has been tested out on several different continents, but probably mostly holds true for Western men's preferences):

- Plays playstation (other consoles possibly acceptable)
- Has and drives car
- Puts out frequently, with enthusiasm and skill
- Cooks nice food and doesn't talk about dieting
- Can join in commenting on other womens' physical attributes
- Doesn't nag or get angry
- Looks effortlessly beautiful at all times
- Appreciates that going out and getting drunk is a completely acceptable pasttime

They don't really ask much.

Obviously, it comes to a stage in the relationship where you feel like revealing that you actually hate driving, are very jealous and secretly dieting, but then you don't feel you can crush your partner's belief that they've finally found Her. It's tricky.

And then you end up turning from Perfect Girlfriend to Girlfriend From Hell, who:

- Nags relentlessly
- Is cranky cause she diets
- Blames everything on BF
- Doesn't love BF
- Spends ages grooming herself

Notice I'm not saying she doesn't put out as this would surely be self-torture on top of the pain of being GFH.

I am going to break the cycle this time around. I've vowed to be honest from the beginning and regularly floss my teeth in front of J.

If this doesn't work, I really don't know what will.

Thursday, 8 September 2005


Pregnancy scares. The test of every relationship. Before an actual pregnancy and the ensuing strain of bringing up the resulting offspring.

I have always had irregular periods so rely on home testing kits for reassurance every few months, despite taking precautions. In line with my 'be yourself with your boyfriend' policy, I decided I wanted J to sit in on the test. I don't see why that strange 2-minute bubble of anxiety and (you hope to God) relief should be mine alone.

In my cramped bathroom with its strangely angled walls I squatted on the toilet and peed on the strip for the requisite 5 seconds. J was already looking as tense as I was feeling. A blue line turned up in one indicator window. Then in the second, paler, but there.

Is that ok, he asked. I felt dizzy. I think I said I had to check the pack. He said 'don't scare me', but I wasn't attempting anything so cruel.

Stupid. Of course, it turned out its one of the tests which show two lines when they're done. If you're pregnant it shows a cross in the second window.The shock made the blood rush to my feet in a strangely delayed manner, I showed J the package.

He came in the shower with me. I said he would be a good father, which he of course denied. He said I would be a good mother, impatient but focused on the happiness of my children. He scrubbed my back.

I have never particularly wanted children. I don't now. But when I saw that second line there was a tiny part of me that wasn't scared, just sad about probably having to decline the offer of that simpler alternative life I sometimes sense I have just missed out on when I wake in the morning, where J loves me back and a pregnancy test is a test for a pregnancy and not for a relationship.

But at least I think we passed this one.

Sunday, 4 September 2005

Bad judgement

Now, normally I'd probably not have time to vent more than once a day. However: What is it with my Flatmate and bad judgement? I thought I had the monopoly on bad judgement in men. However, she seems to beat me (she almost slept with a Republican once).

Her latest find, whom I will admit is very attractive in a rugged sort of way, has already displayed two behaviours typical to commitment phobic individuals:

  1. Extreme reluctance to meet her friends
  2. Leaving to go home shortly after sex despite being completely knackered

From my own past behaviour I can say that a combination of the two usually means "You're cute, but this just ain't the right time".

The guy was there last week; I got home while they were in the bedroom and as I was on the phone to someone else and sitting in the living room, he somewhat sheepishly shuffled past me and left.

Yesterday they went out; she was very excited beforehand and very downbeat when she got back. I feel very sorry for her and don't really know what to say.

Don't people get to an age where it's OK to say, you know, "we've had a really good time but that's unfortunately all it was"? Grow up, man.

Not my name

When I was little, I remember really hating it when women would introduce themselves as 'so-and-so's mum'. I wanted to know people's names, and swore to myself that if I ever had children I'd always be known as my proper name except for to the children themselves.

I've no children, nor am I planning any, and people still know my name. But in my head I'm not myself anymore. I think of myself as J's girlfriend.

Why this is, I don't know. I've had other partners before, some of whom I've lived with for years. Yet I was always myself. When I could tell I was turning into a bitchy girlfriend I always blamed them.

And, can I just say, I think I was justified in doing so, although the fault was obviously mine for lacking judgement in picking them in the first place.

Now, I blame only myself. It's not because J is without fault, because he most certainly isn't, but there isn't anything about him which justifies blaming him for turning from My Self into a Girlfriend.

Is it because I want him to buy me a house and keep me forever? Or maybe it's an age thing.

In my head when I talk to myself (which in some cultures is considered completely normal, bringing up the question of cultural bias in diagnoses such as Schizophrenia) I have begun to adress myself as J's girfriend.

So I figured she should have a blog.

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