Time, Patience and Celibacy

Is it possible to stay friends with the ex? Not just nodding acquaintances, or staying in touch because of the kids, but real, honest to God friends? Dinners out, theatre trips, weekends away as buddies as opposed to friends with benefits... is this really possible?

I've always thought probably not. And not because of the whole boys and girls can't be friends for fear they'll end up in the sack predicament, but because generally, unless you've both been really, really grown up about things and simply grown apart, the chances are that one of you will have behaved quite badly during the relationship (ergo the fact he/she is now an ex) and the other has been badly hurt.  Perhaps one of you may have behaved quite badly during the breakup.  By which I mean me.  I'm likely to have behaved really, really badly during the breakup.   I'm the worst kind of ex, a near demented banshee straddling the line between "F*ck you, I never really loved you and anyway you were shit in bed" and "Please don't leave me to die alone, surrounded by cats and Bridget Jones movies and M&S ready meals for one".  A modern day Miss Haversham, if you will. Seriously, ex's that trot out the well worn "I hope we can be friends" line to me have no idea what they are letting themselves in for. 

It took me six years - YES, SIX YEARS - to get over the sexy architect.  If I ever did, that is.  My friends still know him as the love of my life, and can't believe that now, all these years on, we are able to meet up perhaps once a year or so and I don't go home crying into my cocoa.  But we do, I don't, and it's great.  But it took a great deal of time, patience and celibacy to get me to that point, and I'm glad to say that now, I actually look forward to our annual glass of wine and catch up, and no longer harbour any form of grudge against my replacement.  Well not for most of the time anyway.

But this is different.  I have got cheese in my fridge older than this break up and yet here I am galivanting around town with the beautiful JC (of which more to follow, no doubt).  Me and MB really do seem to have crossed the line from lovers to friends without there being more than a smidgen of drama and histrionics.  Since the break up we have met up perhaps 3 or 4 times a month, and its been fine.  Really fine.  But now you see this leads me to a bigger problem, and me being a worrier I need to analyse.

Does this mean that he was right, I was wrong, and perhaps the relationship was not right from the very start?  Did I ever really, really love him in any proper sense?  Or did I just enjoy his company, the relationship, the girlfriend status?  Did I turn into one of those pathetic, needy women of a certain age so frightened of being alone they switch off the filter and settle for anything they can get?  Certainly, I wanted it to work, but can wanting something badly enough ever make it right? 

Having spent 5 years convincing myself that MB was The One, it has come as a huge surprise (and I will admit a little bit of a disappointment, perhaps tinged with a bit of relief too)  to realise that he really, really wasn't.  We went out for his birthday dinner the other night, and now the rose tinted glasses are off, I can see him for what he was and should have been throughout - a friend.  Nothing more, despite my best efforts, but a dear and valued friend.  And I hope that will continue, at least until the cheese finally goes mouldy.

Dumped on the Jacksy

When is it acceptable to date a "married man"?

Had you asked me this question last week, my answer would have been "never".   Of course, that's the short and very, very lazy answer.   There are, perhaps, certain exceptions where it is acceptable.  What if the parties are separated, living entirely separate lives but do not wish to divorce on religious grounds?  Or because of the children?  Or simply because they don't want to as no intention to remarry/reproduce in the future?   What if one party is entirely miserable and unhappy,  perhaps they are in an abusive relationship, too frightened or financially impecunious to leave, and turns to a kindly friend/colleague for support, and that friendship leads to love?

Now there are some that will say whilst others can do whatever they like and that is for them, they personally would never become romantically involved with a married man.  Perhaps because they had learned the hard way, or perhaps because they just don't agree with it.  I always thought I was of that mind - I try never to sit in judgment of others (God knows plenty could sit in judgment of me, one way or the other) but it's not for me.  No thank you.   Sister solidarity and all that. 

Now I have few hard and fast rules in life, and those that know me know that whilst I am a pretty open minded, try anything once (within reason) kinda gal, the married man thing is inviolate. 

However, I now find myself in a quandary.   I've recently met a great guy.  I suspect he'll be making an appearance here from time to time, so he best have a name, and that name shall be JC.  He's fit, fun and fabulous.  He's smart and articulate.  He's sarcastic.  He is the right mix of interested and unavailable.  He is somewhat of an enigma.  He is married.

There is no need to bore with the detail, but things are "complicated".  With a capital C.  And that for me means "no".  With a capital N.

My last experience with a married man was a guy who'd been separated for 2 years.  He hadn't dated anyone in the meantime and hadn't felt the need to bother with the formalities of divorce, but hey - two years on is safe for me, right?  Wrong.  After I fell head over heels in love with this whirlwind (and I say that as I met him on 3 April, was in love by the 3 May and it was over by 3 June) he decided to get on with the legalities.  However, that stirred up a shedload of emotions he wasn't ready for so I got right royally dumped on the jacksy when he decided "he wasn't over his marriage".  Never has falling off cloud 9 been so fast, so furious and so painful.  I not only bruised my derriere when I landed, but also my ego.  So the married man rule was extended to not just married men, but also separated men.  Most of the 35+ male generation, in fact.  And I can tell you, that leaves some slim pickings.

So what the hell am I doing even CONSIDERING entering into any sort of relationship/friendship with this man?  Am I crazy?  Perhaps a little.  Am I desperate? I hope not.  I'll tell you.

It's because I'm a masochist, that's why.

Drink More Wine

Phase 1 of Ellesbelles Starts Over is now fully underway and I think I am making pretty good progress.  I've been going out, having a good time, and thinking about MB less and less.  Of course, that has been assisted by the odd fun date along the way, so now its time to implement Phase 2.

And that is to get fit.  This is going to be a 4 stage programme: 

1) Exercise regularly;
2) Eat better;
3) Sleep more;
4) Drink less.

Now I will deal with 1),  2) and 3) later, but for now I'm concentrating on 4) because I'm hoping that by doing 4) then 1), 2) and 3) will naturally follow.  Let me explain.

When I go out straight from work I drink wine.  I then drink more wine.  At some stage I think of eating, but usually just drink more wine.  Then, when I get to the station to go home, I decide to eat, and inevitably that involves a Burger King.  And I don't like Burger King - I truly, truly don't.  But after wine, Burger King seduces me, it lures me in with the hint of a promise that I could eat a Burger that's fit for a King.  Sadly, the reality never lives up to the promise, and so when I go home I feel sick and bloated.  I then can't get to sleep. So I drink wine.  And then, the next day, when the alarm goes off at 5.45 for my pre-work gym session I silence the alarm (usually by shouting at Siri, my helpful little iphone 4 assistant) and go back to bed for another 90 minutes.

But as of right now that's all changed.  After a big Friday night and a not quite so big but certainly not small (2 espresso martinis and 4 Lanesborough champagne cocktails is not small, right?) Saturday night, Sunday was a dry day.  And I felt smug - yay! Ellesbelles went 24 hours without wine!  Still didn't manage to get to the gym, but hey - baby steps, right?

My next alcoholic drink will be on Sunday 3 June 2012 at, I'm hoping, around lunch time or just after.  The location?  Sitting by a beautiful pool in the sunshine with 3 of the most gorgeous gals in the world.   Can't wait...

Get me some jiggy jiggy

In order to put mission Ellesbelles Starts Over into practice, I've been looking back at my past beaus in order to see if there is any sort of pattern, or any method in my madness.  And, it must be said, I have made some odd, odd decisions.  For example:

The Control Freak

This bullying creature wanted to dominate and control every aspect of my life.  A serial philanderer, he somehow managed to get me to forgive and forget so many of his indiscretions that I ended up forgetting that I didn't really want to forgive any more. Domineering and aggressive, in his company I somehow morphed into a 1950s housewife, ensuring I was always up at least 30 mins before him so that his breakfast was ready on the table when he got up and he wouldn't have to endure seeing me without make up.  Anything for a quiet life became my mantra, and when I eventually managed to wrestle free I vowed to never date an alpha male again.

The Virgin

The first date I had post the Control Freak was a sweet, sweet man.  He was a couple of years younger than me, and as egotistical as it sounds,  he was absolutely smitten with me.  He treated me like a princess and bearing in mind the relationship I'd been in before before, I was flattered and probably a little bit smitten back.   However, during a conversation one night about moving the relationship to the next level, I said I was not ready to sleep with him yet (we'd only known each other a few months).  His response was that he had no issue with that, as he wanted to save himself for his wedding night.  His wedding night?  Seriously?  Now I am not one to judge someone else's morals and beliefs, and in its way I think that's quite sweet, but the idea that I would have to stick another ring on my finger in order to get me some jiggy jiggy was not something I could contemplate so that was the end of that one.

The Stalker

We met on a train.  We dated, and as is my usual form, it wasn't long before things started to get serious.  I was spending more and more time at his house (an absolutely beautiful split level town house where I had my own vanity suite, dressing room and 2 spare rooms for my kids should I ever have decided to introduce them).  He had a key to my house, I had one to his, and it was all hunky dory.  I did sometimes get an odd feeling that he had been over to my house when I was at work, but I thought I was simply being paranoid.  It was little things, such as the kettle being the wrong way round (he was left handed and always put it on the base with the spout pointing to the right).

One night I was at his but feeling very unwell.  He cooked me dinner, ran me a bath and when I got out I asked for some pyjamas or sweats.  He invited me to go to his room and get some from his cupboard.  Imagine my shock when I opened the closet and tucked away in the back, hidden, were three pairs of my knickers, a couple of pairs of stockings and a picture of me that he'd taken from my house!  Needless to say, I got out fast and never went back.

The Inmate

This one had the makings of being something special.  Tall, very handsome, a bit rough around the edges but a good laugh and an air of mystery.  One night he asked me what special skills I possess that would come in useful on a desert island.  Before I had a chance to think of a reply, he told me he had learned butchery.  When I asked where he'd learned that he said, almost proudly, he'd learned it in prison.  Asked why he'd been in prison, he told me, again with far too much pride, that he'd killed someone.  I was clearly not sticking around for the rest of that story, so I got the bill and left.

The Elvis Impersonator

Beautiful boy.  Younger, sexy, bright, good mix of fun and kindness.  A few months in and it looked as though things might be heading towards the bedroom, although I noticed a reticence on his part. He told me that he doesnt like to rush things, because all too often once a relationship has been consummated it would then end shortly after.

One night, certain that the time was right, I got out the Wonderbra, cooked a meal, lit the candles, put on the Barry White.  And it was amazing.  However, once he started to get into the swing of things, I noticed that he was making a very, very strange noise.  It started as a sort of low growl, building up to an almost ear splitting crescendo which sounded like a cross between a wounded animal and a working men's club Elvis Impersonator giving it his very bust "Uh Huh Huh Huh". 

Another one bites the dust.

The Monopod

Oh dear.  This one was bizarre.  I met the guy at a dating event.  Nice man, good fun, seemed to be quite open and honest. 

Went back to his house one evening after a night out, things were getting a little steamy, next thing I know his trousers are off, and so was his wooden leg.  Just like that.  No warning, no explanation.   Apparently he hadn't told me as he thought I'd be put off, as his last girlfriend hadn't liked it as she was into swimming and rock climbing?.  Did he really think I wouldn't notice eventually?

The Bearer of Gifts

Another online dater.  We had spoken online a few times, and the day before we were due to meet he called to me and said he and his daughter had been out to buy me a present.  Odd in itself, but OK.   When I arrived at the scheduled destination, he was already there, having got there an hour and a half earlier (he said he was worried he might be late!). He was already two thirds of the way down the bottle of fancy French champagne, and more than a little squiffy.  He then proceeded to spend the next hour telling me how excited he had been to meet me, that he'd shown everyone in his office my picture, his daughter was really happy that he was out on a date, that his mother was sitting at home waiting for updates on how the date was going.  It was all so utterly suffocating and creepy I couldn't wait to leave, but of course he wanted to surprise me with the big finish of giving me my gifts.  He gave me a card (please remember, we had not met at the time he puchased and wrote this card) which simply stated "Thank you for what I know is going to be a wonderful evening".  He then handed me a box. Inside this box were three wrapped gifts.  The first was the most enormous box of Belgian chocolates I'd eve seen.  The second was a book about Italy (very sweet actually) and the third, bizarrely,  was the Forrest Gump DVD.  I have absolutely no clue as to why, or what the relevance was.  He looked so proud of himself I didnt have the heart to say I had no intention of ever seeing him again.  By the time I got home around 45 minutes later I had had 6 missed calls and about 10 text messages.  Needless to say, I only sent one in response, and it didn't say "call me"

There are many, many more misfits to add to this motley crew.  I haven't detailed The Liar, The Walter Mitty, The Eating Disorder, since I imagine you get the picture from the above.  What is clear is that the only common link between them is me.  Clearly I have a special knack for attracting strange creatures, perhaps the old maxim of "takes one to know one" is at play here.

Anyway, I'm off out for cocktails with a friend tonight, and my radar is switched to "freak".  I'll let you know how I get on.

Imagining the person naked

I've decided that I've been going about this dating thing all wrong.  I've not been focused in my search for love, instead allowing myself to get carried away on a tide of emotions.  My very nature is to throw myself wholeheartedly into whatever I am doing, be it work, a new hobby or a recently discovered TV show (seven straight hours of Desperate Housewives is surely not to be considered normal?).  I am the same in a relationship.  It's all or nothing, and when I decide I mean all, boy, do I mean all.

To get to that stage however, I have a very strict 3 date rule.  Basically, I work on the principle that there are three elements to determining a potential suitor's compatibility, and it is not always possible to assess them on a first date.  However, if all the boxes are not being ticked by date 3, there really is no point going on.

First dates can be notoriously difficult.  Whilst some elements are immediately obvious (physical attraction, body odour issues, they might be vegetarian*) allowances need to be made for the more subtle aspects of a person's character.  There may be nerves to contend with, which can translate to a person being perhaps a little shy, or even the opposite and over compensating, thus coming across as a little arrogant or cocky.  Hopefully, by the second date (assuming the first wasn't a complete and utter disaster and there IS a second date) you'll both have relaxed into it a bit and start showing your true colours.  However, a second date still forms part of the "interview process" so you are inevitably still going to be on your best behaviour. 

Therefore, the all important third date is the cincher.  If by the end of the third date you're not imagining the person naked (always assuming of course that you have not already seen them naked) it's probably not going happen and there really is no point wasting any more time on it. 

So what are the three elements?  Here are my rules.

Date 1:  Am I physically attracted to you?  If the answer is no at this stage, there really is probably little point in going on.

Date 2:  OK, we've established I fancy you.  Hopefully its mutual but hey, these are my rules, not yours.  Now, have we got anything to talk about?  Are we on the same wavelength in terms of intellect, humour, values etc?  At this stage we are obviously talking in general terms, but if the answer is no, again, its not going to work so do not pass Go, do not collect £200.  Bin it now.

Date 3:  Can I imagine introducing you to my kids?  To my friends?  To my work colleagues?  Again, if the answer is no, you're out, sunshine.

But what if the answer is yes?  Assuming the poor unsuspecting candidate passes all three of my tests, I will probably now fall in love with him.  In fact, I probably already have. No, I definitely have.  Just like that.  No warning, I dive straight in, eyes closed, probably now brain closed too.  Because in fact, very few people have got through the 3 phases above, and so when they do my common sense and reasoning fails and I start planning our future together.  In my head, I've already picked out our dinner service pattern, and I know exactly where we are going to hang our framed couple's portrait.

Now fortunately for me, I am also very good at hiding this psychotic behaviour.  Mostly in fact, I don't even know I am doing it.  I actually start to believe that I really, really want to speedwalk the 20 extra minutes to the station in the freezing cold at 6.45am adding an extra 15 minutes to the already 2 hour plus journey rather than waking the sleeping beauty next to me for a lift.  Any sense of my brain telling me "hey EB, you're not really getting much out of this, are you?" is ignored because being the perfect girlfriend means they'll love me, right? 

But now, due to some very frank conversations with the lovely (albeit cheating) ex, not to mention some very expensive therapy, I'm seeing the light and realising that I need to be a little (or a lot) more selective and to know when to give it up and walk away.  No more flogging the dead horse. 

 *no offence meant to vegetarians, I just couldn't date one as I have this funny thing about eating together - same meals, same time - and whilst I will apparently willingly give up my own personality, desires, values etc in a relationship, I'm not giving up fillet steak.

Shiny boots and two dead dogs...

So my friends.  Here I am, back on the market, and back on the blogosphere. 

I felt I needed a little place of my own, an internet home, if you will, where I could come and rant, moan, celebrate and and observe to my heart's content.

In short, I am a busy working professional woman, (reasonably) attractive for my age (albeit carrying a few extra pounds - of which more below), single and looking for love.  There, I said it.  I'm looking for love.  I want to find my other half:  the yin to my yang, the Lennon to my McCartney.  The Ben to my Jerry's.  I've done the whole marriage and kids thing, and it was great, but I don't want to do that again. What I'd like now is an entirely different kind of love - full of impromptu weekends away, staying in bed as long as we like on Sunday mornings, extravagant holidays because we can afford them as we don't have to worry about school fees.  And also full of squabbles about leaving the toilet seat up and how best to extract toothpaste from the tube without smearing it around the sink.  In other words, a real relationship, with a real man. And I want to be utterly selfish about it.

But apparently there are not that many of those wonderful creatures out there these days, at least not single ones without an army of kids, ex wives or (shudder) mistresses in their closet.  Now don't get me wrong - I've got plenty of baggage of my own (most notably the fact that I'm still in love with my ex-boyfriend who I split from 2 months, 6 days, 3 hours and 40 minutes ago and who, to avoid confusion with the numerous other exes that may well feature from time to time, shall continue to be referred to as MB) and as such I am not against one ex wife, so long as the divorce is sufficiently pre my involvement that he can barely remember her name anymore.  At a push, I will consider dating a man with more than one ex wife, so long as the same rules apply.  Hell, call me crazy, but for the right man I'd even reconsider my "I'm done with kids" rule and date a super daddy.  What I will not do is be the other woman, the bit on the side whilst he is debating whether to go this way or that.   Nor will I settle for less than I deserve, by which I mean someone who is less than completely committed to me in the same way I will be to him. 

But with all this said - I will never again compromise on quality, if I may put it that way.  To use a probably inappropriate simile, poor quality shoes hurt my feet.  My Jimmy Choos, however, are like walking on fluffy little clouds.  Poor quality men hurt my heart, and the poor little mite has had enough of that crap. So, no more Mrs Nice Gal!  From now on, there is no more "OK darling, I'll make all the effort/do all the travelling/turn a blind eye to your cheating ways" and its "Love me and take me as I am, or move on, buster".  Not sure I can pull off the tough gal act but I'll give it a go or die trying...

So where does a smart, sensible woman go to find the human equivalent of a pair of Choos?  We've all heard that its no longer cool to meet guys in bars (thank the Lord for that), but there's only so long they'll let you hang around the Waitrose fresh produce aisle before you start running the risk of being forcibly ejected, and book clubs have so far produced nothing but single women looking for love...

This leaves, of course, internet dating.  And that, my friends, is what I suspect much of this blog will entail.  Who'd have thought that by creating a profile suggesting that I am looking for an educated, professional, unattached gentleman in the age range 40-50 and living within 15 miles of London would produce interest from fellows aged from 19-68 (I kid you not!), hailing from lands as far distant as Scotland and New Zealand?  What is more, when I say "must attach photo", clearly I mean a photo of YOU not of your car, your bottle of beer, and most certainly not, as one chap sent to me a couple of weeks ago, pictures of two pairs of men's shiny boots and his two dead dogs!  WTF?????? Clearly someone somewhere had told this poor fellow that "chicks really dig shoes and pets, man, you should put a picture of those on, it'll show your softer side....".  Really, quite bizarre.

The other goal for 2012 (and who knows, perhaps one will assist with the other) is to not only find Mr Wonderful this year, but also to shed half a stone.  I would ideally like to do this without cutting down on neither food nor alcohol, so any suggestions would be greatly received.  I am planning, in the first instance, to surprise the Virgin Active team by actually visiting the club that I have probably single handedly paid for, and have only been to a handful of times.

So this is it now friends.  Mission Ellesbelles Starts Over has begun... wish me luck!