Tuesday, 30 July 2013
It’s been a while since I wrote a post, as I like to write about something funny or mildly thought provoking (yeah right, if I can get a nob gag in there I will!). Nothing has come to me for the last few months though. Well that’s a lie, the one thing that I constantly want to or think I should write about is my taboo subject. People that know me or those that read this blog will know I make light of the many failures I’ve had in my life. Whether that be sporting failures, professional failures or just carrying a TV to the car failures. However, there is one thing that I spectacularly fail at. My taboo subject... the relationship!
I often have a sly dig at women on this blog, but trust me; it’s purely for entertainment purposes. The truth is, I’m very fond of women... If they shut up and make my tea! Again, I jest. We all strive for that perfect relationship though and many of us find that perfect relationship in fact. I’m surrounded by people, mates, work colleagues who have those perfect relationships – well from the outside looking in they seem perfect.
I hate these people by the way. They make me sick. Putting shit on Facebook about their amazing wife/husband and the romantic crap that they get up to, posting pictures looking all happy and smiley and doe eyed! They even go as far as wishing them happy birthday even though they’re sat in the same fucking room!!
But what makes the perfect relationship though? What makes a couple work? Some say its chemistry. Some say it’s having things in common. Some say it’s the fact that they have different interests. Some say it boils down to attraction or just plain old sexual compatibility.
In my experience all of the above is total bollocks! As at some point or another, in any relationship I’ve been in, all of the above or a mix and match have been evident and yet it still fails. I just end up being a comfort blanket to them instead!
The one common denominator, therefore, must be me! It must be something I do wrong, even though I get under ‘the other halves’ skin, so much so they use words like ‘forever’, ‘ideal man’, ‘best friend’ etc... They fall for a charm, my cheekiness, the flirtation, but then once in a relationship the same things they fall for end up being the things that do their head in.
So the phrase nice guy finishes last is very true in my case. I am a nice guy and I will give people the time of day. I wear my heart on my sleeve and I try making them feel special, but then it all goes pear shaped.
Now I know I’m not a David Beckham, an Olly Murs or a Robbie Williams – actually that last one haunts me as people always say I have a bit of Robbie about me. It’s my mannerisms I’m told and a wild look in my eye (the left one I think). Personally I don’t agree as I ain’t a big fan of Robbie. However, what I’m trying to say is that people generally don’t fall for me on looks, they fall for the personality, which means I have to work damned hard for it and it’s a long process.
This all started in middle school. Well, it was the first time I noticed it. I had a girlfriend for 2 years. TWO YEARS!! However, I only spoke to her about 5 times. It was a case of standing at the opposite side of the playground, pointing and waving, telling mates it was going well. Then every 3 months I would talk to “my girlfriend” and ask if we were still going out.
The realisation continued when I fancied this lass in the final year of middle school and was that shy I couldn’t tell her. Then when we left school (as in for good, not just for the day) I found out that she had liked me too but by this time had a boyfriend. So I decided there and then that I would just be upfront in the future. If I liked someone, then I would tell them. No point pining for months to find out they weren’t interested anyway. So I decided just ripping the plaster off would be the best way to go about it.
But this doesn’t work either because if the other person states they “don’t know” if they like you or isn’t a communicator then it becomes very lop sided. And boy have I had some lop sided relationships.
I could recount some of the horror stories for you if you want, but you would no doubt be sat there thinking this guy was naive and deserved what he got. I mean one girlfriend cheated with a work colleague the same week I got with her, yet I still persisted. Another gal decided to go back to her ex (he was ginger!). One person decided they wanted to fill their boots on holiday so ended things prematurely and another put a deposit on a house behind my back and planned to secretly move out!
If I was a boxer they would say I should retire due to being punch drunk!
And yet these women still want to be friends afterwards, maybe realising that the grass isn’t always greener (wishful thinking!). They seem to remember me with some level of fondness. Granted sometimes the grass is greener, the next field is like one big fucking orgy and the grass is caviar rather than cud! I just wonder why I’m good enough to be a friend afterwards, but nothing more. Maybe they need help picking out their next fella?!?! Or maybe I’m like a real life comparison website… this is what you could have ended up with, but this one is far better for you… I am clearly all filler and no killer.
Oh and just in case your wondering, this isn’t me feeling sorry for myself. This is months of wanting to write about these things, so people laugh at the situations I manage to get myself into. Or I just felt like a rant, which is probably closer to the truth.
Dating doesn’t get easier either, as you get older. The blokes you are competing with for affection seem younger, healthier, fitter, stronger, better dressed and don’t have the baggage. My expanding waistline, man tits, grey hair, wrinkles and the fact that due to colour blindness cannot mix and match in the clothes department means I am up against it – and I am still only 32!!
And because I’m not one of these skinny jean wearing twats (I couldn’t actually get a pair over my calves!) and I don’t go to the gym, tanning salon, fancy hairdressers or use facial creams or pluck parts of my body that shouldn’t be plucked, then I just look like someone’s Dad sidling up to any potential victim… Now that last sentence makes me sound like a serial killer, but it made me smile so I’m keeping it in!
Reading the above list, I couldn’t actually afford to be a David Beckham wannabe. Imagine how much money it costs a bloke to wear the latest fashion, buy the latest skin products and tan for that all year round glow, as well as pay for a gym membership on top! You could save your money and just use those high class escort services!! The advantage being, you don’t have the additional nagging to go with it. Bonus!
That isn’t me admitting to high class escorts either; I couldn’t even afford a low class one! Not that I would. Moving swiftly on...
Sometimes those around me, those in their perfect relationships, like to dispense their advice. How many times have I heard “it’s their loss” or “there’s plenty more fish in the sea”?
And if I had a penny for every time someone said “it’s not you, it’s me”... Actually I would be skint still as it’s more “It is you, it’s your fault, deal with it!”
The other piece of advice I get is to use dating websites. This just doesn’t sit well with me though. They just seem like online cattle markets. Now I know some people swear by them and they are big business, but I just don’t get it. At least in a bar you have the potential to be successful as the opposite sex is hopefully well on their way to being pissed and so their eye sight isn’t all its cracked up to be and you could be their ten to two-er! (The last option of the night basically).
Shit, I think I’m doing myself a dis-service again!
I got shown by a work colleague the delights of online dating and basically it just looked like I was viewing crime fit photos!! Nah, not my cup of tea methinks...
Recently I was told two things by two different people. The first was that I have a queue of admirers... but they couldn’t actually name one! The second was that I’m eye candy, but it was a gay bloke that told me that. Now that definitely isn’t my cup of tea, but I may have to re-evaluate that in a few years time if I’ve had no luck!
What I think the most logical thing to do is invent that machine from Total Recall. The one where you get to create/change your partner – less attitude, more endearment, maybe bigger breasts... I will even use the formula the scientists came up with: You take the mass of the ass, multiply the angle of the dangle to find the measure of pleasure. Easy!
I can’t fail… Well, I could actually!
This isn’t a begging letter either, I don’t want all you single ladies inundating me with requests, thinking you can sort me out. Well, unless Kate Beckinsale is reading this. She can apply; just send it to the usual address at Lonely Hearts Corner…
Hell I don’t mind if Kate wants to stand at the other end of the playground pointing at me. Works for me… Then I don’t mind being a comfort blanket!
“Hey bud, you see her over there, yes the Hollywood star, she’s my girlfriend...”
Only in my dreams eh!