For some reason I always feel like blogging when I feel like shit. Maybe it is because it helps clear the fact from the fiction, the rational from the irrational. Or maybe I just feel like wallowing in my misery and sharing the grief.
My latest woe is boy trouble again. Fucking men. I can say that because I bet there are none that read this blog, so fuck em. Fucking men. Why do I even want one? I have everything. I have a great place to live, an adequate income, great family and friends and most importantly I have my son. My beautiful, beautiful boy. I just hope I raise him with the utmost respect for women because the world does not need another useless, misogynistic coward out there.
Since I last blogged about dating I have met three other blokes with still no success. One was so not my type, the second was a complete weirdo with more issues than I have (which is really saying something) and real anger issues about women and the third I really liked (which of course makes him not like me). Number 3 ticked all the right boxes, plus was hot, lived only 10 minutes drive away and he dressed well and had the same politics as me. We also have similar taste in music and TV shows.
Everything seemed to go so well on our first date! We had lots to talk about, there was lots of eye contact, there was spark! At least I thought so. He was a complete gentlemen, if not a little nervous but I thought we got on famously. He had walked to the pub where we had drinks (him a couple of beers, me Diet Coke) and dinner, so I drove him home not more than seven minutes away. We sat in the car outside his house and he told me about his home and the renovations he'd done to his house, he told me about the neighbours dodgy reno work and about his dog. There was a gentle kiss on the cheek goodbye and talk of going to the cinema next week.
All good, no? Well, I fucked it up I think by sending the first text the next morning. Just a thanks again for last night, really enjoyed meeting you, etc. More text followed and all seemed really well.
And then I sent the first text on the second day after our date. He had sent the last the night before so I thought it would be ok. But then yesterday Noo was playing with my phone and he accidentally sent a really random text of emojis to him. He replied and said he was just having a nap and then going out for dinner with his daughter and would text back later. He could have left it there and I seriously thought he would but he did text back saying hi and telling me about his day. I returned the text with a hi and how was dinner kind of message. He returned with comments about not feeling well after having a curry and that he should stop eating shit and get back to running. He then asked what I had for dinner.
Fuck, sorry about the detail... the clincher comes next.
So I text back saying that I had made a really nice and light meal of chicken sang chow bow. And following on from the exercise theme started in his text I said that I was looking forward to getting back to my spin classes once Noo went back to daycare. I said that I'd lost 20kg last year and was psyched to lose the last 5-10kg this year. And then NO REPLY.
Either he died of food poisoning from that Indian food he had or something about my text regarding my weight loss put him off.
Do you think guys would be turned off if they knew you used to be fat? Maybe it put the fear in him that if I could be that fat once, I could get that fat again?
Do you know what? I am so sick of all this self doubt and double guessing and reading between lines that don't even fucking exist. Maybe I was born to be single!
But I want more children. And my parents can't live forever and Noo will one day want to move out of home and I will be left alone.
I am now sitting here with a large McDonalds Quarter Pounder meal, stuck with a bit of burger and trying to wash it down with full strength Coke. Urgh. Why?