I don’t want no scrub. Scrub is a guy can’t get no love from me (any more, for real this time)

I really want to meet a man.

No, I’m by no means sick of being single or even alone. I love being single. I love the clarity of mind, the sense of who I really am and what I really want, that I know I’ll lose the second I meet someone who excites me. (when sober)

I love my own company. I love that I am no-one’s. I have no one to worry about. I have no one to delude me by seeing me through the blinkers of their own love. I have no one to make me feel like I’m in the right when I’m wrong, or to kid me I look fine without all the hard work and maintenance that attracted them to me in the first place so I let myself go. All right!

Alone I get sad sometimes. I get sad because I had a bad day and on my own with no one to talk to, I feel so much more like crying- but crying feels pointless with no one to observe my pathos. But then I get over it, and I come around, and through my own introspection I often realise I was in the wrong.

I’m just me, operating on my own whims and no one else’s.

I can run ahead or drag my feet, there is nobody I need wait for or struggle to catch up with.

I’m just me, 100% me. I’m missing a little bit, sure. It’s lonely. It feels a bit hollow. Sometimes doing things with no one around to see them, I feel as pointless as Schrodinger’s cat in a box no one ever bothers to open.

Whenever I eat a salad, clean the floor, or change a lightbulb, my whole body hums with pride in what a fantastic adult person I have become. I want the world to provide me with some kind of score, to grade me on my successes. I want a big gold star, but there’s no one around. Calling my mum and telling her I cleaned the floor, elicits praise, sure, but it’s like getting a participation medal on sports day. My mother is so proud of everything I do, her gushing at my having eaten broccoli barely feels like praise at all. (But I still want it, of course)

I remember when I was with husband, he wasn’t exactly the most appreciative of partners really, but he was some kind of witness to my antics…. You’re nobody til somebody loves you….

He saw me going about my day to day business, he heard my dramas and he observed my petty cleaning efforts. He wasn’t exactly ebullient with the praise and admiration, in fact now that I am properly distanced from him I am realising he was a mean, manipulative dick and he had sucked all the joy out of my life and made me mean and petty like him. But he was a witness to the various ways I grew up, and he was on my side whenever the world felt like being particularly cuntish to me.

When I detatched him from my life, the first thing I did differently was, I started writing this blog. I was so lonely at first I very nearly said screw it, let’s make this work, and ran back to him… I missed his company so much. But I was just about able to keep my shit together and stay cold and hard to him when he cried and began too late to formulate solutions for problems that were just excuses, to cover my real reason for leaving him… that the love-chemicals responsible for tying me to that particular man for so long, had all but evaporated, and whatever was left behind in their place, wasn’t going to cut it for me, not for the rest of my life, not with him.

And now I’m done, I’m through what I think are all the stages of moving on. I’m sober, my head is clear.

But I’m lonely.

All I want, really, is to meet a nice man who makes my stomach tighten up and my skin buzz when he brushes off my arm. A man who’s funny- who doesn’t just laugh at me but makes ME laugh too. I always forget to distinguish- I meet a guy and spend a night in uproarious laughter and it’s only later, on analysis, that I realise, yet again, it was me doing some kind of cringey one-woman show and the two of us laughing at me. I’m a tough audience – normal levels of funny don’t crack me up. I might think “hahahaha” but it takes real comedy chops to get an actual belly laugh out of me. But then if you do make me LOL for reals, my mouth stretches into a perma-smile and my eyes squint and I wheeze and gasp and I’m in physical pain and will roll on the floor begging for mercy. I will literally ROTFL. I have a few friends who make me properly laugh but they are rare and they live faaaaar away. The rest of the time it’s just me doing my “bit” because I’m bored and when I’m nervous I make jokes and in social situations I am always nervous.

I want to meet a man, I was saying, who makes me laugh. I want to meet a man who is of a similar level of intelligence to me. I’m not being a smug bitch or anything, at least not on purpose, but I know I’m smart. As I remember inexplicably telling some random guy at a party recently “no matter what other shit I can get insecure about, you name it I’ve been insecure about it… the only thing I’ve never doubted for a second, is my intelligence.” I can’t remember why I was saying that, but it was received like some sort of faux- egotistical joke. But I’m serious, I know I’m a smart girl. I don’t think I know what a genius is to say if I’m one or not, but I wouldn’t rule it out, whatever a genius actually is.

I always thought I didn’t need intellectual stimulation from a man. And fair enough, I don’t. But I’m sick of having arguments with men who use faulty logic. They don’t appreciate it when I explain to them as we discuss whose fault it is the washing machine flooded, that they are confusing cause with coincidence.

One ex drove me to throwing a phone book at him one time (it flew pathetically across the room, not like a brick as was intended, but like a frightened chicken) with his constant use of nonsensical analogies. I can’t stand this emotional rage thing. Let’s calm the fuck down, no shouting, and discuss things properly without any cheap lawyer tricks. In an argument between two people, you can’t win by bamboozling the other person with crap, flimsy points. It’s a disagreement, you don’t resolve it by adding more for the other person to be pissed off about.

I’d also please request this guy to be SORTED.

By that I mean, has his life in a reasonably uncomplicated, stable condition. Must have a job, must have somewhere to live that isn’t a squat or some friend’s house who is just tolerating him while he finds a place, for example.

I am sick to death of being the most sorted one. In every relationship, I am the most sorted, which is ridick because I am usually a tangled wreck of financial and personal woes. This happens to me because I am not so much of a shallow, rational dick to go around like “I will only get involved with rich men or men who have decent jobs and can afford to do the same things as me and occasionally pay for me, because they are gentlemen and don’t have to pay for TAMPONS AND MAKEUP SO ITS A SMALL PRICE TO PAY MOTHERFUCKERS.”

I am not like that, I say, and anyway we are just having fun so who cares if he sticks salt sachets in his pocket to take home to avoid spending money on salt? I only wanna fuck the guy, I don’t need him to buy his own sodium.

But then I like him so we get more serious, and soon I’m bringing over grocery bags full of condiments because I don’t want to cook in a kitchen with no condiments, and then I lend him money to do something else and I want to eat out so I say look I don’t care, I’ll pay for you, I just want sushi, it’s worth that to me, and it’s me who wants the sushi so I’ll pay ok?

So this time, none of that shit…. I won’t allow myself to get involved with anyone who isn’t at least as sorted as I am. Which isn’t saying much because next time I’ll be within a 50 mile radius of someone I’ll want to fuck, I’ll probably have just landed in London and be unemployed with a rake of debt and no idea what to do with myself but a clear notion that I need to do it soon or be even more screwed.

But that’ll be short term. Knowing what I’m like with men means I should absolutely avoid them at all cost until I have a sweet life set up for myself, or risk snagging yet another loser. I expect better for myself this time.

Except, all I really want is someone sexy to pass some time with, once a week or something like that. I want to go for a few drinks, laugh, feel like I’m super attractive and good company, go back to mine for some hot sexing, and then in the morning I can make him coffee and breakfast in my hotpants I bought on purpose and he can think I’m super awesome and then he can leave, all I want is to be made feel attractive every now and then by someone whose opinion counts for something. I want to make someone really really hard. But he has to be someone I esteem enough to wake up feeling GOOD and PROUD of my slutty deeds the next day.

And that’s all I want. Honest.

I don’t miss watching movies with someone- I like that I can watch unashamedly awful movies designed for 13 year old girls, and I like that I can choose what i wanna watch every time and no one is making me watch an action movie or anything laugh-out-loud-stupid.

I do miss cooking for someone, if only because I like being praised and appreciated, and cooking if it isn’t every day, is a perfect opportunity to feel like I’m a hell of a woman.

And I definitely don’t miss sleeping in the arms of a man. Ok, that’s a half life. I don’t miss sleeping with someone- I love my space and I love being able to fine-tune my body temperature by sticking a leg out the side or folding both sides of duvet under me so I’m like a sausage roll. I wouldn’t give that up for the world, and I have a king size bed for fucks sake. Oh yeah baby. I do miss the cuddling, as long as I can roll off afterwards so I can get to sleep without the what to do with that arm debacle. It aint comfortable, men and women’s bodies facilitate stacking in only one direction, and apparently only one person at a time can fall asleep during sex. (hint: that would be me)

So all I want is a bit of flirtation, a bit of flattery, a bit of king size bed-disheveling….

But then what happens if I find that?

If I come across a man whose company I like, whose sex I love, who makes me laugh, who thinks I’m awesome, and who is willing to get the fuck out of my house when I feel like playing some computer games or watch a chick flick, I know exactly what will happen.

The cool, clear-headed beast of awesomeness that you see before you now, who needs only this one thing to be perfectly happy…. will vanish into thin air.

I can’t just find some amazing guy who’s great and hot and be happy with a casual arrangement. Oh no. I will want to take that wild animal and tame him and tie him to me so he can’t get away or enjoy another woman’s company. I will want him all for me and all the time and I will become irrational and shrill and narky and needy and moany and cuddly and I will look at him with pokemon eyes and beg for him to stay the night and when he goes to work and I go to work instead of thinking yay look at me, I’m like one of the skanks off Sex and the City, I’m livin’ the dream, I’ll be thinking

“OH MY GOD would this day ever end, I wonder if it’s too needy if I text him again, because I sent the last text? Fuck it I’ll text him anyway. Oh shit shouldn’t have done that. Argh now I can’t call him. Shit, I should have called. Maybe his phone is off? Shit. I really want to call him. Maybe it’s ok if I call, he’s a grown man he can’t be into those stupid kids games like “oooh play hard to get” I mean he knows I like him for fucks sake Ok I’ll call him.”

And so forth, until I get so paranoid and needy that I will break out my currently bound and gagged manipulative bitch persona, and manipulate the shit out of this poor guy until he’s convinced he wants to be with me in a relationship too, and then we will be so happy and high on endorphins for like a second as we swear allegiance and fidelity over sweaty sheets and one pillow, before we realise what a stupid thing we did, how we just destroyed something so rare and lovely, a no fuss casual arrangement, and now it’s just an ugly old relationship and there’s no way out without massively hurting both our egos, so we just have to be in a relationship now.

So, short story long, I’m terrified of meeting someone cool in case I fall for him and go back to being the relationship monster who I hate.

If I meet someone and he turns me on and is a hoot to be around, all my self-satisfaction and fulfilment as a person will disintigrate. I’m not ACTIVELY worried about this, I’m not honestly that much of a drama queen I’m inventing hypothetical situations to worry about in advance… it’s just that i know myself, I know my violent emotional swings and I know I’m as happy now as I’ve ever been, because when you only have one or two small holes in your happiness, you’re on top of the world. I’m single so I have lonely holes and sexual frustration holes (ok so “holes” was not the best analogy here, whatever…) but when I’m in a relationship I will fill in those holes (mwahahahaah ok ok I’m glad I went with holes) and then other cracks will appear and who’s to say that loneliness is any worse than feeling a bit trapped?

And then…. there’s the rebound question.

Am I still in the rebound zone? Am I properly over my last relationship like I feel I am, or am I just waiting for some other not good enough guy to step in so I can rebound all over him?

How can I tell? I know if I’m properly healed and sorted emotionally, I’ll just KNOW.

Like when you’re hung over, and three days later you feel totally better like you are entirely fine again. But you’re wrong, because the next day you are even better, and then you really deeply know you are 100% fine, but it’s weird because you felt sure the day before too.

Or in a dream- how can you tell if you’re in a dream?

So I’m not sure yet, I don’t think.

I’m just hoping I really do learn and move on to better pastures and better partners, but I really don’t want to lose the focus and clarity of mind that I have right now, even if it’s still not my 100%, it still beats “in love brain”.

I don’t wanna fall in love again. I really don’t.

I throw myself into love, totaly and ridiculously. I love a man fiercely. He can do no wrong. All I want it to watch him be a man and prop him up and cook for him and make him feel omnipotent and let him enjoy me.

There’s no room in that role for me to be a kick-ass woman pirate with my own life, really.

Or maybe I was just being naive before and was overdoing it because I didn’t know what i was supposed to do or supposed to want. Maybe the next time I meet a guy and think he’s pretty fly, I’ll be sober and sensible and keep my girl power intact, wiser after the kicks and screams, and not so quick to sign up for couplehood without first getting a good read on the dude I’m swapping spit with. Here’s hoping.

It’s just something I’m pondering, it’s not a crisis or anything. I’m safe to ponder casually right now because I’m in Italy and it’s pretty unlikely I will come across anyone here who ticks more than one of my boxes, generic and undemanding as those conditions may be.

Yeah, sorry sexy homeless guy, you’re disqualified due to your unemployment and (evidently) complete lack of ambition in life. I don’t care, maybe you could show me a good time, but you’d want to stay over… I couldn’t exactly fuck you once and then be like, right out of the bed, I needs my king size to myself, get out now, back to the streets with you.

Don’t be all horified that I have actually thought about fucking sexy homeless guy. We have all been there. (Hmm actually maybe we haven’t. I don’t know. I walk past him every day though, it’s getting awkward because I have run out of things to pretend to be looking at to avoid meeting his eyes. He looks at me. I fiddle with my keys and stride past. He looks at me the next day, I can’t look at my keys again, I squint at a nearby shop window. Every day, I have to find new crap to stare at. It’s awful.)

And then I have something at the back of my mind, gnawing away at me whenever I turn off the laptop and go for the porn-free one to get me to sleep.

I have a face and a name that I keep there, a screensaver when I close my eyes and look for inspiration.

Other faces and (less) other names come and go, flicker past, occupying a few poor frames before ending on the cutting room floor of my imagination. His remains.

I’m keeping my cards close to my chest here on this one, because no matter what obscenities I’ve detailed on here, no matter how I’d ruin my chances of getting most jobs if someone saw this blog and connected it with me, this is something I really want to keep a secret. No it’s nothing really that bad or anything, I’m imagining you imagine something really bad, well it’s not really bad. It’s just personal, ok?

Anyway, I have known this man for years. We have a weird history of moments over a long period. We have mad chemistry but I don’t know if we are on the same page about it, or even what page I’M on. I don’t know. I have a feeling that maybe I really really like him, like seriously, but that as I don’t know his feelings towards me, I don’t want to allow myself to feel stronger than the minimum I think he might feel.

Oh man that sounds really sappy. I don’t mean it like that. Is there a word I can use instead of feel that makes it less Sarah Jessica Parker’s shitty-ass column? It’s not that I love the guy or anything, just that… he’s the one I never got to explore things with properly. He’s not the one that got away, because I got away… but there has definitely been a lot of build up and very little release. We’ve hooked up a few times, and in some urgent drunken murmurings when we couldn’t get somewhere more private to take things to their real, necessary conclusion, we have touched on the idea that there’s something there between us. I don’t know what it is, if anything. I’m also aware I may have bigged it all up in my head because of the shitty other men in my life who have always come up short, and my need to have someone in my head to strive for at all times to avoid feeling completely alone.

Maybe he’s just a great guy, who I have chemistry with, but I could find someone way greater and with wilder chemistry, someone who wouldn’t be as much of a pussy as I am and who would MAKE the damn opportunities happen instead of doing this tedious little dance with me, where yes I have moments of exhiliration when he gives me positive indications of being mega-into me, but also for fucks sake a lot of blank spaces where it doesn’t make any sense at all and I can only imagine, he just kinda likes me.

But he’s my screensaver. I’d replace him if I could find a better one, but he’s been there for years with very little disturbance. Sometimes I see him and record new mental footage. Then I embark on a fortnight of AHHHH IN LOVE OHMY GOD I LOVE HIM, and then that goes away luckily and I’m like, meh… sure when I’m with him I don’t feel lonely, which is rare for me, exceedingly rare, but that could just mean he’s a good friend I should keep.

The thing is, we hooked up fairly recently. It was awesome. I loved it, it was so urgent, but really intimate- it was very much about who I was fucking, but without being some sort of slow song kind of love making bullshit. It was intense, and I know it was intense for him too, totally.

But then it’s like he acts like nothing happened ever, like we are friends. It’s all very well-mannered and clean, and I always feel like I’m the eager one and have to check myself…

We sometimes chat online, but I always initiate things. I don’t get it.

I want to know, are we actually friends, or is that just bullshit? If he just finds me attractive enough to fuck sometimes, then I would like to know. It doesn’t seem that way to me, but I mean what could it be? Could he be in pretty much the same position as me, not entirely sure of what it is that’s going on, unwilling to get into anything that could be complicated or awkward or what… so yeah, that’s a pretty likely solution… but its frustrating because if we’re both complete pussies then how am I supposed to go about initiating things? All I want to initiate really is an understanding that we are friends but also will explore the chemistry thing until it has either died out or created massive problems in our lives. I’ll back off if he gets a girlfriend, but I don’t want to be used for sex unless it has been pre-agreed and he understands i am also using him for sex. Otherwise I will feel used and insecure. I think that’s what I want, but I can’t even tell because as i said I could be protecting myself from maybe liking this guy more than he likes me.

Ok I’ve been rambling for a while now. I don’t really know why I started this, I’m just thinking about men really. I can never tell if what’s on my mind is moany or at all worth writing and reading but I’m posting it anyway because I promised no censoring myself.

So sorry that nothing remotely entertaining happened in these 4000 words, but hey I can’t always have exciting adventures. Sometimes I just gotta have some down time, to stew in my thoughts and shake off old, unused emotions and decide what to do with them.

Oh, in one piece of news, I have finally managed to ruin the best thing I had going for myself- internet at work.

I got too carried away with my internetting, really carried away, and my dad put his foot down on Monday and BANNED ME from using internet at work. So expect much less blog posts and such. This one comes to you from home. I know, what a waste of time, I have Californication episodes to watch and everything.

That’s it, I’m Outtie!

6 responses to “I don’t want no scrub. Scrub is a guy can’t get no love from me (any more, for real this time)

  1. Wow I cannot believe how similar our blogs are! The only difference is I have a boyfriend… we’ve been together for years, but we have no chemistry. I too have been wondering if that perfect One is out there for me…and all the doubts that go along with it. I could go on, but I’d basically be repeating everything in your blog… check mine out and let me know what you think. It’s http://secretdiaryofaredhead.wordpress.com I’ve had a boring past couple days, but my posts Romance Impossible and Marry Me might give you a good indication of what my blog is following… check it out and let me know what you think! I’d welcome your opinions! ~Jasmine

  2. “I throw myself into love, totaly and ridiculously. I love a man fiercely. He can do no wrong. All I want it to watch him be a man and prop him up and cook for him and make him feel omnipotent and let him enjoy me.
    There’s no room in that role for me to be a kick-ass woman pirate with my own life, really.”

    If a guy really loves you then he should let you have both. You don’t have to give up being “YOU” just because you’re in an “US”. One drunken night I came to the conclusion of what makes up the perfect woman:
    Princess = Someone to adore and spoil.
    Mother = Someone who’ll look after you when you’re sick as a dog.
    Mate = A friend you go to the movies with and share a laugh or similar hobby.
    Whore = Obviously. ;)
    But the most important is…
    Herself = She has her own friends, interests and life that is separate from you as a couple.

    I blame romantic comedies for our lack of understanding when it comes to knowing how the affairs of the heart work. In them everything seems so easy and the choices are clear. Fuck you, Katherine Heigl!

    Just had a thought about you getting a part-time partner. What about dating an airline pilot or a long haul trucker? Just a thought. :)

    • Ah it’s not that a guy doesn’t let me have my own life- it’s just that my relationship self is really awful, I do it to myself, I start.. nesting. I mother men. I don’t know, but I ruin sex lives and tire myself out doing thankless tasks. Something to work on I guess, I mean I totally agree with you, it’s just what I end up doing all the time… I blame the romcom too, and Disney…. big time. Would love a pilot, I mean I’m more at the stage of saying “must be employed” than picking and choosing occupations here, but it would be nice sure, uniform and all…

  3. My hubby is in the Military! We are married and when he goes away I miss him like stink and love my down time. When he comes home I screw him like crazy and miss my down time. lol

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