Hearts and flowers? Not quite.

When one's birthday is so quickly followed by Valentine's Day, it can be depressing when one is single. Just one occasion after another in which to NOT receive presents or attentions from a special someone.

Actually, it has been years since I have had someone to acknowledge those occasions in my life. Whenever I have had boyfriends in the last few years, they tend to handily leave me before or after birthdays, Christmas and Valentine's. Leaving me solo for all these occasions and not on the receiving end of presents - which I like.

So this year, yet again I am bereft of cards overflowing my letterbox, and without flowers crowding my awaiting vases. Although throughout the day I did receive one text message of love. Yes. Yes I did.

Oh. You want to know who from.....?







My Mother. Yes. My Mother.





Depressing isn't it?

What is more depressing is that this is a regular thing for her. When I was about 14, and pining for a boy to love and adore, I received a Valentine's card. It was anonymous and quite sweet. I was so excited. Consider a young girl who is "smart" but not "pretty", feeling low, and getting a card which promised so much. And then consider a day or so later when her mother reveals that she actually sent the card.

I know in her mind, Mum probably thought it was a sweet and loving gesture. But from my point of view, it just was one more reminder of feeling not so pretty and always smart. The sort of girl the boys don't want.

Fast forward 20+ years, and this same "smart" and not "pretty" girl, recieves yet another message of love from noone but her mother. Oh yeah, that was a life-affirming moment. Oh well.



Oh, yeah, and I did get a well wishes for the day from Bond. That also went down a treat. Thank fuck that day is over again for another year.

Dating updates...

Sorry it has been a while.... tap shows called for my more immediate attention. They were fabulous - thanks for asking by the way!

That aside, I also managed to have a date/meeting with a gentlemen from the dating agency. The meeting was relatively short, as is recommended for the first meeting, and he seemed possibly normal. Although, my ability to sense normal is clearly not to be trusted. We chatted about a few little things, but of course, I asked about his work. I may have hit the jackpot here if things progress. I knew he was in the medical profession before getting there - but it turns out that He is a psychiatrist! My very own therapist on tap!

Some professional chit-chat and some melancholy rambling

I have had quite a week at a conference where the most taxing thing I have had to do is keep up with companies trying to sell me things in consuming alcohol. Every night there was another function by a vendor forcing alcohol and food upon me, and all the while I was trying to keep my professional demeanour.

What was that - could I hear a pin drop in disbelief?

Ok, so perhaps my demeanour was a little more relaxed than other people in the same situation. Can you blame a girl when she meets not one, but two completehotties ? Of course, one was an infant with no interest in a middle-aged woman, and the other was some sort of religious nut-bag (he had a cross tattoo covering his entire upper arm FFS !!!). Nevertheless, I made friends with some vendors who have declared that they would love me to come to the next big Physics meeting, in LA in a week, just so I can continue partying with them.

Oh yes, I was a consummate professional.

Did I mention that Bond is apparently planning on being at the meeting in LA as well?

I have to own up at this point that things are confused in my head at the moment with regards to Bond. Yes, even more confused than normal. The hot boy from Brisbane that I met, of course never rang, or emailed. So my heart still finds itself yearning still for Bond. My head knows exactly what it should do, but my heart won't let it. So the confusion goes on. I want to say to him "Fuck off and stop fucking me around",
but something is stopping me.

Perhaps that something is the total fear that no other man will find me attractive, the way that Bond did. I fear that no other man that I find amazing and interesting and sexy, will think the same of me, the way that Bond did. I still find him the most intriguing man I have ever met - and some of that is probably the fact that he wanted me.

I am so lonely. Lonely beyond comprehension. There was a time when I could say I had really close friends. But I don't have those anymore. Those people are all ensconced in couple-dom and have quite happily abandoned their single friends - or at least me. And somewhere along the way, the singles I know are not my closest friends - and in fact have people who fulfil those positions already.

I suppose I just want someone who wants/needs me. And that is where Isabella comes in isn't it? I had hoped to make this a slightly more up-beat post - but, well, bite me.

I met a boy.

Over the weekend I was in Brisbane visiting friends and family. On the way up in the plane, I was a little melancholy - for what I am not sure precisely - but I spent some time on the plane ride writing down my thoughts in my Moleskin. I pined for a partner with whom I can share all. I also lamented that the one thing I missed, while trying to not get pissed off at the VERY canoodly couple beside me, is the secret knowledge that couples have. I miss the way that when you are with someone for a long time, you know little things about them that others don't. I still remember the way that my ex-husband tied his laces, the quirky way he brushed his teeth and his clean smell just after a shower. Remembering this sort of stuff made me realise how much I want someone to have that quirky intimate knowledge of me.

So I began my weekend with a mild state of melancholy.

And then I met a boy.

He was in fact a friend of Ms Ho, and her husband (Mr Ho perhaps?). She informed me a few weeks ago about wanting me to meet him when I was up next. I didn't get told too much about him, except that he was recently single (alarm bells!!!!) and was bemoaning finding a woman to spoil. He apparently also possessed a biting wit. So a meeting was arranged for the four of us to have dinner and facilitate conversation. The evening involved eating, drinking (well me and Ho - the boys were dry - WTF?), and conversing.

And how was he? OH. MY. GOD. Was he hot? Oh, yes, tick. Was he smart? Fucking yes, tick. Did he make me laugh - a miraculous feat on occasion? Oh yes, tickity tick tick. In fact, I couldn't have done better if I had put a direct order in at the shop.

He made me laugh about Schrodinger FFS. This is truly a man that worked for me on many levels. Before I went home, I imposed my business card on him, with, of course, all of the implications of "Call Me".

When I went home, I lay in bed thinking about him. And about Bond and our tortured and ridiculous relationship. And about men in general. I tried to rationalise and say to myself, "Well isn't it nice that there are in fact men out there who actually excite and entice you - don't give up hope yet." Considering that very very few men even make me think about them once, let alone twice. But then I thought over the evening, and acknowledged that although he was amusing and polite to me, I don't think he was interested. So then, the immediate next thought was, "Great, I finally meet a man that piques my interest, and yet again, another man that doesn't want me."

Think yourself lucky that you don't have my brain and thought patterns!

So with all this going on in my head, and it is progressively getting later (think close to 2am), I then get a text message from Bond. Fucking great.