The Parisian Sensuality

e8357271cd0cc6adfbea61ce1caea9ffAfter yet another long break, I am back with a new post about Paris. So yes, I am obsessed with this city! Paris is the city of my dreams and I take it in with all it’s poverty and flamboyance, arrogance and sensuality, and let’s just throw in a dash sleaziness for the good measure.

Couple of weekends ago my friends and I, yet again, jumped on the train and traveled to the city of love. We had 4 fabulous days ahead of us, full of great events and lots and lots of wine. Although I have been making little Paris trips every few months, I never really experienced Parisian night life.  Except may be that one time when I tried to go home with a Belgian equivalent of Spartacus, which happened to be a total fiasco on my part as he decided not to get involved in a dysfunctional mĂ©nage Ă  trois with me and my friend, calling it the act respect to my male friend as opposed to blinding rejection. Anyway, new year – new me. This time I finally got to go out in a chat friendly environment where I felt my french was strong enough to introduce myself at the very least.

7433e3597a6294b9d124a2fa99a18fb8Saturday night was the opening of the club night season at the l’ Opera Garner restaurant La Boumette. Hello glam of my life! The event itself was organised through a french version of the meet up. To this day I still don’t know whether we walked into a mingling event or was it a pure coincidence we were mobbed by four parisian guys within minutes. The event was held sur le ciel du Paris in a fashionable L’Opera area.

Parisian events are slightly different to London. You still have your mixture of rich arabs and their blond bombshells girlfriends, but you also get creme de la creme of the parisian style front runners who look like they have just stepped down from the Montblanc ad campaign – perfectly groomed, sleek looking and of course, the look wouldn’t be complete without vintage tortoise shell frames. They all look equally nonchalant and self aware at the same time, which was incredibly pretentious and sexy. Perhaps parisian social scene hasn’t moved far from 19th century Dandyism which has always put image ahead of morals, the scene inspired Baudelaire himself.

ca866eb1ac600911143dd5c74d97c467

Of course, I didn’t get to meet any of these classy guys that night. As it usually happens, there was another type of men who prefer to overcompensate their absence of creativity with pushy enthusiasm and sleazy confidence which cannot be combated with anything except for a change of location. Efficient yet very impractical. These guys don’t wait around bombarding you with subtle hints, they go straight in for the kill, latching onto any possible flare of interest or mere politeness to spark the proverbial flame of passion. It was like a romancing the stone on my part. Despite my best efforts of assuming the role of cock block in vain hope I may have a chance to have a great night with the girls, I lost the battle to the latter group.

Despite all that drama, what is refreshing about parisian men, however, is you can have a pretty decent conversation, which can be both a fun banter and an existential debate. I got relatively lucky with one of guys at the party. Ryan was a half french half Arabic blue eyed blond hair mec who had quality flirting skills, who also introduced himself as a stripper for Chippendale. It wasn’t hard to believe because he certainly had the body for it. After 10 minutes of conversation and vivid x rated fantasies (taking place exclusively in my head!), he finally announced he works in marketing which left me both aroused and furious, but I didn’t mind to be played like this at all. As the night was getting busier, I found myself talking to new men who were all equally interested in me. If it wasn’t the dating event after all,  I would definitely say, in Paris, we were more popular than a kebab place on Saturday night. I was on fire! Trailblazing across the room, feeling fabulous. All a gal need to shine is a guys attention.

This may as f6a8641fcb42540d6881c9669306699cwell be a parisian thing. And just as other parisian things I like, I like the straight forwardness and confidence which parisian guys have. British guys may have a great sense of humor (which is a truly great advantage), but when it comes to making a move, it’s usually so subtle, almost like a metaphorical dog whistle perceived only by a certain type of women, if any at all.

Parisian sensuality felt like a breath of fresh air. In a modern world, plagued by extreme feminism, seduction has become closeted part of romantic interaction to the point where men decided to skip it all together. Of course, french guys don’t linger too long on platonic chit chat either and they don’t call if french banter after all. It wasn’t really my intention to meet anyone that night because I only had 2 days left in Paris and I wanted to spend them wandering the streets, drinking wine and daydreaming about how one day I book my one way ticket to Paris.

 

 

Advertisements
The Parisian Sensuality

Keeping it real in Manchester

manchester-town-hall-original-18933

My jaw literally dropped open this morning as I realised it has been 21 days since my last blog post. 21 days is like a very short month (or a very long one when you had spent all your wages in the first week) and I can hardly come up with an excuse. Although I have an excuse, but it’s embarrassing to admit that I haven’t had a date or even remotely an invitation to go out since my last dangerous liaison with Houdini. However yesterday I was stopped by a scruffy punk guy in Manchester who thought I look very eastern european and that’s why he decided to chase me down the street and talk to me. Sometimes I look back at my stories and wonder why did I follow dating rabbit hole and didn’t stick with politically charged content for my blog?

Anyway, Manchester. I wouldn’t necessarily say “eastern european style” exists by definition, meaning we don’t walk the streets wearing traditional folk attire, but I’d say eastern european style differs from from say, London fashion (to be put lightly). Still, somehow, wearing gym bunny trainers made me stand out form the crowd. As I walked the crowded shopping alley of Manchester, I couldn’t help but notice how well groomed and glammed up everyone is. Not surprising, I was in the northern capital after all. May be it’s because they don’t spend as much time in public transport trying to get from point A to point B, but rather, use their time to make them cheekbones highlighted. I, on the other hand, woke up at 5.30 am, spent 2.5h on the train, hardly wore any make up and shamelessly paraded my gym outfit (once you get into sweat pants, it’s hard to get out) and I’m not the person who can pull the sexy gym look.

I can’t do that.

anigif_enhanced-buzz-15108-1384973725-5

I recently remembered an article I read somewhere, as it turns out it was Daily Mail  (don’t judge me) but the headline summarised my suspicion

“The make-up of Britain: Northern women like to slap it on while Southern girls prefer the ‘natural look’ (with the exception of Essex)”

 

Being a guy in Manchester must be tough. Despite being flattered by the sudden interest in my appearance on the street, I still wonder, was it because I didn’t look threatening for a guy to approach me and there wouldn’t be any particular sense  of regret in the event of rejection? And, on the other hand, if I were wearing 5inch heels, 3 layers of make up, shimmering in the sunlight like Edward Cullen and having donned my Sunday best, would he still walk up to speak to me? And it’s not the first time, contrary to my  adopted belief, I get chatted up more often on the street when I look washed out. If I actually ever listened to my intuition, I’d say i discovered a secret to meeting guys – avoid meeting them.

I’d say i discovered a secret to meeting guys – avoid meeting them.

8195955_orig

In How to be a Parisian book, written by four sulky Parisian femme fatales, according to film producer, journalist, a model, and an actress – true Parisian girl always needs to be ready (meaning clean waxed, wear makeup and have spare pair of heels in her bag) because you never know where the night may take you. That’s all very empowering… You know, like a superwoman,  one moment you are insignificant human being wearing glasses, and the next, you are you seductive ass kicking Glamazon. I’m already feeling 5inches taller just by picturing it. Fortunately for me, I usually know my night will take me home, to my own bed where I can be as ugly as I want without running the risk of being labeled as “hairy marry”. I wouldn’t completely disregard the Parisian advice, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, or however the saying goes.

The moral of the story, the more you sweat it, the less likely you are going to succeed. Eastern european style or no style, heels or no heels, doesn’t matter, as long as you are enjoying yourself. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder anyway, you can’t win! have a great Sunday!

 

Keeping it real in Manchester

The Earthly Comedy

099aca7502524c55ca16dac1c5354625

I thought I would break away from writing about dating and once again write about the absence of it. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Recently I came across an Instagram account which was solely dedicated to celebration of being a single woman in her late 20s. It’s a satyrical mash of very tongue in cheek and sometimes crude and brutally honest memes, precisely depicting the grotesque reality of single girl’s life including such delightful routines as full body shave, staying in with your BFFs, celebrating phallic symbology, and of course – a great abundance of wine. Kind of what Bridget Jones was to women in 90s, howling to All By My Self in her pyjamas with a bottle of Shiraz on Saturday night.

f051077c8f06a19655443f7bfb20ff80
@daddyissues_

I got to thinking that may be people are taking relationships (or shall I say the absence of it) tad bit to seriously. Humour is much cheaper alternative to therapy and there is no better therapy than reversal therapy, which is why I could relate to this Instagram account. While Bridget Jones was educating women of the 90s that being a 30 year old ditzy woman who wears“mini skirts when they don’t have the legs for it” (Kristin Scott Thomas) is OK, it took the pressure off the pursuit of perfection, we are only humans and effectively it made us laugh, even though, it was a laugh through the tears. If you do it long enough, it can become a very valuable life mantra. The only way to stop oneself from wallowing and dying of a chronically broken heart is to laugh at it. Wouldn’t you agree? Not that I spend my days obsessing about being single, but I recognise the blunt fact that sometimes it makes more sense to be in a couple, both emotionally and financially, when you are in your 30s. It also means you can get laid on a regular basis at the very least.

It isn’t the big troubles in life that require character. Anybody can rise to a crisis and face a crushing tragedy with courage, but to meet the petty hazards of the day with a laugh – I really think that requires spirit.
It’s the kind of character that I am going to develop. I am going to pretend that all life is just a game which I must play as skillfully and fairly as I can. If I lose, I am going to shrug my shoulders and laugh – also if I win.”
― Jean Webster, Daddy Long Legs

What is even more important, the number of people who can relate this this mantra. With solid 3 million followers on Instagram, laughing at yourself pays good cash. Bachelorettes are the new generation of women who fully embrace their sexuality and freedom to make bad decisions without the fear of being accused of unlady like behaviour,  however sometimes, I think, it projects an unhealthy message. Being a bachelorette in film and media is all about embracing male traits such as excessive drinking, promiscuity, objectification of the opposite sex, public urination, and generally antisocial behaviour. In short, turning a desperate situation into hopeless. May be it’s funny but I struggle to grasp a connection between comedy and idiocy. Real bachelorette doesn’t need to deal with hollywood style hangovers, health issues and of course, lets not forget unplanned pregnancy.  I may be going back to my victorian school of good manners, but lets just say, keeping within limits is still a better judgement call. Laugh may not be panacea for a broken heart or loneliness, however, it can certainly take the pressure of being imperfect creatures we are.

The Earthly Comedy

When Benefit Of The Doubt Has a Lifespan

A young woman is standing in the street and is using her phone

The reason why dating is sometimes terrifying is the risk of getting rejected. In reality  – it isn’t a big deal, in your head – it’s a catastrophe. Being rejected by somebody you like sucks. Being rejected first before you rejected them is fatal – I promise your ego won’t let you be unless you get a revenge. While some people get luckier than others in their choice of mate, rest of us singles are left with a lingering question – as number of potential candidates decreasing with age, should I give them the benefit of the doubt?

With time, living in London can make you very cynical and if you don’t take certain precautions it can come back to bite you in the arse. Picky singletons in London are no longer settling for anything less than perfect. Problem is, you end up competing with the rest of the population and unless you are “a full package” you can be running a very unlucky streak. When someone asks me out on a date, I can’t help but question their motives. Sometimes I think my cautiousness can be verging on paranoia, however 9 out of 10 times, I’m right, don’t ask me how I know it. Years of bad luck and experience perhaps.

But sometimes, when you sense an adventure, you decide to give the benefit of the doubt to a person who stood you up, canceled 3 dates in a row, forgot to text you for a week and so on, just because you are so intrigued with the potential they might bring – is it a nice dinner or great sex, you are prepared to put up with any poop that comes along just to satisfy the curiosity. On the top of insatiable curiosity, there is also a small chance of letting the right person go. We are spoiled with choice, we begin to create impossible standards for people, forgetting we live in the world where everything is deceiving – starting with fake eyelashes ending with fake accent. We all run the risk of judging a person too quickly and losing a great opportunity.

So last week I went on a drink date with Prince Charming. The same fella I met in the bar and wrote a post on. When I thought it couldn’t get any more pathetic on my side, I found out this guy actually called himself – prince. After multiple attempts to find out what’s with the obsession with royal title, I gave up, allowing him to maintain his mysterious origins. Who knows, may be he was a prince of some country in never never land, because he never never replies on the same day. After 3 days of excruciating silence (nice touch), he texted me with a pretty standard excuse – telephone company blocked his number. Of course I didn’t believe it. What happened yet to be written.

When I thought he was blowing me off, he actually three day ruled me and just when I thought these things have become urban myths, here come the RULES. This is the one thing I didn’t miss about dating, but according to some old fashioned dating coaches we always have to maintain cat ‘n mouse chase, otherwise you’ll be eating dinner alone. What surprises me however, regardless of being an absolutely decent, legitimately attractive and intelligent human, there is one thing apparently I should be learning – dating rules. I taught myself code, I speak 3 languages and taking up on the 4th, I have a degree, I have read through pretty much every self development book available beginning from neuroscience essays (yes) ending with Napoleon Hill, I attended Tony Robbins gig, and I walked on fire. One thing I suck at is securing a date.

In times like this, when you are looking at very lonely summer, you have to resort to extraordinary measures (and horror of horrors)  -dating education. After all, wisdom doesn’t com from knowing it all, it comes from acceptance of not knowing. Little did I know that by the tender age of 28, I will be contemplating dating advise from a self help book, however I didn’t know I will be writing one day either. Ignorance is a bliss up to the certain age, after that it’s all about information. Now where is that glass of RosĂ©?

When Benefit Of The Doubt Has a Lifespan

Are We Bulls**t Shoppers Or Just Optimists

tumblr Dating in London is never dull, even if you don’t get any dates, time to time you get the reality confirmation that being single isn’t actually so bad. Being single is always going on a date with destiny. You never know who, where or when falls into your lap and give you a minute thrill, or at least a promise of the possibility of potential happy ending. Unfortunately, being single in London has its down sides too. Sometimes, instead of being all-you-can-eat buffet, it turned into a fast food joint where you take a bite and spit it out without chewing. It has zero value and zero satisfaction. It’s official – dating in London is now box ticking exercise.

Dating scene in big city is not for sensitive souls. It’s brutal and unpredictable. It doesn’t follow any common sense or logic. In the absence of sound advice, sometimes I resort to the only thing I do best – generalisations: everyone is taken. Playing the game turned into full on battle, and I found myself right in the middle of it without any clue. What I grew to understand is that romance does not sustain itself. Unless you feed it with hope and idealism, it will slowly turn into cynicism and bitterness. It’s easy to swear of men and engage to yourself over a bottle of wine, but it takes optimism to shake off yet another dating disaster without effectively doubling in size. Lot’s and lot’s of it.

How do you stay positive? Do you play numbers game searching for the one, or the one next to him/her? Or do you patiently sit and wait hoping for the best? Neither is the right way. Women’s and Men’s magazines are bursting with pop-scientist and pseudo – intellectuals giving advice on how to find and sustain successful relationships, but that means fuck all if we have no self-respect, or confidence or integrity. People don’t approach love by cold calculations and detailed plan of seduction – if only in bad fiction and seduction seminars. Embracing my inner coach I would only say one thing – to have optimism is to have confidence about the future or the success of something. If going on dates raises your confidence about finding a right partner, then it’s the only way to go. Dating out of fear of ending up forever alone can dart you right into the arms of bullshit sellers, effectively have your heart broken and a casual STI. Not a great idea. And by dating I don’t mean going on dates with only one goal of getting laid.

Regardless, for majority people in London getting a date isn’t difficult, majority but me. I’m not online dating and I rarely go out, but even when I do, meeting a worthy candidate becomes a sales skills building exercise: appear too desperate and you’ll end up with a sausage roll, play hard to get – you could end up hungry. If you play the whole program right, you could end up with a phone number. I would jump the gun and mention the actually date, but this is another level of sales negotiations supported solely on a question – What’s in it for me? Last weekend I got to thinking. We play games with each other because it’s fun. If you actually forget your ticking time bomb and go out on a limb to a bar on Saturday night, you could actually have lot’s of fun. So last week I did just that (not that I actually apply “ticking time bomb” to myself) and met a guy who relentlessly tried to get my number for about an hour, must say he did intrigue me a little bit, but sometimes you get that gut feeling they are in it for all the wrong reasons. Despite long negotiations about nothing between me and him, my friend (with sort of my approval) gave the guy my number.

Cutting long story short, I never heard from him. I was dumb folded. First thought – why bother in a first place? Second thought was – I’ll write a blog about it. Whatever the reason for not getting in touch was, I derived an invaluable lesson (like you always must do) – count your losses and move on. Of course, I don’t exclude some preposterous circumstance like a stolen phone by a gang of savage raccoon,  but realistically, in this scenario i’ll just adopt an idea he was married. From my personal experience, finding anything worthwhile on Saturday night in town has a chance 1/10 , finding yet another bullshit seller is guaranteed. I don’t believe in virtues, but whatever happened to sincerity and integrity? Am I in the wrong of being optimist that may be, just may be, one of these midnight rendez-vous would end up with at least a date?

Two words come to mind: Cruel Intentions. Seducers are rainbow sellers – victims are bullshit buyers, or may be they are just optimists who sometimes get a bad nut. Love them of hate them, can’t live without them. p.s. I did get a text message with an excuse he was busy – a week later which is as good as never.

Are We Bulls**t Shoppers Or Just Optimists

The Time When Election Fever Hijacked My Brain

As the election fever has subsided and the majority of raging lunatics went back to their luxurious dens to perfect their master plans, the rest of the country is left with the aftertaste accentuated with drizzle of panic and pre-apocalyptic anticipation. I would like to proudly declare – I have nothing to do with it. Mainly for being a EU citizen – I couldn’t . So imagine after getting all worked up after my last episode of political street shaming, I was informed by my fellow non uk resident of London, that despite all my hard earned and donated tax money, I still have no word in deciding whether I am getting kicked out or not. Caught up with the agenda, thank you very much. Without much hesitation I happily proceeded with my life and marched to a patisserie for a cup of cappuccino and the best darn ÂŁ3 slice of apple tart I had in my life.

Acknowledging that right now I am having a much better time than Ed Milliband, I faced an ultimate question – am I a hypocrite? Just few weeks ago I sworn not to ever speak of politics in public, today I am literally restraining myself from posting a political meme on social media and adding some sort of clever pun to display my political erudition – ultimately failing miserably at both as only a month ago I couldn’t give two fingers about who’s promising what. Promising is the operative word here. Probably I am, or perhaps I enjoy a small politics chat – it’s harmless and I’m taking part in something worthwhile – group whining. Despair bring people together, we love finding a common ground to bitch about things we hate, it inspires our creativity and makes us feel like for once, we really mean it.

While I am safe here for another five years, I can proceed with my normal life of being politically ignorant, and this time no cute guy will make me question my integrity as a law abiding resident on London town. Having said that, why did I assume having any knowledge or interest in politics is ever sexy?

Women in power are honestly having a bad rep, especially if you live in United States. While Michelle Obama is perfectly fine performing yoga moves on national television, Hillary Clinton is being dissed for her choices in fashion. I’m not even touching on Sara Palin although it’s asking for it. Back to the continent, remember that infamous scandal which broke out when notorious David Cameron has suggested his “dear” female MP to “calm down”? Except for that little hiccup, UK could be seen as rather utilitarian in their views, having in mind that the country has been under a watchful eye of the Queen for centuries. Iron Lady name alone tells a lot about the woman in power. And of course, Angela Merkel could be seen as a dark horse of the European union, however it didn’t stop her being photoshopped out of the picture for JE SUIS Charlie march. Clearly, having a political opinion doesn’t always guarantee you respect, however it could sort of land you a compliment – depends which way you look at it.

Allegedly, this is what has been said about this young lady:

‘You’re too pretty to be interested in politics and should be in Girls Aloud’: What Labour councillor Karen Danczuk says Harriet Harman told her. It’s not shocking men can say that, it’s shocking these men sit in the parliament.

2599628600000578-0-image-a-1_1423737190523

Evidently, here’s what Aussie lonely boys find attractive in their fist ladies.

WOMEN’S INTERESTS THAT ARE MOST ATTRACTIVE TO MEN

  1. Personal growth
  2. Health/exercise
  3. Food
  4. Family
  5. Dancing
  6. Art
  7. Photography
  8. Friends
  9. Outdoor interests
  10. Work/career

You won’t find any politics there. Although it’s debatable. We could imply that Personal Growth stands for spending all morning reading political section in the newspaper, although, on the second thought, it would be pretty darn difficult to mindfully shift the conversation from Conservatives to conserving fruit. Let’s just get over the fact that being a political erudite will not get you laid in Australia.

Wait a second! This can’t be right.

As I was digging deeper for evidence to support my, fist of all, politically incorrect assumption, verging on gigantic false and probably insulting generalization, I opened either the pandora box or found the holy grail, can’t quite decide.  Apparently, women being less interested in politics than men, is a thing on the Internet and men are generally bothered by this. According to writer for Huffington post, quote:

This will not do, ladies. Politics is important, no matter your gender. You need to do better.

Well thanks there mate for pointing that out, perhaps now I know why I am still single. I should feel profoundly ashamed for not paying enough attention to politics. This tsk-tsk moment was a deja vu, all over again. Thankfully, this time I did not have to stand through the 5 seconds of theatrical eye rolling. Cheers to that. All of a sudden I had a burning desire to hear what Russell Brand has to say about this, probably lots, a lot more than that one time when he was married to Katy Perry, and even the time when he felt the need to tell press she was bad in bed. But who cares now anyway. Elections are over. I can now go back to my simple life of simple pleasures. Let the men now do what men do best….

Drama and cynicism aside, let’s just agree that all of us have different goals and ambitions in life. Historically and evolutionary it happened that men are more drawn to power and politics, while women are more drawn to beauty and family. You can disagree with me. I do not support political apathy, especially when your future and the future of your children depends on who is getting elected, but in the recent history, track record hasn’t been especially satisfying. Over the course of the past month I learned that casting a vote is important, however in my position, my vote is irrelevant. Plus, who needs a debate when public have pretty much made up their minds about either of the parties?

11238972_2189073994473112_2344641224166704452_n Have a great weekend x

The Time When Election Fever Hijacked My Brain

Old School = Old Maid?

“I fear the day technology will surpass our human interaction. The world will have a generation of idiots.”

Albert Einstein 

Some thirty years ago my mother would be running around the town looking for a pay phone to phone somebody who might have, or may have not the left the house to let them know she can’t make it to the lunch because her sister is having a baby at the hospital. Have I mentioned she was ringing my dad whose call she’d been waiting glued to the phone for days? And when she finally found one working, as soon as she picked up the phone she realizes she has no quarters left! Blooming hell! She manages to buy some smokes, she gets change, she runs, finds next pay phone, rings. Rings one more time, rings few more times. Obviously he’s already left as she’s already running 10 minutes behind. She thinks – if only there was a phone that I could carry in my bag so I could phone him to say I’m not coming!

On the other side of the story, he’s my twenty something dad, patiently waiting for her at the cinema lobby, film is about to start, she’s not here, he waits another hour. He’s upset because he realises my mother stood him up. And worried if something bad happened, or she’s waiting for him somewhere else. Or may be he wishes he had asked that secretary with huge breast out instead? All this anticipation has blown up in the air, he thinks “If only there was a phone that I could carry in my pocket so I could phone her to ask “Where are you?” .

Frankly, must be by some wicked miracle I’m even alive!

Now, I’m a kid of the 90s. For real. As much as I would like to label myself as “millennial” just for kicks of feeling younger and part of the future generation who’s saving the planet, but I’m older than that.  I grew up through MC Hammer, Nirvana and Backstreet Boys, I was Emma from spice girls and I had a massive crush on every boy who had bowl haircut. I wore double denim and a choker and it couldn’t get any worse than that. Luckily, today I’m a 28 year old single woman who hates anything 90s’.

Also I am considering myself a technologically savvy, I mean I was around  when tamagotchi came out, I had 3. I was there through the first chat rooms, spending hours on-line chatting to a boy who lived in a neighbor city. It couldn’t get any better than that. The joy of simply talking to somebody who shares your interests for Sims, art, travel, or who shares your pain of going to school and dealing with angry parents. And then there was this moment of scanning in your photograph and sending it to him, waiting for him to reply with their own photo and the sheer relieve when he is actually – normal, even cute. That 14 years ago. It’s a lot scarier these days. I genuinely wish I could unsee things I’ve seen on Chatroullete and Tinder.

I don’t mean to sound like an stagnant golden age thinker or conspiracy theorist who believes that online activities make us socially retarded, but I probably will. Last weekend I went to see “Men, women and children” by Jason Reitman and despite it’s very low ratings – I actually found it very truthful to our reality. Do I wish there was no internet or texting? Absolutely not. It’s an integrated part of our daily lives, it’s saves us time, it makes us better connected, quite literally removing borders and shrinking distances. There is a party on the internet and everybody want to be at it. Yet, somehow I’m not getting the memo.

Instant messaging isn’t an alternative to RL (a.k.a. Real Life ) social interaction. It doesn’t sustain the friendship (unless you are thousands of miles apart – then its an exception). Maintaining relationships  over the internet with people who live in the same city is simply new age lazy, unless you are fifteen pretending to be an adult, chances of which i don’t exclude. My first world problems are getting even more complex when I hear how messaging allows an individual to express his or hers feelings easier in a “typed” form than saying it to their faces, while toddlers in UK are showing signs of increased antisocial behaviour related to constant tweeting, messaging and tumlr’ing. Now that’s the generation that is supposed to rule the world. Nice.

My real worry is I’m not like that. I’m old school kind of girl. I like getting coffees, cocktails or meals with people who I can see and touch. I like calling people, hearing their voices. Did you know you can hear somebody SMILE over the phone? How cool is that!  But there is a big problem with this picture called Real Life.  Many people prefer not to have any interaction in the real world to start with. I had number of guys who’d prefer to talk to me texting for literally hours telling me about all our  great conversations we have. I have two problems with that – I can’t type fast because my fingers are too fat , second, I have better things to do. Like write this blog post for example.

Paradox becomes when? Although internet makes everything we ever wanted a click away, you could actually say so much more in an hour of RL conversation than texting. Surely, if you have two hours to spare texting me all evening (quite possibly sitting next to your girlfriend) , meeting me for an hour wouldn’t be that much of a problem. Logical? At least to me. Best one though is “sexting” – it’s like a phone sex, over Whatsapp. Anyone would agree that a real thing is much better than typing profanities to somebody on the other end of the conversation who could be errm bidding for shoes on eBay? Not for this fella I know. I tried, I had a great laugh, I poured myself a glass of vino and admitted – I’m too old for this shit.

The ultimate dilemma – is it socially retarded to have relationships with people online or is it socially retarded to refuse to have relationship online?

Is there something fundamentally wrong with you if you prefer meeting people face to face? Is antisocial to tell somebody on Facebook chat – i’m too busy to have this intense conversation with you while typing and making pancakes at the same time because I’m hungry? Since I’m a social dinosaur I might be in a big trouble. In fact I am because last guy I “suggested” to meet instead of “having great chats” on Facebook politely declared that he is very busy and he’ll “see me later”. What a funny choice of words used on social network site anyway.

Old School = Old Maid?