Why Are You Still Single?

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It must be me. It was always me, I am needy, clingy, I have daddy issues, and I want to be literally handcuffed to the other person all the time. I know. That’s why I am single, that’s why men leg it so fast, they leave skid marks on the pavement and that’s the price every woman must pay in order to keep her marbles together in London. In the past month I was asked in total  of three times, the same age old question – Why are you still single? and again and again I find myself making up reasons why I haven’t got that special one (as opposed to other ‘normal’ people). It’s a short leap from mental illness and unlike in medicine there is no pill from singleness, there isn’t a pill which would whisk all your flaws,  they won’t prescribe you lobotomy and especially, they won’t hypnotise another person to love you.

There could be an algorithm to happiness, which is called online dating, but then can it calculate the divorce rate? Here’s the perfect match for you, you have 99% matches in music wine preferences, travels and books, however we strategically chose to not include points for neurosis, seasonal depression, bipolar tendencies, AADD, pathological lies, infidelity, fetiches and god knows what else that may come with the  package. I have always believed the universe prepared a surprise for me in a form of digital prince charming until he failed to turn up to the date. That was a sign impossible to ignore.

People ask me, are my standards too high? Well, define standards. Surely nobody starts a relationship with an attitude: she/he is a 6 after 5 beers. Of course, there is certain expectation in the significant other, unless you have no expectations of yourself and you will go down with pretty much anything anyone throws your way. Is fitness, intelligence, income, and good looks classify as unattainable standards? Is attentiveness, generosity, honesty and respect a high standard? We set standards according to our own, so shouldn’t people be asking me instead if I have such high standards for myself? Live a bit, stop learning that fourth language,  cancel your gym membership, take a pay cut, get fat. Can I have a relationship now? Probably not because numbers game is not an answer when searching for ‘the one’.

Is it me? Probably. Is that a problem? Probably not. Am I happy? Definitely yes. Thank you, stop asking why I am single.

 

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Why Are You Still Single?

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.

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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.

 

 

The Parisian Sensuality

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