Clutching at straws

Navigating relationships can be one of the most confusing and consuming endeavours a single girl sets out on. Seven months out of my seven year relationship and not only do I still not know the rules of the game, I’m still stumbling on the playing field. Shaky as I hold my bat and weak in my stance, I’m striking more than hitting and a homerun is unimaginable as I touch first base in slow motion.

Whilst I’m still getting acquainted with the single domain, recently I got to thinking about the things that single girls will settle for to relieve their loneliness. I’m a 23-year-old girl, still learning how to be alone, be myself and establish my own place in the world and I’m aware I’ve still got years to figure all that out. So when did women in their 20s with years ahead of them start settling for second best and clutching at straws?

I think the issue is we get ourselves so tied up in the attention of boys and the excitement of new flings and romances, we forget to live our own lives. We forget to fill in our own time with our own things and then we’re lonely when we’re by ourselves. Understandably when you’ve been in a relationship for a significant amount of time and you’re so used to having someone living with you and being by your side, all of a sudden when that person isn’t there anymore, and no-one is there to fill the gap, you start to feel lonely. But when did we start convincing ourselves and convincing men that it’s ok to be treated like dirt if it makes you feel less lonely?

Sometimes when we feel lonely we just take what we can get to fill the void. Whether that be messaging someone you don’t really like that much just to feel some kind of attention, sleeping with someone to validate your position as a hot, young, single girl or putting yourself in a ‘relationship’ with someone who clearly doesn’t give a shit just to feel like you’ve got someone.

My friend Cate* had been seeing this guy for the past 9 months. He was dynamite in bed, cocky & confident, blond, tanned and built, little too shiny for my liking but none-the-less, I saw the appeal. However, he was infact a complete asshole but Cat kept finding ways to justify his behaviour. Although they had an exclusive arrangement, the term ‘seeing each other’ was too strong for him. He refused to make any kind of miniscule commitment to her that was more than ‘see you at my place in 10?’ and when she’d go to his house on a Saturday night after a night out with the girls, on Sunday morning not only would he not drive her home, he’d make her take a cab back to her house to get changed and then meet him in town for dim sum!

Now I didn’t like him from the start but I tried because Cate liked him and she’s my best friend so that means something to me. But my efforts stopped when I tried to make conversation with him back in July and he said ‘You know what, I can hear you speaking but I just don’t give a fuck!’ – possibly the worst thing anyone had ever said to me, at the worst time anyone could ever say it to me. After that and after watching her self-esteem drop lower than my knee caps (and those who know me know that’s low) I was on the ‘get-rid-of-him’ bandwagon for about 5 months!

She finally broke it off with him last night – FINALLY! And I think it’s over for real this time which I couldn’t be happier about. But I still couldn’t help but wonder; why are we clutching at straws? All Cate truly wants is someone who is going to treat her with respect, consideration and kindness. Now, you know what, I really don’t think that’s asking too much! Those are the basic foundations of any relationship – friendly or romantic. So when did we start settling for less? And when will we realise it’s not ok to settle for someone who doesn’t offer those basic requirements? Surely no man can be too hot or too good in bed to outweigh basic consideration and respect. Too often we say ‘well the sex is great so until something better comes along, I’d be silly to say no’ – you know what, something better has come along: YOU!

We seem to be doing this to ourselves; putting ourselves in these positions to try and make ourselves feel better (via a man’s attention) and then we find that we’re even more unhappy because what we’ve got is really not what we wanted or needed. I recently slept with a guy I barely new, who lived in QLD, who I knew I was never going to see again. I did it because he was hot as hell and because I wanted something to make me feel better about the fact that my ex-boyfriend, with whom I still share a significant connection, has a new girlfriend with perfect legs. But it didn’t make me feel better, it made me feel even more alone and pathetic that that’s what I thought I needed to validate my existence. I don’t regret it though, after all he was hot as hell and he was sweet, and if I hadn’t slept with him I would never have had the realisation that it’s not going to be a man that makes me feel better, it’s going to be me. 

As a girl with only a fraction of a clue and experience in the single world, with only a fraction of a clue about who she really is and what she really wants, I expect to stumble. I expect to make mistakes, to learn new things and to sometimes do things I’ll regret later. But I’ve realised that for too long I’ve willingly lived my life around someone else and I’ve planned my time around someone else, but a spark has been ignited within me in the last few months. No more clutching at straws; I’m ready to start living my life for me, to fill my time up with myself and my plans and if a guy comes along, well he will fit wherever he fits. I’ll try to get Cate on board – wish us luck – we single girls need it! x

Creative!

Silver heart-shaped stud

(November 2009)

I found your earring in his bed.

Lost from your earlobe whilst he gently kissed your neck. While he ran his left hand through your hair and gyrated his right against your crotch. In that moment when you gasped with pleasure and pressed him harder against you, wanting, longing, ready for the teasing to be over and the ecstasy to begin.  

That’s when the back of your silver heart-shaped stud unknowingly came unstuck and the earring wriggled beneath the pillows as he slid gently inside of you.

In the early hours of the morning, once the game was over, moonlight illuminating your shadows through his uncurtained window, your head was clearer. He kissed you goodbye at the gate, bringing you close into him, making you want to go back to his bed, if not tonight then another time soon. You shut your car door quietly, aware of the echo in the silent street. As you drove home down the dark, empty streets you combed your fingers through your hair; a wasted attempt to neaten out the mess of tangled strands; a tell-tale sign of the methodical rocking of pleasure, of your head rubbing back and forth against his pillow. Only then did you realise the bareness of your earlobe. You spent a moment wondering when you lost it, where you lost it, but you were too blissful to really care.

I was there the next night. I had a feeling you’d been there. A feeling deep within my belly. We drank beer in his bed and reminisced over old photos. We smiled, we joked, we laughed, we kissed. He had a feeling of de ja vu as we slid between his sheets; the memory of you from the night before.

As his lips lingered soft and seductive on mine, I placed my hand around the hard, wanting shaft between his thighs. A breathy moan escapes his lips, pleased with my touch and he softly sucked my neck beneath my ear. Tingles down my spine and my nerve endings are electrified. The touch of his lips against my neck and the roaming of his hands around my body. Skimming over breast and waist and ass and thigh. The tickle as his finger brushed behind my knee.

Something sharp pressed against my elbow, propped up and hard against him as we play. I see the heart-shaped stud. Your heart-shaped stud. A dainty, loving symbol of the truth; cold, sharp, intrusive.

My gut was right, you had been there. I saw it in his eyes. His hesitation when I arrived. He could still smell you on his sheets.

‘Oh gees,’ I say with a sigh, instantly wishing my mouth had never opened. Wishing I could just brushed it out of the bed without another thought. He looks at me with wonder.

‘I’m not going to make a big deal out of this,’ I say, my hand now resting motionless and empty on his leg, his eyes now alert but willing my hand back to it’s former position as he lightly licks his top lip.

‘I’m not gonna be stupid about it…but I hope she’s not sad about loosing her earring.’ I flash the little heart past his face and put it on the floor beside the bed. In some way I feel that I put mine down with it.

He’s slightly shocked but not worried; he has no need to be. ‘Maybe it’s yours…?,’ he says taking a light hearted stab in the dark, knowing that it’s not.

‘No such luck, honey.’ I end the conversation as if the moment never occurred kissing him hard and pulling him against me. Resuming what we’d started prior to your interruption.

It’s just a casual thing; he & I. I’m aware of his others, he’s aware of mine.

But the evidence of you, having been in his bed is something I never wished to find.

I cannot help but wonder if you are a frequenter between his sheets.

If you know of me as I of you.

If you leave him as satisfied as I do.

We have common ground, you and I.

I have made your mistake before; I left my earrings on his bedside table the first time I was there.

I wonder, did you see them?

Or are you blissfully unaware?

Naïve to the others, oblivious of me.

Am I the other woman or are we both just fish amongst the sea?

Creative!

Luck o' the Irish

So I wrote this piece back in September 2009. It was based on something that happened at my housewarming party with my new housemates just a few months after I broke up with my long-term love. Tom Connolly* was the first guy who showed an interest in me after my break up and the first guy I found myself significantly attracted to. I must admit my insecurities shone throughout the whole anti-climactic experience. Turned out he was a bit of a jerk and I actually haven't seen him again since that party, despite several advances and despite what I initially hoped this would be. I learnt alot of valuable lessons about men, the 'games' of the single world and myself from this experience, even though we only ever messaged. But you've got to start somewhere and it made for a good story! I guess I never really gave it an ending but I felt I'd written enough about it so left it as is.

As she opened her laptop for the final time that evening, she started to feel a bit stupid.

‘You’re insane,’ she was thinking, ‘this is absolutely ridiculous.’

But of course the realisation of her day-long obsession still didn’t stop her from signing into Facebook and email for the 100th time that day to see if he’d taken that first step into her mailbox.

‘I can’t believe I’m letting a guy I don’t even know have this kind of affect on me,’ she thought.
To be honest, she’d barely even spoken to him that night at her housewarming, apart from the brief drunken exchange of a giggle over nothing in particular in the kitchen. Of course she’d drooled over this extremely tall, built, beautiful man and his sexy Irish accent most of the evening. Her heart had dropped though when her tall, thin, beautiful, friend with her perfectly-positioned breasts and gorgeously long legs had gone over to talk to him.

‘But I wasn’t flirting with him, I was talking to him about you,’ Cate* had pleaded later, after being alerted to your annoyance.

Cate not flirting was a social impossibility, it was unfortunately just in her nature to flirt and Elle had known that since they were 16-years-old. She didn’t; however, doubt that her friend was talking to him about her. She’d done this before when drunk, thinking it would be perfect if she walked up to a hot guy, bouncing her beautiful breasts and battering her elongated, pussy-cat eyelashes and then tried to point out her ‘beautiful friend Elle’, the one who was only about half a foot taller than being an actual midget. Yes, the curvy giggle-pot with 12D breasts and a size 12 ass. Yes, grand idea Size 8; he’s really going to want the short dumpy one after he’s spent 10 minutes looking down the shirt of a naturally athletically built 5’10 goddess. Another bombshell with good intentions, but Elle couldn’t help but love her all the same.

When Cate had gotten upset later in the evening over the ‘C-word’ of a boy she’d recently been seeing, Elle, as a good friend does, sucked up her own issues and realised the beautiful Irish man, who’s name she hadn’t even established and who, by the way, did not seem the slightest bit interested in anyone let alone her, was not worth worrying about, let alone worth coming between girlfriends. She pulled Size 8 out of her blubbering mess and onto the dance floor to shake off the tears, kissed her on the forehead and said ‘he’s just another boy,’ like a good friend should. They’d all had a great night and not another word was spoken, nor another thought given to the beautiful Irish man. After all, he was just another nameless boy at a party and she was just another heart-broken girl not ready to move on from her last love.

So when Tom Connolly, friend of housemate Frank, added her on Facebook two weeks later she was a little dumbfounded. She couldn’t quite tell from the tiny thumbnail of his profile picture; a photo of a group of four people, who this Tom O’Rafferty was or why he was requesting her Facebook friendship, but figured she must have met him at the housewarming.

‘Frank, who’s Tom?’ She asked. ‘He just added me on Facebook.’

‘Tom who?’ Frank replied.

‘Connolly,’ She said.

‘Oh, he’s the big Irish guy,’ Frank said, a small grin escaped his lips. ‘Weren’t you guys trying to chat him up all night?’

Her cheeks immediately flushed a bright tomato red, a wonderfully obvious sign of her embarrassment.

‘Well, there wasn’t much chatting on my behalf, but I think a few of the other girls might have been.’

It wasn’t a lie, she had hardly spoken to him, never mind ‘chatting him up’, unless of course wandering around asking people who the beautiful Irish man belongs to counts as chatting one up?

‘I don’t know if he has a girlfriend though,’ Frank added.

It was about the second she clicked ‘add friend’ Tom Connolly into her Facebook friend list that the giddy little school girl who’d laid dormant for the past 6 or so years, erupted in a volcano of random thoughts, emotions and ‘what-ifs’ within her and she’d been checking her mail every hour since then waiting for his first contact.

She still hadn’t let go of the idea though that maybe he had only ‘added’ her by default so that he could then ‘add’ Cate into his friendship list, and his bedroom no doubt, which also meant the frequent checking of his profile to see if they had any more friends in common. But each time under ‘Common friends’, only 1 friend appeared, Frank. So far it was all good news for Elle.

Elle wondered if Tom Connolly had spoken to Frank about her. If maybe at rugby on Saturday he’d mentioned her and Frank had suggested he add her on Facebook. After all, how did he even know her name? She hadn’t known his until he’d added her. But for some reason she couldn’t quite understand what it was that he’d seen in her. And why, if he had seen something in her, had it taken him two weeks to add her on Facebook? Maybe it was that wonderful photo of her enormous round ass someone had taken when she’d bent over to get a tray of wedges out of the oven. She hadn’t been aware at the time that such a photo was being taken. It wasn’t until much, much later in the evening that another drunken Irish man had come up to her with a camera, slurring ‘Is this you?’ and flashed a photo of a rather pronounced derriere beneath a grey skirt and below a green cardigan that she’d realised, just about everyone had appreciated her ass that evening. ‘You’re famous,’ he’d shouted and taken another skull from his beer. Maybe Tom Connolly was an ass man? Although Elle couldn’t imagine hers was anything to rave about. The truth was, she knew nothing about this Tom Connolly, and so far (we’re talking less than 24 hours) he’d not made any other contact with her. So she resorted to what any normal giddy little school girl of this day and age would do, Facebook stalking.

Illusive Little Bird Returns to her Blog!

Ok so, no posts since August, well I'll never be a writer with that kind of commitment now will I!

The truth is I have been writing, experiencing and discovering - I've just felt that all of the experiences and discoveries I've been writing about needed a little time and I needed a little more time to figure out how I felt about them before I braved them on the blog.

However, it's a new year and in many ways a new me, so it's time to put up a few of my pieces (creative & personal) from the last 5 months, to write new things and make a commitment for 2010: to blog more! Here's to writing, here's to being me and here's to new experiences, new ideas, new outlooks and new identities. For me 2010 is quite a monumental year. It's the year of travel and the beginning of a significant journey of self-discovery - hope you enjoy!

Quirky Little Bird back on track for what is sure to be an awesome year! x