Foolishly Optimistic? Or Hopeless Romantic?

I’m starting to wonder whether my love of romantic comedies isn’t doing me, and other single girls around the world, irreparable harm.

Cause lets face it the following will never happen:

1. A young hot Prime Minister will never fall in love with me (his tea-lady) and track me down on Christmas Eve.  Mainly because I would never be a tea-lady.

2. A hot movie star will not walk into my store, and fall in love with me, giving me a priceless painting and declaring that they are only a boy, standing in front of a girl, asking him to love her.

3. A rich, handsome and intelligent Mr Darcy will not fall in love with my idiotic self, tracking me down at Christmas to tell me he loves me. I would also not chase him down the street in my leopard print knickers after a misunderstanding with a diary.  Mainly because I would not own leopard print knickers (I do love sexy undies, but as a lady prefer black lacy french knickers over your slutty animal print satin).  Likewise, he would not in a sequel, track me down in a Thai jail to rescue me from utter despair.

4. The male escort I paid $5,000 too to be my date at a relatives wedding would most likely not fall in love with me. They might shag me, but would most likely charge me at the end of it.

5. A journalist would not do a story about me being in 27 weddings, and then after a drunken Elton John sing-a-long fall madly in love with me. Probably because I don’t have 27 friends I could be bridesmaid for.

And yet, despite my realisation that they are not real life, I still, deep down, want to be swept off my feet in romantic-comedy fashion.  When you meet a boy in the pub who drunkenly tries to have a conversation with you its just not quite the same as Colin Firth telling you he like you very much, just the way you are.

But you know what. Despite trying to inject some realism into my life, I’ll never ever stop watching them.  Because, on the worst of days they make me smile.

The one that got away

Yesterday I did the epic drive down the Gold Coast for Miss Indi’s very first birthday party. 

It was wonderful to catch up with old friends, but as always those pesky lingering feelings for old lovers always come back to haunt you.

When a relationship (if you could have called it that) ends because of changing circumstances rather than breaking up because they were a c*nt of a cheating bastard, it’s hard to know how to behave when you see them.

The first time I saw him I behaved rather badly, the second time was easier, but we ended up beign caught by an old guy in  a compromising position on the beach, pants around our ankles who asked if they could join in.

And this time. Well. It was ok. I knew he was seeing someone, but still, you always wonder.  We talked about real things like we used to (albeit, now it was about his new girlfriend), he teased my gingerness like the old days and we stood there in awe of the fact that 2 years ago we were drinking at Octoberfest and now our mates have a house and 2 babies.  Then scooped me up in an enormous lingering hug when it was time to leave.

I reckon if I had been drinking I would have attempted to flirt horribly and embarrass myself (hurrah for Sober October), but at last I behaved in a manner which I am not ashamed. As I was driving home I could actually admit to myself that I at last I am genuinely happy that “the one that got away” is happy.

And when I got home, I put on Love, Actually. Because sometimes a girl needs a Hugh Grant rom-com to remind her that it’s all going to be ok.

In Defence of Miss Jones

I quite enjoy the occasional difference in opinion, and marvel at how defensive I can be.  I think it must be the ginger genes!

The other day there was a semi-heated discussion in the tea room regarding whether or not romantic comedies,  in particular Bridget Jones Diary, are wonderful or ridiculous.

My opinion on this is - 

1. They provide us with some escapism from our world
2. You are guaranteed a happy ending, and likely to come out the other side with a warm fuzzy feeling that all is right with the world
3. It gives single girls the hope that no matter how ridiculous or hopeless you are, no matter how many nights you spend in oversized pjamas drunk and singing “All By Myself”, things always work out in the end
4. It also gives single girls hope that even though there are many Daniel Cleavers in the world.. The occasional Mr Darcy will come and rescue you from utter despair

Yes Bridget Jones is ridiculous, but she (in my opinion) is also real.  Perhaps because I relate to all the horrible mistakes that she has made.  Perhaps because I have had my fair share of Daniel Cleavers, the dastardly cads who like to prey on vulnerable, loving girls.  Perhaps because I know what it is like to have an embarrassing yet loving mother, the awkwardness of having slept with a co-worker and the disappointment of realising that life isn’t a fairytale and sometimes you don’t have anything to eat but cereal and cheese.  Who hasn’t been caught out “in the moment” wearing really really enormous knickers? Or pretending you know more than you do at work?  

And what I love most about Bridget is that despite the fact the she is really ridiculous and “feels like an idiot most of the time” someone loves her.  Just as she is.  Which is what this ridiculous Ginger is holding out for.  

So I ask you dear readers.. What is so wrong with having a whimsical story concluding in a happy ending? Absolutely nothing.

Doomed to Blindness

My inner geek is in full swing at the moment.

The new BBC adaptation of Emily Bronte’s classic “Wuthering Heights” is now airing on ABC.  If there is one thing I love better than a Hugh Grant romantic comedy, it’s a bonnet drama.

Unlike the beautiful happy ending of Jane Austen, Cathy and Heathcliffe’s story is doomed from the start. A relationship that destroys them both and the relationships of others around them. 

Destructive relationships are addictive.  When your in one,  you don’t recognise it for what it is (soul destroying) and when it inevitably ends it takes you what seems like a lifetime to recover.

One of my friends has just come out of one of these, and is in the “sitting in your room moping phase”.  I feel sorry for him (yes, it’s a boy recovering from a whore of a girlfriend) because I know what it’s like and I know that everyone else's good wishes means fuck all. 

My destructive relationship, quite frankly, was my own fault.  Everyone knew was a disaster it was, yet the other highlighting characteristic of a doomed relationship is that you refuse to listen to anybody's advice (note for next time – when the boys best friends and family tell you that you deserve better its a good indication your going out with a douche bag).

Looking back on it now, the signs were there from the start.  I have now got a list of guidelines for any prospective relationships.

1. Everyone deserves a second chance. That’s ONE more chance to remain faithful, not 2, 3, 4 or however many more times he cheated on me and didn’t tell me about.

2. Only be with someone who is nice to you.  Not someone who gets drunk and yells in front of all your friends that he hates you, or tells you he wants to fuck other women and proceed to dance with someone fat and ugly.

3. Only be with someone who wants to spend time with you.  Not someone who gives you a kiss on Friday night and returns on Sunday afternoon hung-over, with no money, and demands that you feed them and wash their clothes.

4. Do not, under any circumstances, believe the words of someone who is a borderline alcoholic.  If they say they love you and want to marry you and have babies with you – they don’t mean it, they are only after a blow job.  Do not believe it when they say they miss you, because chances are you will fly across the country to see them, only to be told, whilst you are naked in bed, that they are seeing someone else.

So watching Wuthering Heights, I know that Cathy is a fool, that Heathcliffe is a nutter (although to give him credit, a nutter that is desperate for her – sigh) but I can’t help but wish that it works out.  I have learned my lesson, but when it comes down to it, perhaps love truly is blind. 

My Favourite Things

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens (obviously)

Visits to Starbucks and warm chocolate biscuits

Postcards and packages addressed to me

These are a few of my favourite things.

Long steamy showers and crisp winter mornings

Vodka and Red Wine and men without clothes on

Getting to the loo when you really need to pee

These are a few of my favourite things.

Hugh Grant love stories with happy endings

Sunshine and laughing and Harry Potter

Playing with nephews and drinking with friends

These are a few of my favourite things

When the bank calls,

When I’m dateless,

When I'm feeling sad,

I simply remember my favourite things, And then I don't feel, so bad.

(this ditty is obviously plagerised from the Sound of Music version)