Shallow Hell

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So I figured out something about myself that I would have before now denied strongly. I, it turns out, am shallow.

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Now I am not saying that being shallow is a bad thing in any way but before recent events I would have thought I was all about personality and sense of humour and all that bollocks but the truth is I’m a sucker for a pretty face and that doesn’t have to come with a side order of substance either.

In the last week I have been asked on two dates.  One with a guy (#18) that seemed like a really nice guy, lots of common interests and someone that could not only keep up with my banter but bat it right back to me like a baseball pro; and the other a rather hunky personal trainer that cut straight to the chase and asked me out straight out of the starting blocks.  Now let’s just point out that I didn’t get asked on these two dates at the same time.  I had, after much consideration and debate with my none HDJ side, decided to cancel my date with #18 due to the fact that I considered myself ready in theory for a date but not in practice.  That was however until McTrainer asked me on a date.  Then all reservations and doubt about being ready or not went out the window.  Like I said, shallow.

But it made me wonder, was it the idea of getting to know someone again and connecting with someone that turned me off and made me do the ‘I’m sick can we re-arrange’ text message or was this guy just not pretty enough to get HDJ’s pilot lit?  When it comes down to it is physical attraction stronger than anything else?  Does the prospect of getting laid have more appeal than that of getting a real connection and a relationship?

I guess in my case much can be said for getting my lady garden tended, I’m not adverse to someone who has a very talented green set of fingers getting dirty and give me a good seeing to; and they don’t have to be a Mensa candidate to do it.  In fact in my experience I have discovered that intellectuality has nothing to do with sexual prowess and that the best sex I ever had was with someone I went out of my way not to converse with.  I am not sure they would know what converse meant (unless they thought about the shoes…) So the concept of getting a little drunken and amorous with someone that was obviously seeing the blonde, the boobs, the banter and nothing else was more appealing to me than making deep and meaningful conversation with someone who wanted to demonstrate that they knew there was so much more to HDJ than an awesome rack and a non-prudish approach to life.  There is, but I guess at this time my shallow nature just wanted to get the little hooded man in the boat some tongue, finger or whateverthehellwasoffered action.  I didn’t want to have to work for it and feel like I was going to get accused of using him for his body the next morning.

I wanted pretty, I wanted hot, sexy, confidence not an evening spent discussing whether taxonomy within various aspects of society can actually be beneficial and indeed necessary.  Yes, I can do that, I’m clever you know, but I just wanted some hot guy to try getting his hand up my shirt.

Women complain that all men want is sex and maybe in some people’s world’s that is a problem but at this juncture in my dating experience I’m going to take cock over consideration, hot over heartfelt and the more fun form of oral communication of wants and needs.

So what I learned is that perhaps I’m not shallow, perhaps I just don’t want to spend all that time and effort getting to know someone before we have very polite and considerate sex.  Instead I want to bypass all that crap (yes I called forming a relationship with someone crap *shock horror*) and just find myself in a panting, sweaty mess at the foot of someone’s bed not even sure what day of the week it is without having to stay the night or arrange another date to feel as though they got something emotionally from it.

Maybe I’m developing a ‘Y’ chromosome.

Or maybe I’ve decided that because I don’t want to form an emotional connection with someone that my lady parts shouldn’t have to suffer.

HDJ xxx

Ring-a-Ride

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I am not a prude.

I am not adverse to sex in most forms, although I’m not in any way, shape or form interested in anything scat related.

I would like to think that I am an open minded, easy going kinda gal.

That said, I am not impressed when someone tries to make me their booty call.

I have nothing against booty calls per se. I have no issue with meeting someone simply for sex on a basis agreed beforehand by both parties and I don’t need a commitment and a diamond the size of Cumbria to drop my panties.  But, when someone I don’t really know all that well decides that I’m running HDJ’s Ring-a-Ride I tend to take a little step back from this person to assess them.

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So I have a date next week. The first one since 12a and the first first date I have had in almost 4 years. The excitement is…I’m sure I will find some.  There have been the planning stages, the swapping messages and finally it was decided to meet up on Tuesday to see how we get along I guess.  What I didn’t expect was a message at 10:30 last night asking me to drag my shapely ass into town to meet up.

Now, I’m not enthusiastic about meeting for coffee with the potential for it to lead on to dinner and as far as I was concerned I had to dial up the enthusiasm to arrange that in the first place.  I had waited 20 days to go back to confirm our initial plan… So, the idea that I would get my glad rags on and go to join him (already marinaded in Dutch courage) a 30 minute drive away from where I live was not something I was expecting. Nor can I say it was particularly welcomed.

I know that some women would have been dressed, and out the door faster than Usain Bolt. I know some would have been flattered that in the midsts of a drinking session with friends and the array of women shoe-horned into all manner of small Lipsy dresses that he thought of me. I on the other hand only had one thought: ‘this guy doesn’t know me very well does he?’

I am not the type of girl that is going to join you at the tail end of the night to be plied with cheap cocktails and taken home.  I’m not the type of girl that is waiting by the phone for your call and will plan my evenings and weekends around you.  I am not the type of girl you can mould into a booty call because I’m not sure I want to even watch you drink coffee let alone your looming pink sex face bobbing in and out of view.

But it made me wonder, is this really his fault? I mean would he be asking if he knew that women everywhere lived to the same standards I do in terms of not thinking any guy is so exciting I would drop everything I was already doing to go make him happy (with minimum energy input or effort on his part).  If women everywhere said no when a guy attempted to initiate booty call protocol 1.4 wouldn’t word get around that maybe they needed to try harder?

Are men just taking advantage of female self-esteem loophole?

So now I’m left wondering if I should bother with Tuesday at all…

HDJ xxx

Punching Above Your Weight Class

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Sex and dating, like any highly competitive contact sport, has rules, judges and leagues.  There are many sporting analogies that would be appropriate to use here but the one I like best comes from boxing or any type of MMA where people get repeatedly smacked around the head (much like dating – metaphorically speaking of course) and that is punching above your weight class.

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Now I touched on this in the book but recently I don’t know what seems to have happened to the men of the world (ok maybe not the world perhaps only the Cotswolds area) but for some reason there seems to be an exodus of their own weight class and a lot of them are trying to get into mine.  Now I would say I’m a middleweight in terms of this post, I’m not Megan Fox but I’m not Su Bo either.  I’d say I was better looking than most but less attractive than some and that’s fine I’m not trying to date men three leagues above me but I won’t say no if they come looking to slum it with me for a while. ;)

Now I know, I sound really judgemental and conceited but if you want me to buy that you there reading this have never been approached by someone so beneath you in terms of weight class that you are offended that they ever thought it was appropriate to talk to you in the first place let alone ask you out; no sale!  If you say you have never thought like that, then you my dear reader are a liar.

Now I think I am pretty clear on my weight class, I have never really aimed above it and I have occasionally dipped below it (we all have) and I am always amazed just how unaware some people are of what weight class they fit into and where they should stay.  Recently I have been approached my a stampeding herd of what can only be described as flyweights.

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Yes I have decided to brave the world of internet dating. New city, new life, HDJ version 2.0.  So I decided it might be worth a shot as it will not only allow me to see what the dating market is like around these parts, but also a girls gotta eat.  The general consensus of men in the Cotswolds area is  that many are:

  • Unaware of their weight class; or
  • Deluded about their weight class; or
  • Just deluded.

If I could protect the identities and names I would post a screenshot here so you could see what I was dealing with.  No, I don’t care about them getting upset but I care about getting sued so I will suffice to describe them.  There are the retired (or should be retired) super lightweights, the ones in their mid to late 50s that are obviously not seeing past blonde hair and ample bosom. I am not a mid-life crisis aid nor am I interested in being a cheaper alternative to a Porsche.  There are the lightweights that use text speak and excessive extra vowels and appear to have teeth that would be them perfect Jeremy Kyle guests.   There are the deluded featherweights, yes please put your shirt back on, that’s not a six pack those are your ribs and the ones where I think they are beyond classification without going into the junior category and pin weight status.  Time after time I am left wondering why these men message me or why they think I might message them back.

Is it worth trying your luck because I may have become so despondent from life and dating that I am suddenly going to think that emaciated white boy is the food of champions?  Is it that they believe that if they met Angelina Jolie they would end up taking her home?  Do they think that they are so damn hot I’m the lucky one?  Or do these guys have such amazing (misguided) self confidence that they don’t see anything wrong with messaging someone at least 2 classes above them.  I might have gone with the last one if it wasn’t for the ‘I know I’m probably not your type’ line that gets thrown in for good measure.

I also wonder what this means for the ladies in the flyweight and lightweight categories?  Do they get even lower, deluded forms of male specie messaging them? Although based on what happened when I set up two of my super flyweight friends once upon a time, they seem to settle and have aesthetically appalling babies.

I’m not saying that ugly people don’t deserve love too.  I’m not saying I haven’t done my bit for fuck an ugly person aid (although I will never reveal names to my friends who might know them) but what I am saying is that only one man can walk up to any woman (perhaps even man) without fear of rejection.  Without even considering the idea that this person would not be interested.  There is only one (unless someone else can think of another one) who is Universally attractive and that’s Johnny Depp.  The rest of the male world needs to understand that when you punch above your weight class you do nothing but embarrass yourself and sometimes lose a few teeth.

HDJ xxx

 

 

I Want You to Want Me

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Some people believe that the world is a giant mirror, that the people that you interact with in your life and that you meet in some way, no matter how small, reflect back to you something about yourself that needs attention and that what really irritates the shit out of you in someone else is actually something you do.  It’s an interesting concept and one that I can get behind.  That said, I am not sure exactly what #8 is currently reflecting back apart from the need to strap on some man parts, if he doesn’t have his own there are a variety of places on the internet he can buy some very life-like looking alternatives.  You have to love the internet.

Ok, ok I get it. I have in the past been needy. I have given into that idea that someone else was needed to show me my value, my worth and because it was easier that dealing with what was actually bothering me, and let’s be honest that’s what being needy is actually about. I think we all have from time to time decided it would be so much easier if someone else would just go completely out of their way to make us feel so special and amazing that we could just sit back and take them for granted.  That would be awesome.  Strange how it doesn’t work that way.

So if #8 is being a mirror and reflecting back how much of a pissy bitch I was when I hit a needy patch I want to take a moment to sincerely apologise because man, is that ever not attractive!

And, it has to be said, it is mostly due to the fact that myself and #8 have no connection other than a pseudo friendship so the reaction of throwing ones toys out of the pram when I don’t reply straight away is even less attractive than it would be if he had a right to get his lady parts all upset.  I don’t understand why, bearing in mind the fact that no body parts of ours have ever met, that he has been looking for some form of ego stroking that has never come from me…ever, he thinks I am invested enough in him or whatever this is between us to buy into the hissy fits and the snarky comments. I’m really not.  Nor does this behaviour entice me to get more involved than a passing message or two whenever I am bored.

It’s fun to flirt, it is fun to send naughty messages that get your mind racing, it’s fun to not take anything too seriously.  My self worth and ego does not hang on whether he is messaging me as his Tuesday girl and a variety of others the rest of the week. I don’t care if it’s 2 days between hearing from him or 6 months. I don’t care if he doesn’t reply if I ever message him first, which I think I have done once. I don’t need this man to want me, I don’t need him to plump my ego like some couch cushion the dog has been sat on.  I fear however, that this means much more to his ego than it does to mine.  At first I did not believe his protests that he only messaged me, now I do. It actually made me feel a little sorry for the poor guy because for however long this has been going on I have not taken this seriously, I have never taken him seriously and yet he appears to have been begging for me to love him like Oliver wanted some food. In both cases someone was going very hungry.

Yes I was needy for a while, yes I was lazy and wanted someone else to make me feel like a queen because well, why the fuck shouldn’t they (I know that’s unreasonable) but I was never this attached to someone and the need for them to make me feel like a goddess when this was not something they had even considered signing up for.  I have never felt so lost in my own self worth and self importance to literally beg someone to give a shit about me and weirdly I’m not finding it sexy, endearing or even interesting when someone else spews this level of neediness on me either.  So for my neediness I apologise, even chastise myself, for his I do the male thing of responding even less often, not buying into the need for attention and look for other, less clingy options.

HDJ xxx

Yawn!

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So recently I had to tell someone they were boring me.

I don’t think he expected it, no screw that I know he wasn’t expecting it.

I didn’t care.

You see in the time that I have been single thus far I have battled my way through many different types of men folk.  The friends who have turned into some type of labradoodle-shark combo, friends who think this guy would be a good ‘get under to get over’, the old school look her-uppers, the confident random, the deluded random, the pictures speak louder than words random and the want another go on the merry go round guys.  All that in 6 months, no wonder I blog huh?

This guy was one of the confident randoms. I should add in this case I mean random as in that I did not know him before, not the type of random of having anything obviously unusual about his personality or appearance. In fact I numbered this guy. This is about #17.  Now this guy is hot.  He knows he is hot; he works on the basis that he knows other people think he is hot and for some reason appears to think that hotness is the only attribute anyone should be looking for in a man.

Don’t get me wrong hotness helps, hotness is good and to date I can say I have only entertained one or two of the hotnessly-challenged but hotness with nothing to back it up is like eating anything delicious when you have a cold – not worth the time and energy and frankly, tasteless.

So I meet #17, we swap kik information (yes this is the new craze kiddos) and we message back and forth with the intention to go for a drink at some point to get to know each other better and maybe get me a look at this photographers long lens; when it become blatantly obvious that this guy’s idea of conversation is somewhat…

Boring

Now I mean boring as in no substance, nothing interesting to say, words spelled ‘lyk dis’ and a general all round need for me to slap him upside the head with a dictionary.  I don’t want to make all the conversation, I am not so enamoured with you that I feel I need to jump through hoops like some show poodle to keep your attention.  I don’t have enough neediness that he seemed to think every girl possesses to need to respond to messages that simply say ‘sup’.  What the fuck type of message is that anyway? You’re from the Cotswolds not the Hood. So after a few days my cat-like attention span had decided it was more fun chasing imaginary bugs up the wall.  I stopped replying.

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Fast forward a few days and the last message I read (kik lets you know when people read your messages – the wonder of modern technology) asked me for pictures of my sex toys, to which I shockingly had not replied and was met with the question ‘you gone shy now?’

Shy? Me?

Now there was a number of ways I could have responded to this.  I could have explained at length that the English language is a complex, beautiful thing that allows us to express ourselves in a variety of colourful and interesting ways. I could have ignored that awful attempt to be sexy he sent me and explained the HDJ philosophy but I decided to just cut to the chase.

‘No, I’m not shy. I’m just bored now to be honest.’

Brutal? Yes. Honest? Yes.  Did I feel better for saying it? Yes.  Did he reply? Yes.

‘I kinda figurd dat.’

Really genius?

HDJ xxx

Why So Serious?

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I have always gotten on better with men than women, I have a selection of female friends that get my speak before I think approach to life and appreciate it, but on the whole men seem to be more open-minded to that concept.  As such, I have always enjoyed a delicious bit of banter.

Now banter with me (as you may imagine) has that slightly naughty, sexual edge to it.  Why? Because I find it funny.  No, that does not mean I want to have sex with you. No, it does not mean I am trying to steal someone’s man. No, I am not ashamed of myself for being in touch with my sexuality. No, I don’t care if you don’t get it or find it funny, I do it for my enjoyment and mine alone. Granted banter needs some back and forth so finding like-minded individuals is kind of a necessity.

So when I do find people that I can laugh with, flirt with and banter-ise with I am usually a very happy lady.  What makes me less happy is when this happens:

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It happens quite often, more often than I would like, first there is harmless banter and a jolly good time had by all and then bang I get that message.  You know, the one that is that big glaring sign that says ‘I have read too much into this banter and I now believe you think I am a real life version of Thor.’ Now I don’t know when that switch flicks in their brain and they decide that the days, months or even years in some cases where I have been bantering with them and it meant nothing more than that, suddenly became my secret (meaning secret from me) desire to have my wicked way with them in a variety of positions and locations.  I have done nothing different than I did the day before, I have not stepped up my game to naked Facetiming and turning up on the doorstep wearing nothing but a long raincoat and a smile.  In my mind nothing has changed and nothing was ever, ever going to change so where the heck has this come from?

I don’t mind the flirting, I don’t mind the harmless fantasising but what I do hate is when they spoil my ability to banter with them so I have to mind what I say, I have to go out of my way not to banter with them or I have to spell it out for them (which is the subject of today’s other blog). Can’t we just have fun without it having to mean something?  Can’t it just be a wink and a smile and we go about our daily lives not taking it too seriously? I can assure you I don’t go to bed dreaming about our last banter session or getting myself off to those images you put in my head, I banter with a lot of people if I did that I would never get anything else done.  Can’t it just be exactly what is says on the tin.  It’s like when they call black paint midnight twilight instead of just black, stop polishing a turd.

Do I feel I should calm down my banter? No, in the words of someone very wise (who escapes me at present) ‘I am only responsible for what I say, not what you hear’.  I’m not ruining my fun because someone thinks that my continued talking to them in a way that cannot be described in anyway as boring means I want to open my lady garden for visits and cream teas.  I don’t know maybe I’m being judgemental that a sense of humour and a basic understanding of sarcasm, my blatant honesty and cut to the chase attitude is too much to ask for from people who talk to me on a daily basis.

It’s just banter, sorry to break that to you.

HDJ xxx

Cling-on off the Starboard Bow Cap’n

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Men have this one umbrella criticism of women, women are needy.

Now I’m not saying that it’s not true, but what I am saying is that this is by far and away not restricted to women and in the last few weeks I have encountered some of the neediest men that this side of the globe has to offer.  Now I always knew #8 was needy, perhaps there is too much oestrogen in his conditioner, whatever it is it’s caused some form of thirst pocket technology in my nether regions.  I thought perhaps this was due in part to constantly being rebuffed by a variety of lady shaped creatures but I think it’s deeper than that.  Perhaps mommy issues, I don’t know and I don’t truly care.  The only thing I do care about is when it causes my phone to bleep like I’m the National Guard and Godzilla has just wandered out of the ocean.

I have been messaged by a few guys recently, perhaps we should add them to the list:

#17 – very pretty photographer, knows he is pretty and I am sure appreciates his own pretty more than anyone else ever could.

#18 – Investment guy, he seems really nice, might be worth further investigation.

#19 – Manic metal head, perhaps even bi-polar.

#20 – The onion.  That’s all I am saying.

#21 – Kinda dumb but very pretty.

So there’s a few new numbers on the list.  17, 19 and 21 all have this weird need for attention, like some form of emotionally starved puppy.  It’s odd.  #19 gets the line through because well 6 messages in less than 3 minutes was a bit ‘woah there nelly’ and to be honest it just sort of made me wonder what the rate of incoming messages would be if I actually replied. #17, bless him had to be told in no uncertain terms what you all know, my views on cockshots not classing as conversation and boring my tits off.  I swear I have seen these cocks before, or as I said to him ‘seen one cock seen ‘em all’ which I know is not completely true but I needed to hammer my point home that it wasn’t doing it for me. #20 did the whole ‘well if you are interested great, if not no worries’ message which is code for ‘show me you like me’ and #21 is yet another cock shot fanatic.  Seriously? I’m starting to think all men love the cock.

But what I have noticed most blatantly is that not responding to a guy is a sure fire way to ignite this curiosity as to why I (mere mortal as I am) have not been so amazed by my luck that him (Greek God that he is) is showing some interest in me.  I guess they leave it long enough to check I haven’t swooned and passed out.  But every guy I have lost interest in chatting to has bounced back day after day wanting to chat.  And, the hot ones are the worst ones for this.  It’s like they don’t understand, I mean I am no Megan Fox but I’m not some homely girl who thinks tweezers are some from of alien race, I’m not feeling super lucky that some hot guy is messaging me. I’m not checking my phone every five minutes to see if he has replied.  I’m sort of meh about the whole thing.  It might be the array of hot guys messaging me, it might be that I’m not easily impressed or it might be that now I’m in my 30s I’m looking for something with a bit more substance than nice abs and a photogenic cock (his opinion not mine).

I must be getting old. I remember the days where I would message a guy and it would be a week before he replied not wanting to look too keen.  These days I don’t even get to put my phone down before a response comes through.  If you stopped chatting to a guy he would merrily wander off and find someone else, if he hadn’t already and that would be that, but now for some reason they come back like some form of flesh boomerang.  Can I really be the most desirable, intelligent, single woman out there?  I’m not gonna lie it is possible and it would be kinda flattering if these men actually learned that I’m not that into them and they don’t need to cling on to someone who never planned on keeping them anyway.

HDJ xxx