Inundated...

So it transpires that the rules of the dating game have changed...

I am not entirely sure when this occurred, or perhaps it has always been there and I just never noticed it before...but certainly I am now unclear of what the rules are.

The issue of trust has gone. It appears that it is ok to lie, to tell half truths and not disclose relevant information. I am learning this and I have to say it is the worse part of the dating game.

Are there any genuine men out there who are honest...completely? Not trying to play you or string you a line...the holy grail does not appear to exist I am afraid ladies...we might as well pack up and live in an all female commune right now.

The only thing Pootle and I have ever asked from a potential date or more was honesty. Online dating is weird enough as it is; it is perfectly acceptable to talk to more than person which is something I need to get my head around.

So consequently it is also acceptable to see more than one potential in a week, and filter out the ones that do or don't tick the boxes.

I confess I am a little old school. If I start talking to someone and they set off a glimmer of a spark, then I give that person my time. I don't go looking for someone else, I don't initiate other conversations...for me it would be like having four different men in the corners of the pub and making your way round them in turn.
"Ok, great to meet you - pause it right there, just got to talk to bigboy123 over by the slot machine. Sip your drink and bear with."

So I need to start realising that if someone is talking to me, that I am not the only one...that they have their options as well; and it is entirely possible that the other option they are talking to is ticking off more boxes than I am.

The thing is - that is ok. I am not naive and neither is Pootle. It is back to the issue of honesty and just being open.  Why is that so damn hard for people?

I once replied to a guy online who had messaged me and we got on well - however I too had someone else that I was meeting the following evening. So I told him. He was okay about it...he didn't get stroppy or angry with me; he understood.

As would we.

So be honest. Tell it like it is.

The other thing I am beginning to notice besides the lack of honesty, is the 'chat'. Why bother if you don't mean it, or indeed do have other options?

You know you don't have to make empty promises; it isn't necessary to tell me the things you think I want to hear, unless you actually bloody mean it. False hopes are hurtful, unnecessary and cruel, and christ I think most of us have been hurt enough by now.

The trouble with me is that I am actually quite nice. So consequently not only do I mean what I say and have the respect for people to be honest, that equally I am then the one who ends up getting played.

So, in conclusion what does one do? Build up the walls? Never trust anyone again? Or risk the whole thing again and be let down all over again?

Alas, I can not change inherently who I am. However I can change my 'dating profile'.

"Hi, if you have reached my profile then I am pleased to tell you that you have in effect, won the f**king lottery. I am Wonder Woman. I am one of the best people that you will ever meet and guess what? I am even acceptable in social circles and can adapt to different environments like a ninja.
If you think you can compare; indeed if you feel that you can match me in conversation, humour, sex appeal and actually would recognise the truth if it slapped in you in the face...then message me. I may not break down my walls, but I might open the letter box and see what you have to offer."

Pootle thinks I will be inundated with replies...

That feeling inside...

Ah the bi-annual eye test...not quite as horrendous as the tri-annual smear test, but a close second...

I always thought that there was something slightly uncomfortable about having someone with a small gadget look into your eyes, in a darkened room and a tiny light....

Hang on - strike that...it has its merits on occasion, if the lights are dimmed and there is some good music and a shag pile rug.

Alas I digress as always; So we go through the rigmarole of left eye/right eye, test after test...so far so good. My eyes are healthy he informs me, I feel pride...well done boys.

"However," he says, "you have a stigma..." and he starts to explain what this means...I haven't written the explanation for you, because quite frankly I can't remember.
"A stigma?" I ask horrified.
"Yes," he says "It is nothing to worry about, you will have had it since birth. It's a defect but nothing to be concerned about."
I am a little aggrieved, "Do you mean?" I ask with mock horror, "That I am not perfect?"
He laughs. "It really isn't anything to worry about." He says reassuring me.

"Now you do need a new prescription, and we can do that today." Apparently, I am long sighted...who knew? Pity I am not able to do that right into the future, eh?
"Ok...so to ask a silly question, but does wearing glasses only support the problem or does it correct it?"
He shakes his head, "No, your eyes will eventually get worse and you will need reading glasses all the time, but for now, just for prolonged work."
Again I am mortified...the year of forty one can't start like this surely?
"So, not only am I less than perfect...I am deteriorating too?"
He smiles and then shrugs...Yeah basically...

So I choose some new glasses...I am bit uncomfortable about this, because even though it is necessary I still want to look good, right? The right secretarial image can have its merits I hear...

The assistant is very helpful and she gives me some to try on...I have to trust her right, she has done this before.
"No cheap ones with Prada on the side then?" I ask her.
She shakes her head, "No sorry...but I have a good permanent marker pen you could use."
Thanks...

Reluctantly I choose a pair, though to be honest I wish I'd asked the assistant to take a photo of me because I want Pootle here to help me with this bit. I have no idea what would make me look intelligent, as after all a little bit of help there does no harm, and I have no desire to look like Alan Carr as Pootle says to me later...

So with glasses ordered I walk back to the car.
However, as I am walking a man walks past me and makes this kind of noise, like a cough but more suggestive.
My initial thought was, 'you need Vicks for that mate', however there was something that made me look back over my shoulder and there he was looking straight back...and he winked.

So of course being the brave, independent woman that I am...I immediately looked straight ahead again and quickened my pace back to the car...but as I do, he whistles.

Really? Now I have never, ever had a stranger whistle at me apart from once when I was doing something cheeky in my youth, and it was then followed by an 'Oy you, what are you doing?' Or something similar...

So this was new...I relayed the story to Pootle when I saw her later.
"That's because you are oozing.." She informs me matter of factly.
I look at her with a disgusted face. "That sounds revolting and not worthy of any whistle." I reply.
"Not at all, you are happy. Things are making you happy, so you ooze happiness, which makes you attractive."
Okay. Actually she is right. There are lots of things right now that are happening that have made me smile, so yes happiness gives you confidence.
"You should have followed him." She says.
"Not if your theory is correct," I say. "Because one of the many reasons I am happy, is that there is potentially something happening that means I don't have to follow him."

Nevertheless...it was a nice confidence boost. I did walk back to the car a little bit taller and a lot more flattered.

So if you see someone today, or indeed at all that deserves a whistle and a wink, then do it. You never know just how much they may need that little boost of self esteem...to coincide with the good feeling inside...

No expectations...

"So what expectations are there?" Says J today to another work colleague.

I have just returned to the office and I walk into one of those conversations.

My colleague ponders for a while, "none to my mind."

I look at them both and plonk my bag down on the floor, "ok, what have I missed?" I can tell this is not about work by the way J is studying my colleague, she is asking for information that is definitely not work related.

"Oh, they are talking about the first date" says another colleague barely looking up from her computer.

"Oh..ok.." Now this could be useful information to me, so I sit down and settle in for the long haul. "Explain." Says J.

Our colleague A continues, "well, in my experience any girl I had sex with on the first date, I didn't stay with."

Oh...it is that conversation. I have no idea how this has come about, but being the nosey mare that I am, I am currently all ears...

"So do men, have an expectation on the first date?" Asks J again, keen to get to the bottom of the subject...as it were.

"Not if they are decent," I mutter, to no one in particular to be honest however R wants to say his piece too.

"I slept with my wife on the first date." He tells us, "no man will have less respect for a woman if you happen to have sex on a first date. Look what happened to me? I married her."

"Ah, but you married for money R, your wife is a consultant." Says the colleague who is still staring at the computer screen.

General nodding in agreement comes from all involved.

"Surely the point is that there are no expectations?" I say, "If both are decent people and with the right combination of fireworks, then of course it is entirely possible that the deed could be done on the first date...however to expect it then what sort of person does that make you?" Everyone looks at me and I fear I may be standing on my imperial leather soapbox and I sigh, "well, it is like the fifth date rule...that, to be fair, I have been reliably informed is more of a guideline. When there are no expectations, and you just meet and go with the flow and it feels right for both of you then fine...it is when you go out in search of that, and that only for one night that is the difference."

"I agree," says R. "But not about the fifth date rule, that is just romanticising it. Too Hollywood. Go with the flow..."

Another colleague has walked in at this time, and I ask him what he feels about the fifth date rule.

He shrugs, "no idea. Never got to a fifth date." Alas, none of us are surprised..

So once again, make the decision that is right at the time eh?

Expecting to have anything on a first date is just the wrong way to start it; having no expectations and realising that it is all about the first moment and seeing where it may or may not lead seems to be the most productive answer.

It appears to have satisfied J at least...for now. 

Hormones and sugar...

Pootle and I have a friend who works for a funeral directors.

He is an incredibly close friend of Pootle's, and I know him through her. He kind of fell into working at a funeral directors when out of work many years ago, however actually genuinely enjoys his job.

Of course, there are the sad cases of children or young adults, but essentially he is professional and caring, and shows decorum when that is required.

Except it seems when he is off to pick up a body in the limousine at three pm this afternoon...when he called Pootle from the car to thank her for the present she picked up for him in New York.

"Love it!" He says, above the scream of something playing in the background.
"You sound a bit high," she says, "what are you doing?"
"Driving to pick up a 20 stone man who has passed away this morning...on the motorway. Got my gift on." He informs her very excited. "I absolutely love it."
"You are not serious, please tell me you are not driving a funeral limousine with a Bubba Gump shrimp hat on?"
"Yep...I ain't taking it off...gonna grow me a beard and live on a boat. Just started eating the American chocolate too."
"Ah, that would explain why you are high..." She says.
"Actually," he falters, "I am starting to get a bit of a head rush. Chocolate is sitting on my lungs...I may be having a heart attack from the caramel and marshmallow rush...god how do people eat this stuff?"
"Seriously? God, I have killed you by a sugar rush..." She is briefly worried...
"Don't worry, if I feel bad shall just get in the back and zip up..."

Once she is reassured that he is really ok she says goodbye and relays the conversation to me.
"Christ he only had one bar and he is bouncing off the walls..."
"For gods sake don't give the kids any...that is an adult we are talking about, their bodies will never cope..."

Slowly we both look out the window of our five boys leaping and playing out in the garden...if anyone gives them an Amercan bar of chocolate, I think I will slip into the body bag and stay low for a while myself...

Hormones and sugar, as we know, never mix.

Chewbacca...

Well, you know life has a way of throwing unexpected surprises your way?

Some of course...well, the ones we are used to anyway...tend to leave us a bit bruised, financially poor or even shell shocked, however there are a few occasions when something nice lands on your lap...

Pootle and I have been out dancing this evening. We love to dance as you know, and yeah we gave as good as everyone else...actually Pootle did one better, by managing to find someone random to do her face in neon face paints.

Only Pootle eh? Embracing the hippie within as always.

Anyway, that has nothing to do with the unexpectedly nice thing...that came in the form of someone who appears to be intelligent, honest, friendly, good looking and - dare I say it gentlemanly?

I know, I know - you think I jest. You can not believe that this miracle creature exists...well, I can tell you it does. Ladies, I have found the unicorn...

Oh ok - so maybe not quite the holy grail, but certainly someone who is ticking quite a few boxes in a very short space of time and holding his own in conversation...he even, (shockingly) used a word I had to look up...this man knows his stuff!

I am impressed...and I like the fact that he impresses me.  I sincerely hope in the not too distant future that there will be more pressings - sorry, ahem - impressing...however, as we know, the journey is rarely that simple or easy.

I confess there is one thing...but I don't think it is going to be the issue that I thought it might...this lovely man is younger than me...does that make me a bad person? I know my dad wouldn't see it that way, although my mother might...but hey, we live in different times here. Some people have to grow up quicker than others, maybe I have met someone who actually did, once, live in Peru...

If you don't know that clue then you are not a regular reader and must go henceforth and read all previous posts from The year of being forty...

However whether or not he is from Peru, knows how I like my coffee - or is just something nice and cuddly, like Chewbacca from Star Wars we will have to wait and see...

But for now, I shall enjoy the little ride and see where it goes...it could be something really good for a change...

New York Montage...

For those of you who would like to see the photos...

The year of being forty...in New York

Thank you to everyone who made this possible...

Health and Safety...

What a great evening to write...the air is warm, hobbits are fast asleep - exhausted from playing baseball at the park, the radio is on and there is peace and quiet in the garden...

In fact it is so quiet out here that you can almost hear the squeals of the slugs as I kill them...disgusting little things...sorry, I never maintained I was nice.

I have tried many methods in my mission to cull all things that are slimy (apart from worms...worms are cool in the slimy world), or caterpillars because they end up as butterflies, or even snails - I just throw them over next doors fence...so essentially just slugs; clearly all things was just a slight over exaggeration.

I have used beer (cheap beer mind); however in my house my slugs seem to like cheap beer, and seem to call their friends over for parties. I find them all gathering at the beer watering hole with their new slug outfits on, chatting over a slurp or two or sidling up to the pretty slug propping up the bowl...so much for intoxicating them until their dead.

Then there is salt.
However I had an influx of slugs last year and salt isn't cheap you know. The hobbits got so used to me popping out into the garden of an early evening with my table salt, that they would often just go in and get the Father Christmas salt pot themselves and scatter the tiny white granules on their victim and watch it melt before their eyes.

Nevertheless that is really not a nice way to die...even for a slug.  So I now just slice them in half with a trowel. Simple and quick.

Then toss them over to next doors garden...

I am not entirely sure why I am confessing this murderous streak to you all this evening. I suppose I am just in a cleansing and refreshing kind of mood. My recent birthday has brought about the urge to start some new things...

In fact Pootle and I have decided to take up running.
I will pause for those who now need to get a tea towel to wipe up the tea they just spat out in shock all over their keyboards.

Finished laughing? Ok, I shall continue. We have decided to enter the half marathon next year. Thirteen miles...that is a lot for an unfit, old bird like me.

Pootle decided first to give herself a challenge and knowing how I am for the most part up for a challenge too, mentioned it to me. So we need to get fitter...oh, ok, we need to get fit.

"So," she says while eating her Weightwatchers fruit crumble bar, "when are we going running?"
She flicks through her diary looking at her prior engagements...
I am playing with my mobile 'phone that seems to have had a melt down since travelling across the atlantic ocean. "We could take the boys to the park tomorrow evening?" I suggest, "Let them play while we run?"
"Sounds good to me. You know it is a shame we don't have a long range baby monitor. We could go running once the kids are asleep, and the other person could listen out for them."
Pootle and I live within spitting distance of each other.
"Hmm, trouble is what about fire? You'd hear them call out if they were having a bad dream, but you wouldn't hear a fire."
"But you would a fire alarm."
"Not mine, it's broken."
She looks at me and scoldingly says my full name, "Why is it broken?"
I shrug, "I don't know, it has been on my list of things to do. To get a new one that is."
She scolds again, "Make sure you do."
"Yes Mum." Going back to cursing my mobile 'phone.

"You know you can get a Fireman in to fix it for you." She says quietly.
Suddenly the issue with my 'phone is no longer important, and I raise my eyes to look at her, "How?"
"There is a scheme that helps single parents or something or other, and you can call them and they will send a Fireman round to your house and fix it for you."
"Really?"
"Yep."
"Can you put in a request for a single one?"
"Or a hot one?" She says..."Worth a try."

So I have Googled this excellent community service this evening and she is right. In fact it is fitted by operational firefighters, and the information informs me that I shouldn't be surprised if an engine turns up at my door for them to complete their home safety check....

God, wouldn't that be terrible...I would have to make sure I have enough tea and biscuits for an entire crew. In fact being a single parent, I may well qualify for free smoke alarms, which they will fit for me and then talk to me about fire safety in my home...isn't that nice of them?

So in the interests of re-organising myself and setting myself challenges, I shall contact my local Fire Department tomorrow to see if they can help me.

It is, after all a Health and Safety issue...

Just desserts...

So 48 hours after 'Crap-Gate' we are finally back on UK soil.

The lovely J picked us up from the airport with our suitcases over flowing and a tired look in our eyes...we managed to get just an hour and a half sleep on the plane, and as Pootle described it, we were so tired we were 'hanging out of our arses man' as we settled into J's little white car.

Nevertheless we still managed to fill J in on all the details of our trip and chatted to her excitedly as she weaved in and out of the traffic like a woman on a mission...
"Out of the way Jerk...I have two classy, internationally jet setting, knackered women in the car!"

We are genuinely exhausted; but a really good exhausted. We also appear to be suffering from a little bit of jet lag and that nice wobbly vertigo feeling that can only be produced by flying or living on a boat for three days...how the hell Victoria Beckham does it one will never know.

We have had an absolutely amazing time. We completed everything we set out to do and more on our itinerary, but we were looking forward to seeing our hobbits and indulging in cuddles...if my body and brain would just stop rocking like it is on the sea for just a wee moment.

J asked us this evening what was our favourite bit and I honestly couldn't give her a definitive answer except for - "all of it."

The whole experience was exciting; enthralling; fun; inspiring and sharing it with Pootle was the icing on the cake...well, actually I am being generous...snuggling up to the NYPD blue may just have been the icing on the cake...

Our weekend was packed. In fact the only time we actually stopped was Monday afternoon in Central Park for about 45 minutes, experiencing some greenery and a hot dog from a street vendor.

To give you a brief resume we tackled; Bubba Gump Shrimp, The Chrysler Building, Grand Central Station (where the handsome NYPD obliged us with a photo...hot, was not the word...bloody steaming was); shopped on Fifth Avenue where we perved over the Abercrombie & Fitch guys; The Rockerfella Center...saw Trump Tower; watched Spider-Man on Broadway, bought limitless numbers of coffee in Starbucks; Macy's, Bloomingdales; visited the very peaceful and humbling 9/11 memorial site, pretended that we were financially viable to purchase something in Prada; appreciated the Statue of Liberty from the ferry to Staten Island; drank five dollar milkshakes that were close to orgasmic and so much more...

Are you surprised that we are exhausted? We walked everywhere and the weather was perfect. Many of you have requested photos so I will choose some good ones for you all and post, so that you can at least share some of the experience we had...

I felt quite sad saying goodbye to New York last night, but we will go back. I am determined that that will not be my only visit because it was awesome...however, we were glad to be coming home...not for the usual run of the mill rubbish...but for our boys.

They were spoilt...but it was worth it to see their faces.

So back to normality...of working, good evenings with friends, playing in the park with the boys and chatting up potentials on the internet...oh, and more importantly above anything else, I now have a book to write...let's hope that I give the last year its just desserts...

Happy Birthday...

Now whilst it is true that what happens in NY, should stay in NY...there is, unfortunately, small print to this clause as Pootle said to me this morning; the trouble with the blog is that there isn't much that is staying in New York as it is all over the damn blog or Facebook....

We are having an absolute blast. Truly we are. We are even talking like New Yorkers this morning, and could possibly even give directions if indeed someone wanted to go to Fifth Avenue, 42nd Street East or West or Victoria's Secret...

The food out here is of monumental size proportions so whilst we are enjoying the food, we have both decided that a diet is the first priority on out return. How anyone can sustain this amount of food is beyond me...we even had a side order of vegetables yesterday as our bodies were actually craving something healthy!

Alas, eating a lot of food...means other things too. You know...where it all kind of ends up?

Sharing a hotel room with someone who is effectively on the same body clock as you, means that the 'ahem' restroom is used more or less at the same time...and when you compare that with the fact that a monumental amount of food has been consumed, naturally you would understand that a monumental amount of crap has to occur.

Now for Pootle...a blocked toilet has happened in her house before, however then we had the handiness of M, who would come swinging down the road to her aid with a big plunger...alas, M isn't here, and can not fly like other superheroes....

Therefore...yesterday, after I had been to use the restroom after Pootle, I came out of the room with a scared look on my face and the definitive line;
"Houston. We have a problem."

Now I can not blame this solely on her: the consequence of what happened is without a doubt a team effort...however, we really did have a problem. The toilet was blocked and no matter the amount of flushing, nothing was going away...

We panicked!!! OMG...we were going to start a health scare, we would be news items on ABC or NBC, the Hotel was going to charge us plumbing charges on our credit cards...we were in deep shit.

"I know," says Pootle, "we could be the A-Team!"
"What are you talking about? I don't recall the episode where they were called to assist in a plumbing emergency!!!!" I am almost hysterical about the situation.
"No, but they always go into the garage with tape and a hammer and come out with a tank. We need to think like them. What have we got?"
"Nothing! No big stick, no plunger, no loo brush...nothing!"
"Aha," she says, "but I have card." And she starts to roll up a long piece of card to make a tube.
"What are you going to do with it? Blow down it? "
"No, I am going to beat it...bear with, I am going in." She then goes in and places a shower cap around her hands for protection...

She bravely opens the door and then the lid, I am mortified... I can not believe that we have blocked up the toilet in this very posh hotel...and even worse we were now beating it with a long piece of cardboard.

She emerges, sweating. "F**k...that sucker was a fighter. There is no way we can do this without industrial back up."
"This means.....you mean...." I stutter.
"Yes. We have to tell the concierge."

I have died. I can not imagine anything more embarrassing and mortifying.

She looks at me sitting on the floor almost crying...and remembering the significance of the day looks at me and says quietly..."Happy Birthday." Then kind of rubs my shoulder in an almost sorry mate kind of way...

I fear it is gonna be one of those years again...

NYPD...

Waking up in New York City, on your birthday, just has to be one of the most amazing things ever.

Well, I suppose unless you actually live in New York then waking up on your birthday here is probably no different to any other day...

But for me...it is the bomb...

After spending the evening last night with my bestie Pootle, eating a steak that was the size of my arm at a real American diner, chatting to street vendors and having a cuddle with the Naked Cowboy in Times Square I have woken up this morning with a room covered in balloons and glitter.

During the night, Pootle has effectively pimped our hotel room and there is shiny little Happy Birthday's etc all over the place...my first thought was Oh wow, no one has ever done that for me, however my second thought was, 'Oh My God, housekeeping are gonna love us!!'

Nevertheless more importantly, we are absolutely loving it here.
We love Americans and New Yorkers. They are for the majority, friendly and warm, up for a giggle, they are helpful and we just love the whole experience. I actually feel quite at home here, as though it is everything that I expected it to be. I love the smell, the streets, the size of the buildings and the whole ambiance...I could live here easily...and I can see the Hobbits loving it too.

Therefore when I am a famous writer, I will have an apartment here for holidays...just because I can you know.

So...today I am 41. Not much to write home about there really, however we are off to 5th Avenue to do some shopping, and then we are off to Broadway to check out the new Spider man show. I am sure for some watching a man leaping around the stage for and hour or so in Spandex would be their idea of hell, however for Pootle and I we are imagining an afternoon of childish titillation...

Then this evening we are hoping to have cocktails in a bar with a roof top terrace that shows amazing views of the Empire State Building...We discovered this yesterday when we were accosted by a Scottish street vendor who recommended it to us as a place he takes ladies to when he is trying to get them to have sex with him. We weren't so much taken with him, but more his ideas... so we stole the directions and left him standing.

What I can tell you...is that we are digging the NYPD. Pootle and I have found that when we are in the need for asking directions, that only the NYPD will do...with their polite, 'yes Ma'am, can I help you?' with the Manhattan drawl and their very hot uniform they are indeed, answering our calls for help.

So without much ado...I welcome you to the new blog, I hope the following year is a little less rocky, but just as much fun...especially if we find some of those NYPD type people today....