The World Is Full Of Gorgeous Men

It's 2010!

Happy New Year!

Now 2009 was not such a great year for me and 2008 was not good either. Though with hindsight after living 2009, 2008 was not so bad in comparison. Perhaps at the end of 2010, 2009 will not seem so dire ... which would thus make 2010 Hell!

Of course 2010 is not going to be Hell, because 2010 is full of gorgeous men!

How do I know?

Signs ...

As I mentioned, 2008 and 2009 had me feeling down in the dumps and when I get depressed I stop fancying men.

I know ... I know ...

How can I stop fancying men? Those Y chromosomed people that you love to hate ... or is that hate to love ... Whatever.

Anyway, back to signs ...

In 2009, I decide to take blogging seriously and I stumble across (still stumbling across) a bunch of XY chromosomes (Er ... that's a metaphor ... Those XY chromosomes have since developed into men ... some further developed than others ... it's got to be said.)

And my faith has been restored in men.

I have found men who are funny, intelligent, warm, generous, SEXY, fun, surprising, admirable, charitable, kind, awesome, TALENTED, inspiring, proactive, informative, entertaining, make my heart go pitter-pat, shock me (in a weird way), courageous, spirited ... yes that's you.

Then, another sign. That's TWO signs.

I watch the movie No Country For Old Men, which was adapted from the novel by Cormac McCarthy. Initially I wasn't intending to watch the DVD because the title had me imaging old wrinkly men ... No! No! But, the movie did receive a few Oscars ... so I think I will give it a chance.

Lo and behold ... Javier Bardem ... Corrr!!! Josh Brolin ... Corrr!!!

See, signs!

AND

Signs come in THREES ...

Right?

Have a great year! (XY and XX both, of course.)

Keep blogging ...

We All Make Mistakes

For me 2009 was not my best year.

Have you ever found yourself in a position where you felt trapped ... dissatisfied ... angry, even?

I felt this way in 2009 and I took it out on my boyfriend of two years. I told him he had to move out. Go back to his flat. (Thank goodness in this economic climate it had not sold.) I was not making him homeless. He agreed to go. I needed to breath. Nothing else mattered to me. I wanted space.

I partied with girlfriends, met new men, had flings ...

I felt trapped ... dissatisfied ... angry with life (it transpires): not with my ex-boyfriend. I missed him.

Five months later I decide to phone my ex ... No. No ... I decide to pay him a visit. I go around to his flat. I am shaking. Nervous.

A skinny blonde in a leisure suit answers the door. She says he's not in. (He must have a new job - he was always home by 6 o'clock.)

Who is she? I feel my internal organs burn. I feel I am going to be sick. The next sequence happens in slow motion.

Blondie asks if I want to leave a message. No. No. Just tell him Mary called and I turn away. I am wearing my red winter coat with the white fur trim. The one he gave me last Christmas. He will know I called.

We all make mistakes of the heart. Even me.

What do You Do When You Have No Job?

Photo - Dundee, GB. Before my time: when THERE WERE jobs.

So, I applied for a job titled Administrative Assistant.

Ye, ye ... I know! I'm over qualified.

The Job Centre people told me (and Gordon Brown probably told them) to take from my c.v.; my English degree, my HND, my Higher, and any other achievements. Don't mention that I am a journalist or a graphic designer ... and definitely DO NOT MENTION that I am a published author or an award winning entrepreneur.

Pha! As if I would! That was so 2009 ... and this is 2010, or will be soon ...

I am sitting at the interview being told about the job:

"The person who will fill this job will sit at the reception desk ..."

Ahha! I think. So this job is NOT an administrative assistant but a receptionist. Now this deception is very important ...

The blokie with the blue tie, interviewing me must have read my mind,

'This receptionist position is very important ... This job involves the successful candidate to fend off ... er ... deal with enquiries so that the rest of us in the company can get on with our work."

Now, I Googled the company before my interview. Simply because I need to strengthen my chances. There are 2.5 million unemployed in Britain and I think half of those live in Dundee.

Google told me that there were two law suits currently under action against this company. Law suits that involved this company owing money, but liquidating themselves (a number of times, in fact) so as to avoid payment.

All was becoming clear.

The important job of the receptionist was to take all the flack ... possibly from solicitors and angry business men. I think, time to wrap up the interview; I stand up, shake blue tie's hand and say,

"Good to meet you I will be in touch in due course."

It was not until I was outside in the December snow, that I realised - perhaps, the concluding line should have come from him. I was broken from my thoughts with a snowball on the back of my head and turn to yell at the kids. Only to find a bunch of thirty to forty year old men hanging around a street corner with nothing to do.

"Layabouts! Ya, all need to go get jobs," I shriek.

Knowing all to well, that there are no jobs in Dundee.

Men Are Like Jobs

Men are like jobs - you never get the one you want.

I applied for a job - the title was Information Assistant in a department at a teaching establishment in the city of Dundee. At the interview the director asked how I would feel if a writing project came up or editing. I had just completed my HND (Higher National Diploma) which included journalism so I was thrilled that this job was to be more than routine office work. I WANTED this job!

In the course of attending the interview I saw the interviewee before me and the interviewee after me and both girls were cute, giggly and personable. There was no way I was going to get this job. I also came up with a strategy for this particular interview - which seemed like a good idea at the time - of wearing a pair of black rimmed glasses to the interview. I had some mad idea that this would make me look more 'secretarial'. (Hey, this is Dundee, jobs are hard to get.)

Ultimately, I left my interview convinced that I had not got it and so to cheer myself up - believe it or not - I then took myself to the travel agents and booked myself on a holiday. Well, if I couldn't get the job of my dreams; a holiday is a nice substitute. Of course, one of the questions asked at the interview was, did I have any holiday commitments? At that time I did not and I replied no - I was available to start immediately.

Booking the holiday, then meeting friends and going for coffee took up the rest of my day, but on arrival back at my flat, guess what? Yes, a message on my answer machine:

Please contact the office we would like to offer you the job.

I think Holy Crap, I have just booked a holiday and paid for it. They are going to think I am a liar, when I tell them I can't work on such and such dates because of my holiday.

Here's another job story:

I had this other job in an office - an office, where the non-secretarial staff wore uniforms and guns and lots of aftershave or perfume. THERE WAS NOTHING TO DO. After rearranging the shelves, polishing the desk, relabelling the folders, doodling until it was kill-joy. I decided to approach my supervisor and explain - the phones are not ringing, there are no memos to type ... THERE IS NOTHING TO FU**ING DO! She asks me to stop bothering her as she is busy.

Maybe she wouldn't be so busy if she learned the skill of delegation. Doh!

This was a job arranged through a temping agency and I tell them I am leaving. Which puts them in a panic. They offer me more money to stay. More money to sit and PRETEND to look busy. Have you ever tried that? It's harder than you think.

Back to my statement:

Men are like jobs - you never get the one you want.

This is not entirely true, as I did get the job as Information Assistant. Right? The job I wanted.

Perhaps ...

Liar Liar Pants On fire

"You really must have impressed Noris, Shaz."

"Huh? ... I did?"

"Ye, Noris had a word with Deek and I have my old job back at Compass Travel ... Thank God! Jobseeker's Allowance is dire. How can anyone in Britain live on £64.40 a week?"

"That couldn't possibly have had anything to do with me, Inge. I did ask Noris ... what with him being the area manager ... if he could get you your old job back. Hmm ... But I don't think ... Really! Did he like me that much?"

"Did you sleep with him?"

"What! Nooo, Inge."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't lie, Inge."

"Well, what did you do that has him that gullible?"

"Maybe Inge, because I haven't slept with him ... "

"Go on then, tell me what happened on your blind date."

I take a gulp of my tea, Inge leans in a little closer and I look over my shoulder - just in case. We are at The Tartan Cafe to avoid people we know.

"Well, after Noris orders the sirloin steak, I make my excuses for the ladies - he thinks I'm off to powder my nose. On my way through the restaurant past the bar to the front door of the pub and my escape ... who shouts my name from the bar?

Inge shrugs.

Yes ... unbelievable ... Atilla the Hun(ey)."

"Noooo."

"Yeeeee."

"He shouts Hey Shaz what's up? He was at the bar with a group of friends on a Stag Do and they had popped into Bar Rio for a quick one."

"And?"

"I couldn't possibly tell him I was having dinner with a Rab C Nesbitt look-a-like and volunteering to pay for it ... So I told him that me, you and your mum were out for your mum's birthday."

'Ahha, Mrs Strudel,' says Atilla with a sense of fondness and a glint in his eye.

"Which I have to say, Inge, made me a little bity jealous of your mum, as I have been there too with Atilla, remember, and he didn't have any glints in his eyes for me." Humff.

"Ok what happens next?"

"Atilla asks me what table I am at and I panic a little as I think he's off to pop by and say his hellos, then I would be caught red handed as a liar. I tell him table thirteen and hope to God it's not unlucky for me."

"And?"

"He shouts over to Micky, the proprietor and tells him everything at table 13 is to go on his tab including drinks, then off he goes with his boys to Fat Sams."

"Lucky for you Shaz."

"And you Inge. As I decide to go back to Noris, but not before first shouting to Micky to make it two sirloin steaks and a bottle of Moet and Chandon."

Men Are From Mars Women From Venus

My boyfriend tells me I am selfish in bed.

He tells me that I am bossy in bed and that I always want it this way and that way.

He tells me this at seven o'clock at night whilst I am watching Emerdale.

I want to know what happens between Kane and Charity, so tell him that he's lucky he's getting sex.

I hear an explosion like an atomic bomb ...

Actually, this is what I would have heard if his head had exploded, but it didn't it just went purple instead and his cheeks puffed up a little.

I sense a seriousness about his demeanor and put the television on mute (it's the adverts anyway).

"I want you to act out MY fantasy," he says.

"Not a problem,' I say sitting back on the sofa with my arms tightly crossed, a little pissed with his attitude. "What would that be?"

"My fantasy is that I want you to act out your fantasy."

Complicated.

I realise I'm definitely going to miss the end of Emerdale. Dammit.

"Er ... and what fantasy of mine would that be."

"The one you had when we first started dating."

We dated a year ago ... I own a zillion fantasies.

"And ... pray remind me." I think, if this is foreplay it's not doing much for me.

"The one with, the dance ... the butter ... and the Tunoch teacake."

I smile; that fantasy also included Wentworth Miller but I never told him that.

Hmmm

I gaze at my boyfriend standing in the middle of the living room in his crumpled work suit with the squint tie, still clenching his briefcase ... Why is he still holding his brief case? That's bizarre.

Hmmm

The truth be known, I didn't fancy my boyfriend anymore.

That's it. I spring from the sofa. This argument is the beginning of the end. No, it's the middle of the beginning off the end. I look again at the bulging briefcase. Holy Crap ... this is the end!

I make a dash for the door.

"Where are you going," he says.

"I'm leaving."

"It's your flat."

Oh.

"Then you had better leave."

"What about the Tunoch teacake?"

J.Lo Hurt My Feelings

With Friends Like These ...

In Bar Rio feeling sorry for myself,
I decided to talk it out with a pal for the good of my health.

This friend she criticised my last boyfriend attempt,
"Not much a judge of character, Shaz," she said. "That last bloke couldn't even pay your rent."

In gossip mode now my friend began,
the reasons for my failures with this idea she ran.

"Not much a judge of character - you picked a guy,
went nowhere for five years, then bye bye."

Janet Low continued to waffle on,
"Not much a judge of character, Shaz - you can't see a con."

"Excuse me!" I interrupted. "You are right about one thing -
a poor judge of character to this table I did bring."

"A relationship means to me more, than a man who will pay -
for holidays and fancy jewellery."

Feeling low now - a fool of stupid mistakes,
The realisation a spiteful tongue does not a best friend make.