by Lucky Lucy | Sep 20, 2012 | health, Men, Single |
[From the Lucy Field vault]
I nearly put my back out again a couple of weeks ago.
It was pouring with rain and it was bin night. So there I was gingerly stepping down the mossy, concrete slope when I slipped and lost my footing. It was quite a spectacular effort actually. The bin slammed into the metal fence with a loud bang, my umbrella went flying (I have no idea why I bothered with the stupid thing in the first place) and I fell very ungracefully onto my arse.
It was not my finest moment.
After a uttering a few expletives, I scrambled up thinking that karma had just paid me back rather unpleasantly. Just minutes earlier I’d been thinking very ungenerous thoughts about a recent ex so I guess I deserved to land on my arse. Although you’d think karma could give me a break…after all, isn’t anger part of the healing process??
Anyway, as I retrieved the bin and began edging my way down the hill again (making sure to keep below the fence-line in case a neighbour decided to investigate the racket – I was now coated in random leaves, dirt and damp patches so I didn’t really want to be seen) I began thinking cranky thoughts about the annoying things you have to do when you’re single.
Taking the bin out is obviously one of those things. At least if there was a man in the house we could toss for the ‘bin privilege’ and I’d have a 50 percent chance of escape. Okay, that’s a lie. I would want him to take out the bins (be quiet my feminist heart!).
And then there’s the grocery shopping. Actually I don’t mind doing the shopping so much. My issue is more about getting the groceries from the car to the house…in the rain.
I can’t tell you how many times those bloody bags have split and tins have rolled down the hill. Or I’ve ended up with muddied and bruised tomatoes as my hair is plastered to my face while torrential rain claims me as a victim again.
I often wonder what my neighbours think when they see these types of the ‘incidents’ in my front yard.
Until recently they could view something I called a ‘metal sculpture’ on my lawn. Although if I’m honest, its art value was probably minimal. In fact, my neighbours probably referred to it as ‘that old garden pergola eyesore that looks like it’s been through a cyclone’.
I’m just grateful the ‘sculpture’ was located elsewhere last year when I had to sprint across the lawn to flee a horde of wasps. One of my neighbours patched me up with some calamine after that experience but my injuries could have been more severe if I’d had to hurdle twisted metal as well.
The wasps had built their nest under the ant-capping at the bottom of my front stairs. There they buzzed and gathered to launch attacks on unsuspecting passersby.
I had no idea how to get rid of them.
I did consider trying to smoke them out (I can remember Dad doing that when I was little). But, knowing me, I probably would’ve burned my house down in the process so I decided against that approach.
I also didn’t have anything in my wardrobe resembling a beekeeper’s outfit, so getting close to the wasps wasn’t really an option.
I mulled over the problem for a few weeks and only used the back door to get in and out. The wasps had staked their claim and I had no counter-attack.
Eventually I came up my own ingenious solution. And so operation Wasp Carnage began.
One sunny day I backed my car alongside the nest and climbed into the passenger seat. Then, while tightly gripping a can of insect spray in one hand and uttering a silent prayer that I wouldn’t die of insecticide inhalation or a targeted wasp attack inside the car, I began rolling the automatic window up and down rapidly and spraying inset spray through the gap. I did suffer some minor hand bruising during this escapade (kept jamming my hand in the bloody window). And the rosemary bush immediately underneath the nest didn’t survive the poisonous deluge. But those wasps were no more.
Who says women can’t do everything!
PS. Thank you to all the kind friends who have subsequently provided me with several sensible strategies re wasp eradication. I will now be better prepared in the future.
by Lucky Lucy | Sep 11, 2012 | Dating, Men, Single, Uncategorized |
I was doing some research the other day and I came across this little gem from self-proclaimed dating guru Evan Marc Katz (see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gFtt_VRAuC8).
I’ve been known to deride many dating advice sites but this guy seems to have some worthwhile comments.
Evan believes women should do absolutely nothing when they are dating.
That’s right. Nothing.
We should do nothing but stand there with our arms open, waiting for love.
Evan says that if a man wants to date you he will. If he wants to commit to you, he will.
In short, the man will make it happen.
He also says women often screw this process up by running towards the man, crowding him, and actively encouraging him. (Yes, I confess, I have done this before…and screwed things up as a result).
And then the man basically gets the hell out there.
Evan’s comments struck a chord with me as I’d been saying something similar to my friend Annie* earlier the same day.
Annie said sometimes you just need to give a man encouragement.
But, after a few years on the dating scene I just don’t believe that for a second.
If a man wants something, or more specifically wants you, he will go for it.
If he doesn’t go for it, he just doesn’t want it. That is, he just doesn’t want you.
Women will say, ‘Oh he’s just confused. He needs some time.’
No. He just doesn’t want you.
Or ‘He’s still getting over his ex’.
Yes, he might be getting over his ex. Or maybe he is over her already. Either way he still doesn’t want you.
And so on.
Am I being too harsh?
No. Men know what they want and they will go for what they want. End of story.
I know this concept isn’t exactly groundbreaking. After all, we’ve all seen or read ‘He’s Just Not That Into You’. But I think we (that is, women) may occasionally need a little reminding.
Sometimes we just don’t give men the credit they deserve. They have brains and they know how to use them.
This philosophy extends to other examples of the male/female dynamic.
I’ll hear someone say, ‘Oh, he just can’t clean the bathroom properly’ or ‘He doesn’t see the mess’.
Actually he can clean it and he does see it. He just doesn’t care and/or it’s not a priority for him right now.
The same principle applies every time I hear, ‘Oh he just can’t look after the kids on his own’.
Duh. You know what? He actually can. But if you keep doing it for him, he will never have to.
So ladies remember, whether you are pursuing the perfect man or domestic bliss, sometimes we are own worst enemies.
Never forget that men really do have their own minds. We just need to let them use them.
by Lucky Lucy | Aug 19, 2012 | Emotional, Men, Single, Uncategorized |
I had coffee with an old school friend today. We hadn’t seen each other for almost two decades but Anna* still looked the same. She looked great.
We talked about what we’d been doing, our work, our families and everything in between.
And of course, we talked about the men we have cared about, married, lived with and loved.
I was a bridesmaid at Anna’s first wedding. We were both in our early twenties and it seems like another lifetime ago.
Anna has married twice more since that day. And each time she married a man who treated her badly and betrayed her trust. She deserved better.
A lot of people might have given up after her experiences. They would declare they hate men and feel nothing but anger and resentment towards them.
But not Anna.
Anna is a romantic optimist. After each experience she has dusted herself off, somehow got through the pain, and then moved on to look for, and often find, love with someone else. She hasn’t given up on finding a man who will treat her well and love her.
But as 40 rapidly approaches and with some bitter experiences in her past, Anna has a good idea about what she wants in her future . She also has a good idea about the kind of man she wants to be with.
Anna and I might be attracted to different physical attributes and interests when it comes to men but we are looking for some of the same qualities.
We both want a man who loves us as we are. He must be someone who would never ask us to compromise on our beliefs or our personal goals.
And, most importantly, we want a man who has his sh!it together. That means they must know who they are, what they want and where they’re going. If they’re insecure, confused, drinking too much, taking drugs, flaky, or still entangled with an ex, they’re no good to us. Yet.
Unfortunately, it’s the ‘yet’ where we come unstuck.
Anna and I (and I’m sure almost every other single woman), have at least once hung on and hoped that if that one man we cared about (let’s call him a generic Anthony*) could just get it together, then we would be deliriously happy.
So we’ve waited. And waited. And then sometimes waited some more. After all, being a romantic optimist means you sometimes have to play the ‘long game’.
We’ve even deluded ourselves sometimes and said that we’re not really waiting at all. But we are. We’re not taking any other man seriously because we really believe that Anthony will get it together; because we want him to; because we believe he can; and because we care. We care way too much.
Sometimes our wait is rewarded and Anthony gets it together. He calls up and says, ‘Hey, I miss you. I’ve got it together now. I know what I want. Will you give me a chance to show you?’
But usually he doesn’t get it together. And he doesn’t call. Or he just goes off and gets it together with someone else.
And then we feel really stupid. And hurt. And the romantic optimist in us dies just a little.
But we always get up again. We never really give up hope. We are optimists after all.
I still believe Anna and I and all the other romantic optimists out there will meet the right man for each of us. And yes, he really will have his sh!it together.
In the meantime, our search continues.
* All names have been changed to protect the innocent, and not so innocent.
by Lucky Lucy | Jul 17, 2012 | birthdays, children, Dating, Forty, Men, Online dating, Single |
Last week, while looking at some recent holiday photos, I had an awful moment. I looked at myself and thought, ‘Oh my God, I look middle-aged’.
Yes, I know I was in the tropics and no one looks great when they’re permanently dehydrated, in a foreign country and travelling in heat measured in the high thirties with 100 percent humidity. I get that. But still, when I looked at myself I thought, F**K, how the hell did that happen?
And today I’ve looked at the date and realised that in exactly three months I will turn 40. Yes, 40. It’s happened.
The approach of major birthdays often makes us stop and think about our lives. We ask ourselves, ‘What have I achieved,’ and ‘Am I on the right path?’
As for the actual birthday, many of us drink ourselves into a stupor, spend the day in bed with the blankets over our heads or just pretend it isn’t happening. We just want it over so we can get on with things.
I still can’t remember my 30th birthday. I’m told I had a party with friends but, even though I didn’t drink a lot, I cannot remember a single thing from that day or night. My brain has quite simply wiped it from my memory.
My life was very different at 30. I was married to a man everyone loved, working in a full-time job (with great security and benefits) and we owned a nice house in various stages of renovation.
I had the life many of my friends desperately wanted. But I was unhappy.
Now, almost a decade later, my life is completely different.
It’s been a decade of firsts for me. My first (and hopefully last) divorce, my first solo overseas trip (followed by several more), my first solo property purchase (and accompanying mortgage), my first one-night stand, my first time staying out all night (yes, I’m definitely a late bloomer), my first redundancy, and the list goes on.
It’s been eventful.
And now I am three months away from 40 and wondering if I should have done more by now. Shouldn’t I be clawing my way up the career ladder instead of taking an indulgent year off to scribble my thoughts in the hope that others may eventually pay to read my words?
Shouldn’t I be on every dating site in Australia desperately trying to partner up for life (or at least for the next six months to get me over the 40 hump)?
And then there’s the question of children. I haven’t had any of them yet. Will I ever? And more importantly, do I want to? I still don’t know the answer to the children questions…but shouldn’t I have figured that out by my age?
And while these questions scurry around in my head, like mice looking for an exit, forty still approaches. I am inexorably drawn forward to that date by time…it cannot be avoided.
I’ve decided I won’t attempt to answer the questions for a while. I’m putting them back into a box called, Questions for another day. You might call this approach denial; I’m calling it mental survival.
I’m just going to trust, for now, that time and circumstance will answer all questions.
I will continue to enjoy my gap year and the space it gives me to think my own thoughts and write them down.
I will trust that the perfect man for me will appear in my life when the time is right.
And the questions about children will just have to resolve themselves.
As for being middle-aged, I’m going to pretend that I’m not, just for a little while longer.
The 13 year-old daughter of a close friend says she wants to hang out with me because, ‘You look 29 and you are awesome’. Holding onto that comment should help me stave off middle-age for another week or month or year.
The future, and forty, can take care of itself.
by Lucky Lucy | Apr 15, 2012 | Football, Penis, Single |
I was walking down my street this afternoon when I heard it.
Coming from my neighbour’s house was the unmistakable sound of cheering and a commentator.
At that time of the day it could only mean one thing.
The one thing that once made me sigh resignedly and realise that for the next couple of hours there would be no escape.
It was the football.
Strangely, today when I heard the sounds I almost started to skip down the street.
Have I become an enthusiastic footie fan you are wondering?
Does the thought of men endlessly running around a grassy lawn with white markings now fill me with overwhelming joy?
The short answer is no.
No it does not.
I wanted to skip because, as a fabulously single girl, I don’t have to watch a bunch of often neckless men (rugby league) as they find reasons to tackle each other, blow whistles and break each other’s bones.
Hurrah!
It got me thinking about all the other things I am grateful for as a single girl. That is, all the things I don’t have to do because I am single. And I thought I’d share them with you.
Being single has a lot of advantages particularly when you compare it to being in the wrong relationship.
Please be aware that the following comments do not reflect my experiences of one ex in particular. Instead you should regard it as a collection of all my ex-experiences (and some of my girlfriends’ exes too).
So here goes. As a single girl…
I am not repeatedly cajoled into spending Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights at home because the football is on.
I do not have to put up with someone snoring, stealing the blankets or complaining that the room is too hot.
I don’t have to freeze my arse off in the car because someone else needs the air conditioning set at 19 degrees. This goes for motel rooms as well.
I don’t have to lose my temper, silently shred my own tongue or abruptly leave the table because a member of someone else’s family thinks racist, sexist or other discriminatory remarks are appropriate in the modern world. Nor do I have to calmly try to dissuade them when they claim that Today Tonight reporters are experts on any situation.
I can eat whatever I want, when I want. I never have to put up with someone who raises an eyebrow and says something like, ‘Should you be eating that?’ or ‘You’re getting a bit heavy you know.’ (Fortunately I’ve never been with a man who tried this behaviour with me but if one ever does, I’ll be slamming my cream bun into his face).
I do not have to listen to someone telling me that they’d prefer I change out of the clothes I’ve selected and wear a different outfit that is more revealing, less revealing or simply more to his taste. (As per the previous example, this has occurred to my friends but not to me. Any man who tries this with me will undoubtedly be kicked out the nearest exit).
I don’t have to hear someone tell me that I’d fill out my top even better AND improve my self-esteem if I got a boob job. (When I hear my girlfriends repeat these stories I wonder if anyone has ever suggested that these men should get a penis enhancement…or simply have surgery to remove the extra dick that is protruding from their forehead.)
I don’t have to put up with someone falling asleep in front of the television, repeatedly, at 7.30 at night because they insist on working too many hours at their day job.
I don’t have to say, ‘Sure, I guess I could give camping/caravanning a go this Easter’ even though I prefer a bed and am a conscientious objector when it comes to shared amenities.
I don’t have to check in with someone else when I suddenly decide that I’m going to head overseas in two weeks time and head down to Flight Centre to book myself a ticket. I also don’t have to negotiate where I’m going on my holiday.
I don’t have to sit across from someone else and think, ‘Why do they insist on wearing board shorts when it is less than 15 degrees?’ or ‘The person who invented Crocs should be shot!’
I can keep my car and house as messy or clean as I like.
I don’t have to wonder why someone doesn’t call, is late and hasn’t called, or just doesn’t show up and doesn’t call.
I also don’t have to pretend that sure, of course I don’t mind being woken up at 5am every day because you start work early or feel the need to exercise at every possible opportunity.
Anyway, I realise that this list could go on forever but I think I’ve given you enough to think about.
And for those of you who think my words are merely the rantings of a pre-menstrual, peri or post-menopausal woman, then think again. I am none of these things. I am simply a single woman and proud of it.
Remember to celebrate single ladies!
