A Lukewarm Reception.

Thank goodness for bad reception. I just tried to call my ex, drunK and disillusioned. I couldnt get through. I'll be glad in the morning. 

Here kitty kitty...

Just thinking up random names for cats.
*Louis Kuitton
*Soybean
*Tofu
*Sashimi
*Potatto The Gatto
*Mr Whiskers
*Fluffington Greybeard
*Humbug

HonourableMentions
*Margaret Scratcher
*Miaow Zedong
*Chairman Miaow
*Heinz

Good luck in life and love...(and cats),

Honey xxx

Fish In A Barrel

I did warn you. I did.
Littlemisslucky is back. Yes, I am delving again into that rancid cesspool that is the dating pond and I am going all the way - Internet dating.
Its mostly out of curiousity that I'm doing so. Its also out of weariness, trepidation, and fear.
I initiated contact with 8 hand picked men in the last few hours. Hand picked for their sense of humour, rugged good looks and ability to use full grammar and not bastardise words like 2nite and l8r.
To be fair to me, I've had 5 replies, all very positive. Now if thats not something to boost a single girls spirits, I'm in the wrong game.
I wanted to write here one mail that I got some someone. No picture, no real clues in his profile but he contacted me all the same.

Hey littlemisslucky...My name is Peter and I am a 45 year old lawyer in the city. I do not normally chase younger women but I read your profile and in this case I could not resist...
Firstly I must say that you are breathtakingly lovely and I found your profile description interesting and alluring. Plus I sense you have a free spirit, fun, optimism and live life to the full which are values I love and believe in...what a walking contradiction you are...love/vixen/slutty/intelligent/mature/immature/playful...maybe like me...To satisfy your superficial side I do have a pic on msn..But I do look 46... I sense you are intelligent and fun and would love to discover the myriad of emotions which make you who you are...Peter xxx

It is very touching in a sense. But he sounds almost apologetic, which I find slightly off putting. I've learnt today that it is very very hard to initiate contact with someone you have never met before. So even if I'm not interested, he deserves a reply. He took the time to write to me personally, and I will thank him for that. I hope that people I wrote to today will do the same.

Building up my karma points here, people...

Good luck in life and love,

Honey xxx

SMS or SOS?

Take a deep breath. Can you sense that?The smell of relationship discord is strong tonight.
So I've been here, in my old stomping ground now for three days.
Down the street lives and breathes my old buddy. How many times have I seen him since I've been back? None.
Thats right, none.
This in itself is odd, as I used to crave his touch, crave his kisses all over my body. Now, the less i see of him, the more i don't want to see him.
You will know, dear reader that I refer to The Boy Next Door.
Once held under his spell by passionate sex and kind, if misleading words, I am no longer enthralled by his texts full of desperation and longing.

Does this have something to do with Irish? Irish the emotionally unavailable yet obviously fond of me boy? I presume it does, but we'll have to delve into that another time.

Allow me to explain how my affection for the boy next door turned into something burgeoning into distaste.
The following conversations take place through SMS.

Thursday
10.55 pm
Boy Next Door - I wish you were close by so I could hold you.
Honey - So do I! Im so bored right now. But I'll be home tomorrow for the next few days. Perhaps we can catch up then?
B - Sounds good baby. Cant wait to get my hands on you. I'm already hard thinking about it.
H - Cant wait for you to get your hands on me...or my mouth on you. Speak tomorrow Sweetie.

Friday
6.30 pm
B - Hey sweetie, you around?
H - Hi babes! Yeah, I just arrived at mine, and about to sit down for dinner.
B - Cool, Im still at work, but I'll give you a call later?
H - Sure, i'll chat then.
B - Merry Christmas sweetie! Cant wait to see you.
B - Merry Christmas baby.

11.30pm
B - How is your christmas going, sexy?
H - Good babe, just getting drunk and playing karaoke. You know how we are, lol. When do you wanna catch up?
B- Now, sweetie? I'm kinda tired and I also have to be up early in the morning, if thats cool with you?
H - Uh, its Christmas Eve. Im not leaving here, especially after I've been away for so long. Sorry.
B - You cant even sneak away for a quickie? Pretend like you have to drop something off?
H - I find that really offensive actually. I dont now if I'll be available tonight.
B - Im sorry babe. I just want you so bad I'll do anything to see you.
H - Ok. Merry christmas again. Good night.

Saturday
1.00am
B - Hey sweetie, you up?
H - Yeah, just watching movies. Might go to bed soon.
B - You should come around and get naked :)

Sunday
4.30pm
B - Where's My Honey??
H - Im out shopping for groceries. I'll come and see you later tonight maybe?
B - Sounds good babe. I am here for a couple of hours before I go to my uncle's . Not sure what time i'll get back sweetie.
H - Well I am about to make dinner forour family boxing day thing so i wont be availabe fpr the next few hours. Shall we leave it to chance?
B - We shall :)

Monday
1.44 am
B - Im guessing no...?

1.57am
B - Hey Sweeetie, Im guessing too late?

2.12am
B = Night, aye.

2.44am
B - Not going to happen, I guess. Take it easy. Not doing this anymore.

4.42am
H - Aww, poor B is grumpy now. Sorry for being asleep and not waking up hearing a text msg beep! If you really wanted me you should have called after i didnt answer back. Your choice to end this, B. Sorry for not being available 24/7 like I used to. But don't you dare get the shits with me for being asleep at 2am. See ya.

This of course was a mad variation of what I really wanted to say,after waking up to find 4 texts from him on my phone. I could have added a Go To Hell in there, or an I'm so sorry baby. But I think the truth is now, I'm over him. I'm so over him I need a new word for over.

You know what, for someone who has a loving girlfriend, he is being pretty ballsy with me. And that shit ain't ok with me anymore.

Maybe I should start banking on the luck of the Irish.

Good luck in life and love,

Honey xxx

Waiting For Godot...Or Not.

I realise to the untrained eye it may have seemed like I was simply waiting around the house, waiting for him to call. I was not.
I realise my reluctance to be further than 3 feet from the laptop at any given moment would seem as though I was expecting a message from him. I was not.
I realise it could be mistaken as enthusiasm for seeing him that explained the frisson of energy in my chest when I thought about him. It was not.

But there could be no mistaking the look of disappointment in my eyes as the weekend rolled to a close and I had not seen him.

I had been sucked into the trap again, and like a fool, I let myself look like a complete and utter moron.

I should have known better than to believe his kind words. I definitely didn't believe his apologetic words, and he knows that.

He is not used to me standing on my own two feet and making demands. He is not used to being refused, and having cited to him the time of night as being a reason. He has become accustomed to calling when he wants, and I rearrange everything to accomodate him. He now has to show me a little more respect.

Its a funny thing, respect, especially when you are talking about an arrangement between two consenting people. Yes, I am referring to my fuck buddy. Now I'm sure you know the premise upon which a relationship like this can exist. There cannot be any overt pulling or pushing, otherwise the delicate nature of it gets unbalanced. No party must make demands that the other cannot meet within reason. However no party can be offended or feel put out if the other party is unable to meet the reasonable demands.

The understanding lies in that you will only get together if one or more parties has struck out. There has rarely been a time where I have chosen my FB over someone else. And so this is where the lack of respect comes into it.

How can you really respect someone who you only use for sex?

The problem with my FB now is that he is not showing me the utmost respect - thats fine. Thats exactly how I reciprocate. But its when he starts showing me disrespect, that I need to put my foot down. I dont care how well he bends me over backwards or makes me orgasm 8 times in a night, if he is a prick to me, then I should not put up with it.

Thats because I'm not in love with you, and my heart has no chance of getting hurt. My pride, maybe. My groin area, definitely. But my heart is off limits to you.

I made the mistake of letting this boy disrespect me, and now you can be bloody sure that this is never going to happen again.

Isn't it weird though, how much you do put up with people's crap because you love them, or you think you are in love with them. I think I addressed this in an earlier post, so I won't rehash old stuff. I will just state, that love makes the world go round...I wonder if its because we are so busy chasing after the one we love that makes it spin.

Good luck in life and love,

Honey xxx

Kissing Frogs.

Litlemisslucky is back. Those of you who have been privy to my nocturnal ramblings will know exactly what this means.
Those of you who have not, please prepare yourself for the worst.

My new motto in life - you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find a prince.

Watch this space.

Good luck in life and love,

Honey xxx

Return of the Slack.

I think this is my third post know where I've started off by apologising to my non existent readers for being so slack. I cant even discipline myself enough to write a little something every day. Well you know what? Fuck you.
As if you care anyway whether I've written or not. As if the incoherent ramblings that I come up with on a scarily regular basis mean anything to you other than a reason to imperceptibly tut. As if anyone realises that what I'm saying drowning, not waving.
I mean, thats my role in life isnt it? To be the one that everyone can make fun of, to be the one that people invite to parties because I'm loud and strangers can gel over my lack of social graces. I'm a human icebreaker - just add alcohol.

I begrudgingly admit - this is a role that i play well. And for a while, I revelled in such a role. It afforded me a notoriety that was amusing for a time.

But people can often grow too familiar and it can be offensive and hurtful sometimes. The trouble is, I cant deny any of it.

If you are reading this with a growing sense of alarm and recognition, I salute you sister. Its tough being the butt of everyone's joke.

If you accuse me of being a party animal who doesnt know when to say no, that's me.

If you accuse me of being frivolous with money and not having a safe financial status at any given moment, thats me.

If you accuse me of being lackadaisial about my friends and the effort thats put in to see each pther, thats me.

If you accuse me of being something of a procrastinator, thats me, tomorrow.

If you accuse me of being promiscuous and a little relaxed with my sexual graces, that's me.

But when you call me a drunken whore with little or no morals - why are you so surprised that I might be offended by that?

Sure, we put on a brave face, and laugh it off with everyone else. But take the time to notice that after that, the glass may tremble a little as we lift it to our lips. We may take a few more sips than is necessary, so we dont have to make conversation for a few precious seconds. If we do have to say something, our voice may catch slightly in our throats. And then the bravado kicks in. Because what can we say to defend ourselves?

I was just being me. And this weekend, I was crucified for being me. It kind of makes me not want to be me anymore.

Good luck in life and love,

Honey xxx

Is There A Panic Button?

I've been reading back on some of my posts and wow, have I been down lately. I'm talking like earthworm down, plant root down, so far down I have to look up to see the down.
And I suppose you would think its no coincidence that this happened in the fallout about a boy.

I'm begrudgingly conceding that it may have been a catalyst. No, not even a catalyst, more like a straw that was already added to the flailing camels back. A camel who has brought upon itself masses and masses of negative straws until finally this camel thought "fuck it" decided to shake itself off and take a step back and survey what the hell was riding on its back.

I've fucked up somewhere along the way. I know exactly where but i cant even fucking bring myself to admit it to myself. I can only think about how to fix it and how much of a relief it will be when its fixed, but that little voice inside tells me that something this sacred should never ever ever have been broken in the first place. I couldn't ever tell anyone what I've done.

I think thats part of the problem. This shame, this gut wrenchingly affront against someone I love dearly, stays with me until I die. No amount of good deeds, no matter if i dedicate my entire life to the needy, the poor, the dying, I will never be able to make up what i have done.

I may as well go out and dropkick a newborn kitten into an orphans face, I am that despicable.

This is worse than stealing from someone. This is worse than sleeping with someone's husband or boyfriend. This is worse than breaking the law. This is worse than death. Can you imagine how black someone's heart has to be to be worse then death? This is mine.

I wish there was a panic button on life. Where I could be faced with this dilemma again and hit that red button - take some time to think of the absolute immensity of the situation I was about to enter into and walk away from it. Instead I panicked and did what I did.

I'm not sure why I did what I did, other than due to panic. No one else I know would ever have done anything like this - If I knew they were capable of such a deed, I don't think I would want them in my life.

If I can't ever imagine being forgiven for this, how can I ever hope that others will forgive me?

So here I stay, in my own malcontent state, hoping that one day I will be in a position to fix this as much as I can, and hoping that no one will ever look past my phony exterior and see the blackest of hearts that feebly beats inside.

And while this heart exists, who am I to question whether or not I can be loved, as I love in return?

Of course he didn't write back...for who could care for one who cared so little for her own?

Why So Blue?

Ever get into one of those modes where you are so discontent with your life that the only thing to do is to rehash everything over in your mind again and again, in the vain hopes you can pinpoint where it all went wrong?
Well the only answer I can come up with is the fact that I grew up.
I've lost my innocence. I've lost my enthusiasm for life. I've lost my mojo.
I think this is why, lately, I've musically travelled back in time, seeking out those bands that I listened to in high school, before when I had no idea of what the world would become to me. All the oldies that touch me just as much now as they did 5, 10, 15 years ago.
When I listen to these tracks I dont have to worry about my life. I dont have to think about what went wrong, because nothing was wrong. I didn't struggle to get out of bed each day because I was happy for my day to start.
When did I become so jaded?
I think soon enough I will regret posting this particular blog entry. But at the same time, I recognise the benefits of being completely honest with myself, and I may be grateful, in years to come...when things get better.
It frightens me sometimes, this violent spiral from joy to sadness and back again. It saddens me that I don't have that vim that I see other people do. It confuses me when I look at the same things as someone, and they can see beauty where all I can see is ugliness.
No wonder I'm alone. Why bother taking a long hard look in the mirror - when I already know I wont like what I see? Why would I want to rub it in?
I have a secret. A horrible, shameful secret that Im too scared to tell anyone, even my closest friends. I cant bear to form the words, I don't think I would be physically able to. My insides shrink a little more when I force myself to think about what I did, and the reasons why I did it. I am so ashamed that I feel like I could literally die.
I honestly believe this secret is manifesting itself in my body into sickness, like a malignant tumor, or a cancer. You know those feelings that are so strong, they form a shape? Mine is becoming so real, its almost as plain as the nose on my face. My aura fades a little more each day the longer that it goes on. I can try to fix this. I can try and make it right, and then pretend it never happened for the rest of my life. If I act quickly enough, they wont know. They need not ever know.
But I will know.
And I'm not sure how long I can hide from my own judgement.

Good luck in life and love,

Honey xoxo

Falling....and other random ramblings.

Each point here could have been dissected enough to have its own post. However I feel like my mind is a wastepaper bin....full of ideas and rubbish. I can stick my hand in and pull something out - but it wont necessarily be entertaining or even correct. What it will be though, is from my head, and you can't argue that it will be coherent or boring.

Enjoy my madness.

Ive fallen out out taxis
Ive fallen out of windows too
But the hardest Ive ever fallen
Is when i fell in love with you

You make my heart heavy and sink
The way a ship in a storm rolls
I drag my teeth across your wrist
So I can taste your pulse


Is this not the age of renewed schizophrenia? Where we bite the hand that feeds us, and then sues it for emotional stress? Where we venture out to the very tip of the branch, only to pull out a saw and cut it away.

If I were to sum up how I felt about you now, all I need to say is I love you more than being seventeen.

The other day someone accused me of being boy crazy. I didnt tell them about this blog.

I wonder if anyone has noticed my conscientious effort to avoid using exclamation marks. I find them slightly vulgar and unnecessary. If you have the right words, you can impart any sort of emotion without having to resort to such punctuational sluttiness.

I wish I knew what people thought as soon as they saw me. I wish I could be in their minds and immediately know whether they thought I was ugly or pretty. Whether they liked my outfit or immediately wanted to set fire to their eyeballs for even looking at it. Whether they hated my hair, eyes, smile...Its not fair to have such a power though. Everyone should have that slight moment of worry when meeting someone new. It keeps the world fair. Its natural selection, in a way. It picks out those who are going to die old, fat and lonely. Im sure thats what Darwin meant anyway.

Good luck in life and love

Honey xxx

New Year Already?

I'm determined to make my 28th year on this planet my best ever.

I mean, I havent done so well with the past 27 years. You would think I havent set the standard very high.
I havent written the best selling novel I know is in my head.
I havent met the love of my life. Or if I have, then I have failed to recognise him.
I never finished my university degree.
I have never managed to stay at a job for more than 4 years.
I have never been happy with my body or my face.
I still live in my childhood home.
I believe I will always have trouble telling the difference between left and right.
I don't think that any new pet could replace my beloved departed cat Sebastian.
I never thought that I would lose my mum so young.
I ignore my finances because Im too scared to face up to what is actually going on.

I plan to completely turn my life around by the time I am 29.

Slowly but surely my life is falling into place. I still feel like I haven't fully grown into my skin - I'm not comfortable with who I am at the moment. They say you can tell how a person really is when they are by themselves in a public arena. Waiting for the train, in an appointment room, sat alone in a cafe. I know I look wary, I fidget a lot. I feel vulnerable without sunglasses, ipod, book, drink, something, anything so I don't have to think about what other people may be thinking of me.

Thats how we are programmed though, isn't it? When we catch someone looking at us, don't we immediately wonder if there is something in our teeth, if our hair is out of place, if our skirt is tucked into our knickers? Don't we? Don't you? Don't you??

Ok, ok, I'm well aware that not everybody has the astronomical amount of hangs ups about themselves as I do. But atleast I am aware of that awareness and so if you want to confront me about my hang ups you are going to have to put up a bloody good fight, mister. However, I digress.

So I turn 28 in a few weeks. I've already set the wheels into motion - Im exercising regularly, eating well, cutting out beer and carbs, getting more sleep than I usually do. I'm working hard at work, I'm about to move into a cityside apartment, and I'm weeks away from a poolside holiday overseas. I've taken giants leaps and bounds in getting over my ex, I've messaged a boy I like and even if he doesnt like me back, atleast I will have tried. I've tried.

You know, apparently it only takes seven years for your body to completely regenerate, and not a single cell or organism that was there before will remain. You literally become a whole new person. Well I dont have seven years. I'm going to do it in one.

Reincarnation aside, if this is the one shot we get at life, I am very rapidly learning that I have to make it count.

But I would gladly go down in a flame if a flame is what it takes to remember my name - John Mayer.

Good luck in life and love,

Honey xoxo

Do The Limbo Rock

Every limbo boy and girl
All around the limbo world
Gonna do the limbo rock
All around the limbo clock
(Chubby Checker)

So every boy and girl goes through this dance at one stage or another. We duck and weave around the mutual attraction that lies unspoken in the air and the longer it goes on, the lower and lower the bar gets...until you find yourself virtually horizontal. Sometimes literally horizontal.

Get yourself a limbo girl
Give that chick a limbo whirl
There's a limbo moon above
You will fall in limbo love.

Now there's a term that frankly should be used more often - limbo love. Is it not perfect for describing that feeling of elation you have when all of your best laid plans bloom into fruition? All of your wavering eye contact, your careful placement of limbs that just might accidentally brush up against each other and then finally, finally, that first kiss.

The first kiss, to me, has always been so sweetly awkward. And well it should be - its perfection is concocted of bumbling nose placement, your arms coming to rest and your hands clasping around his neck, the inevitable rising on your tiptoes as you push your body fervently towards his....I'm sorry, this is turning rather Mills and Boon-ish, isnt it?

So I guess what I could say now, is that I'm in limbo love. Im not in real physical actual romance novel love, but I am unexpectedly taken with this boy. You can't say he occupies my every waking moment of thought, but he does make an occasional guest appearance. Im going to be very reserved about this, I think because I dont want it to turn into anything more in my head just yet.

All around the limbo clock
Hey lets do the limbo rock.

Watch this space.

Good luck in life and (limbo) love,

Honey xoxo

Its Not About The Length??

You know, even I cant believe sometimes the lengths I go to, just to impress a boy I like.

I remember when I wore ripped jeans and a flanelette shirt to mufti day because the boy I liked was into heavy metal.

I remember when I wore my glasses and quoted Rilke when I met a boy at university who was holding books by Zola, Satre and De Beauvoir. Yes, I did that.

I remember lying to my friends about the faults of a boy I liked, just so I wouldnt have to defend him to anyone.

I remember lying to myself about a boys faults, so I wouldnt have to say goodbye.

I remember dancing provocatively across numerous dancefloors to get in the eyeline of a cute boy, only to look away nervously when he tried to catch my eye.

I remember waiting at home late on friday and saturday nights, having opted for, instead of a fun night with my friends, a night of nervously checking my mobile phone and immediately imigaining it ring were I to leave the room for a second.

And now I can remember wanting to make someone notice me so much that last weekend I ran across a highway in nothing but my underpants.

You know, even I cant believe the lengths I go to, just to impress a boy I like.

Good luck in life and love,

Honey xx

Shut Up Your Face...Book.

You would think, that having next to nothing happen in my life would mean I have more time to write this blog. Im never short of fuck ups in my own head and surely I have ample disingenuous character flaws to be able to share them with the world. However life doesnt work that way.
The less fulfilled I am emotionally, the lazier I get physically.
In fact, I dont even know what Im doing on here right now - this isnt Facebook?
Yes, my life has been taken up with the humdrum existence that is the Newsfeed chain of my 500+ acquaintances. I live vicariously through them. I hear of births, deaths, engagements through them. Since the advent of facebook, my phone usage has gone down by atleast 100-200 dollars each month, I kid you not.
Deep down inside though, I can't helo but wonder - is this all there is to life?
Am I a glass half empty girl, or am I a glass half full kind of person? I think I'm a glass half empty person. There is no benefit to walking around thinking everything is happy and gay and unicorns shit rainbows while leprechauns give you hand jobs. It just sets yourself up for that hollow feeling of disappointment when the leprechaun fucks off with your wallet due to your distraction by stepping in unicorn shit.
People who think life is a glass half empty maybe are not very good with letting go. They pine after love lost, they hanker for the life less ordinary, they bear grudges of origins unknown. Thats why when I drink, I brace myself for the last gulp, slam it down and then immediately look round for another drink. But does this make me pessimistic? No, I think it just makes me able to keep up with the big boys.
If your glass is half full all the time then why not get a smaller glass?

Good luck in life and love,

Honey xxx

The Letter Ex.

Dear Aquarius,

How do you fall in love? Do you trip? Do you stumble and soar off a precipice hoping to land on your feet? Or do you float gently to the ground, hair settling around you like a halo?

I fell. I fell with a thump so loud I thought my world had cracked apart. It was just the way I felt when I first saw your smile. When you sat next to me for the first time. When you held my hand.

Maybe my world did crack. And in typical you fashion, you've left me to fix it, alone.

I thought I was doing ok. I was no longer sleeping in your tshirt. I was no longer searching for your feet in bed. I was no longer prone to having my phone taken off me, lest I call you in a drunken crying heap.

But all it takes it one small factor. The most minute of complications, and suddenly I need to look at myself very hard in the mirror and say "You know what kid, we may be in a bit of trouble here."

The catalyst? An innocent conversation between myself and one of the people at your work place. Your workplace hires thousands of people, for fucks sake...why did the one I end up talking to know so much about you?

You've hurt your knee. You cant work at the moment. Why cant you look after yourself when Im not around? Its so frustrating.

The last time we were apart, your friends told me you were depressed and couldnt even get out of bed some days. When I went on holidays, you had to have an operation and were bed ridden for weeks. We broke up for a few weeks and you got into a fight. You left me at a festival and on the way back to her you nearly got into a fight. And now, you have injured yourself to the point where you cant even work.

The point I'm trying to make is that all of this stuff never happens when I'm around. So why have you left me. Why the fuck do you continue this stupid charade?

You are not the only one to be affected by our split. I want my life back, dammit. I want to be able to listen to songs without melancholy. Why should you be the little thought in my head that never goes away?

Im sleeping better now. All of those little things about bedtime that used to irritate you and enrage me are gone. I fall asleep easily. I did have to resort to hypnotherapy to reach this point, but hey, a miracle is a miracle no matter what way you look at it.

I have dreamless sleeps. When I do dream, its no longer of you. I think life has decided that its not fair for me to think about you all day and all night too. I'm moving on. I like other boys now. I kiss other boys now. Heck, I even sleep with other boys. Does that bother you? I hope that bothers you. I dont care if that bothers you. Really doesnt bother me.

I like to think that one day I will see you again. We will both be slightly taken aback, but strong enough to graciously acknowledge each other and then move on. On to our new lives. Well, on to my new life. You might still be stuck with her. But thats no longer any of my business.

So even though its taken me so long to say it - Thank you. Thank you for being so cruel and ambiguous with my heart. Its taking a long time to heal, but I finally have the want to let it heal. Even if its just plastered over with optimism and hope for the future.

I just hope no one sees the cracks.

Ever but never yours,

Lion.

Overheard.

Boy A - How would you survive a Nazi Zombie attack? The only tools you have are a buffalo, and a clowns wig.

Boy B - I would wave the wig and amke the buffalo charge and attack the zombies.

Boy A - Thats very clever, I did not think of that.

Boy B - How would you do it?

Boy A - I would mate with the buffalo and build an army of babies, which would overpower the zombies.

Boy B - What if the buffalo was male?

Boy A - Thats ok, I'm not homophobic.

One more try.

I have to admit. I nearly gave up. I thought about closing off this blog and never bothering with it again. Whats the point? Does any one care?
The amount of time that people spend reading it doesn't even compare to the amount of time I have spent feeling guilty over it. Guilty that I cant even manage to keep up a poxy blog once or twice a week. Guilty that I couldn't manage to do something that was purely for me, as a way to vent. Guilty that my laziness was winning over my joy in writing. Guilty because...well, that's me. Little Miss Guilty Conscience.

Well. Here I am again. Don't feel so bloody special, my online dating has also stalled somewhat. I did end up meeting one of them, and he turned out to be the biggest asshole known to man. So I cant even be bothered to speak to any others. I've fulfilled my loser quotient for the month, thanks.

OK, let me delve a little deeper into that story. I quite liked the sound of this one, he was intelligent, polite, kind hearted and liked the same music as I did. He was perfect on paper. Well aren't they all bloody perfect on paper...

When I met him, he was nothing like what his picture showed. Mistake number one. Yes, he slightly resembled that smiling happy passport sized picture he had posted on the net, but what stood before me was a poor shadow of that image.

He was a lot shorter than I had imagined. Now that's no fault of his, but rather something to me that is non negotiable. I am small enough so to have someone almost as short as me is...well...unacceptable, frankly.

To be fair to him, I had been out for the whole night and rocked up to meet him for a coffee slightly worse for wear. However, in my defense, I know when I look like a train wreck, and this was not one of those times. I was holding up surprisingly well, considering I was still wearing a leather mini dress and vinyl heels from the previous nights festivities. All smartly covered with a trench coat, mind you. So if I looked like a hooker, at least I looked like a high class one.

When I told him of my previous nights engagements he expressed surprise and amazement that I could do so, and them immediately accused me of taking drugs. Now, as you know, dear reader, I am not averse to sprucing the night up with a bit of chemical fun. However to be judged by some idiot who I only just met without any sort of former proof was absolutely ridiculous.

The line of work that I do is not entirely held together from moral fibre. No, it does not involve anything from the sex industry. No, I am not an assassin or ninja or hit man. No, I am not a real estate agent. However I do work with gamblers, and the invention of lucrative manners of which to pry the cash from their sweaty clenched fists.

Now, this certain person who I was meeting was aware of this. We had spoken about it a few times previously. However he chose the first time that we would meet to express exactly what he thought about it. The vitriol that spewed forth was alarming to say the least. It put me in that much of a position where I had to yell back, telling him to shut up, Shut Up SHUT UP. I had to shout, he was so far up on his moral high horse, he would not have heard me otherwise...

He then said that he didn't have time for a coffee and would it be OK if we did this another time. I immediately took offense to this and started yelling about how there was no way he was brushing me off, I would be the one brushing him off. I then stormed off, hyperventilating.

All joking aside, can you honestly imagine? What the hell happened? As far as I can see, I did nothing wrong. I had been myself completely, in our previous correspondence. He then uses it to take me to task the first time we meet? What kind of lunatics are in this world?

So here I announce that my foray into the world of online dating has come to an end. It was a short lived and hopefully short remembered one. You may think I've taken artistic license with this, in order to make you laugh, or to shock you. I assure you, dear reader, I have not.

Online or Onliar?

Just checked my online dating inbox. Have found a rather endearing message....

"Your insane...
And thats probably why I'm totally knocked out by your profile. If what you say is true, then I think I've found what I'm looking for on this crappy site.
Oh and your gorgeous too but with an attitude like that looks are secondary lol
Have a great day, keep smiling and I hope I hear back from you.
Ciao."

How to respond? Whether or not to respond? Can I be superficial and judge him by his blurry profile picture, or do I look past that and actually see if I can have a coherent conversation with someone?

Why am I caring so much about the opinion of someone I've never met?

Good luck in life and love,

Honey xxx

Is that a tap tap on the door - or merely online dating profiles being read?

Forgive me. I know I've been lax.

Even if it is just for myself, I've been horribly neglectful of my own resolution. This blog was for me and me only and I cannot even keep this up for more than a poxy few months.
I have been busy though, on the pretense of having things to write about.

March has been the month of Online Dating. Yes, I have managed to quash my feelings of distate for this long enough to become a member of a site which promises friendship, dating and long term...more if you click on one of their sister sites.

With the handle of littlemisshoney, I have put myself out into cyberspace. My profile is a bumbling mess of thoughts, likes and dislikes, irrational behaviour and you know what? The men have lapped it up. Quite a lot of the emails from the men on this site have commented on how funny and refreshing my profile is.

"An island in a sea of bull shit."

"How awesome...i really enjoyed reading your profile...sweet...
How funny are you...hope you are having a good weekend..."

"while i was reading your profile I was wondering if you had taken a breath while writing this.
You sound like a lot of fun , i would love to get to know you and see what happens."

Of course, you have the standard emails who simply say Hi. Thats utterly boring to me, so quite often I will delete without reading into it.

There is one person who is quite persistent. He keeps asking if I can chat to him on MSN or if we can have a coffee soon. I have straight out told him that I dont want to meet anyone or speak to them over any other means than this site. He responded that it was fair enough I felt that way, but it was because I was simply stunning and he wanted to show me that his intentions were real.
I havent responded as yet.

Online dating seems to be a bit of an elimination process. I honestly do not mean to sound as though I am bragging but in the first 3 days of joining this site, my inbox was absolutely flooded with mails from others on the site. Granted 95% of those were rubbish, which I have now deleted. I have begun a regular correspondence with three in particular, who both seem lovely and genuine. Of course, the picture helps...

I understand some people can be reluctant to load pictures of themselves on the internet. I dont really have that problem - I mean just look at Facebook...I got three photos from my facebook page and loaded them onto this site. It appears these photos are winners with lots of lads.

As one person very sweetly put it, "May I just say you are a shining example of genetic perfection!".
I told him "That is extraordinarily kind of you to say and I will tuck that away for a rainy day."
His response? "I wish it was raining now."

So after a week of being a member of this site, my verdict is this. Online dating is exactly like getting out there in the pubs and clubs, except with the propensity for extra loads of bull shit to be passed your way. The men on here can still be just as pushy in writing, rather than hassling you to dance in person. The men on here ask you to go for a drink with absolutely no introduction or even a hello, much like they will come and sit next to you or make their way into your dance circle. The men on here can ignore you completely, just like they do in real life. The men on here can hide or disguise their flaws by photoshopping or clever use of words, instead of hoping your alcohol intake will blur the edges.

But, as real life also has a want to do - some of the men on here have the potential to quite suprise you.

Good luck in life and love,

Honey xx

The Winter of My Discontent.

A warning to all readers who happen to go further than this - I am in quite a dark mood and as is my wont on this blog, I shall vent in a manner that is fitting to my mood.
Whats brought all of this on? A mixture of things. A cesspit of disappointment, coupled with failure of hopes and expectations. A sprinkling of nostalgia. A dash of lust and jealousy. A huge serving of inactivity. Oh, and we mustnt forget - a liberal splashing of drugs and alcohol, which gives it that smooth flavour of coming down.
Hungry yet?
Somebody close to me let me down this weekend. Because of her chronic inability to be on time for anything, I missed something I had been on pins and needles for since forever, a band that I adore and had been looking forward to for such a long time. It shows a huge lack of respect to me, I think - she knew how long I had waited for this. I had even bought her ticket for her and not only did she turn up 45 minutes later than she promised, she made a big deal about how she had rushed as quickly as she could, running there to meet me etc. I would have just accepted a simple genuine apology and gotten over it soon enough. Not this stupid bullshit concoction about how she tried so hard to get there on time. Thats what really makes me see black.
I'm very tired of my life at the moment. There is no need to ask me if I'm content with my life at the moment. I think the answer lies in my shuffling feet, my slumping shoulders, my overwhelming exhaustion evident on my face.
I take things to stay awake now. Not Class A drugs obviously, but things like Red Bulls, No-Doz, Berocca - anything that promises to give me a burst of energy. I drink two or three coffees daily now, when I only used to drink one a month. Nothing helps shake off this blanket of tiredness I always feel is draped around my shoulders.
I take things to go to sleep now. It seems odd, cruel almost, considering the effort I concert to stay awake. Alas, the only way at present that I am able to fall asleep is on a fluffy cloud of sleeping tablets.
It cant be healthy. It really cant. I fear that I am staring into the jaws of the black dog of depression. But I cant be depressed. Nobody who is depressed ever thinks that they are depressed. If I think I'm depressed, I cant be. I'm just feeling a little sorry for myself.
Maybe I'm just lonely. Or tired. Or nostalgic. Maybe I'm just missing that someone. Or disappointed by my friends. Or scared to be lonely. So I hang on to my friends.
I need to be by myself for a while. I want to go away and read a book. I want to drink a bottle of wine without feeling the need to get roaring drunk and hitting on random men. I want to walk by myself without worrying about what other people think of me. I place so much emphasis on other peoples opinions that I've forgotten that my own opinions should be the most important to me. I want to think out loud. I want to laugh out loud. I don't want to have bullshit chit chat with someone and talk about the latest model of mobile phone. I've just lost my phone, so there is no need to switch it off - I just wont replace it.
How far inside your own mind can you retreat before someone notices you are gone? I'm worried that I've been absent from enjoying life for so so so long, but nobody has even seen.
But, if this is you - please don't come for me if this is all that I have to return to.
Good luck in life and love,
Honey xx

Got To Try A Little Tenderness....

I turned down a sure thing last night. I was in his lap, I kissed him, I was attracted to him, he was smart, made me laugh and he was leaving in a month, so no further carry on required.

So why did I not wake up today in a strange bed worrying about the walk of shame?

Because I think guys have stopped making an effort now. He expected that I would immediately leave my friends to go back with him. He did not even offer to buy me a drink but instead drank mine. (I do realise that sounds quite outdated, but I think thats the least you can do if you intend to get into my pants.)

Have I, and my fellow females, been making it too easy for our male counterparts? Is there no longer the thrill of the chase? I don't mean that we are having too many one night stands. No no no no no, thats something that will always exist whether it be in my life or any body elses. What I'm growing concerned with now is the ease with which we are hopping into bed with them.

So even though I may be promiscuous, even though I like the physical gratification of one night stands, even though I have no qualms about going sleeping with someone with no intention of ever seeing them again, I think I'm going to make them work a little bit harder now.

It seems beggars can be choosers ☺

Good luck in life and love,

Honey xx

Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word

I'm sorry.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry i'm sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry.
I'm useless at sticking to anything. Even if its just something for myself to do. Utterly useless.
I suppose thats the story of my life. I am destined to be a failure. I have the best of intentions and then just my ambition just trickles away until all there is left is the self flagellation that goes on in my own head about how pathetic I am.
Can you tell I'm having a bad day?
I want to run away. I want to leave everyone who knows me behind and just start all over again. No more lies. No more cover ups. No more hiding things that I'm not even responsible for, but I feel so ashamed for them that I hide their secrets side by side with my own.
I want to laugh and have it be genuine. I want to smile with my eyes and my face, not just my mouth. I want to be confident in who I am, not overdose on bravado and constantly trying to save face.
I want my mum.
My faith is slowly being shattered in my friendships around me. I don't feel that anyone is genuine anymore, from daily acquaintances to my best friends. Am I too trusting? Or am I too cynical? Does anyone really have good friends who they can rely on for anything and everything? Sure, you have have a great time with your girls/mates but would you take a bullet for them? Who would take a bullet for me? No one, thats who. And I'm getting to that point where I dont think I'd take one for them any more.
I'm so tired of being disappointed. Im so tired of being a disappointment to others.
I think I need to be alone for a while.

Good luck in life and love,

Honey xx

That Time Of The Month.

Blanduary - The first month of the year where every one is fresh and hoping to fulfill their drunkenly made New years resolutions. This means limited parties, drunken binges are out of the question and diets kick into gear. Boring for those who think NYE should be every night.

Furbuary - Similar to Movember, but this one is for the ladies...nuff said.

Marky March - Props for everyone's favourite Wahlberg. I mean, who likes Donnie? This month we pay salute to Dirk Diggler by getting down and dirty with whats 'down there'. Time to channel your inner Rollergirl - or Phillip Seymour Hoffmans for those a little creepier. I may still have my cassingle copy of Good Vibrations somewhere!

Capril - My attempt at getting everyone to wear capes for the month. Those who loved Get This with Tony Martin, Ed Kavalee and Richard Marsland will know exactly what I mean. I have always loved the idea of capes, and long for the days of yore when you wore a cape and a bodice to get the mail.

Dismay - How I feel after Capril falls to the wayside and the only person wearing them is me.

Balloon June - Mid year and winter has come, as has my winter coat. Its ok to put on a few kilos this month - man doth not survive on corn chips alone.

Awry July - Leos everywhere rejoice because our birthdays have come. Known to others as Dry July, which really, just means more alcohol left for me. Party Party Party is the keyword here, and those who do not join in will be pushed over and laughed at.

Smorgast - As in smorgasboard dining. Yes, the lure of the buffet must be succumbed to - all month. Its still bloody cold, so go and eat a vat of Sizzlers Homestyle Pumpkin soup, with croutons the size of Cheesy Toast. In fact, just drop some cheesy toast in the soup.

Reptember - a month to be kind to crocodiles. Preferable to Heptember, which is a month to be kind to Pamela and Tommy Lee.

Rocktober - Every chance you get, you must summon your inner rock star. Whether this be atop a table in a japanese karaoke room, or solo in undies and socks Risky Business style, this is a chance to let loose and have fun. Warble away your worries and enjoy the last few months of the year that has flown by.

Jon Bon Jovember - An effortless flow on from Rocktober, but this month is a salute to big hair, the tight leather pant and the sex bomb that is JBJ. FYI, playing the bass part on Rock Band for Livin On A Prayer? Better than an orgasm. Maybe more fingering.

In-decentber - Its the last month of the year! Where Christmas, Boxing Day, New Years, festivals and summer barbecues are things to look forward to. Laugh at the tourists with the 2nd degree sunburn. Queue up to buy those last minute Christmas presents because you were so busy air guitaring to Bed Of Roses the previous month. But most of all - be INDECENT. Snog that co-worker. Make those photocopies. Spike that office party punch. Go sans underpants to a party. Keep eye contact for longer than necessary. Why? Because this is the month where everyone allows for slip ups. Consider it a leave pass of morals.

Actually lets make December last the whole year ☺

Good luck in life and love,

Honey xx

Flip The Peace Sign Around - V Day.

Valentines Day.
The day where singles are made to cringe slightly under their formerly confident skin, where there is not so much a direct message but an awareness that smug marrieds and those living in coupledom are passing onto their single counterparts that they are happy and you are not.
You might be getting a rose this Sunday, you might be eating breakfast in bed, you may be strolling hand in hand down to the waterside to your seafood platter for two, you may have him brush that strand of hair out of your eyes, you may be having sex.
You MAY.
And as much bravado as we put on under our fabulous clothes and our well shod feet, the voice of a singleton will falter just that tiny bit when asked if we have a boyfriend. "No, no" we assert, "I much prefer the single life. No one to tell you what to do, meals when I like, I can always go out with the girls, no hairy fat slob on the couch when i get home."
Its true.
To a point.
Yes, I like being single. But singledom can get lonely sometimes, especially when the celebration of coupledom is being smashed right into your face like a cream pie.
Love should be easy, but it isnt. Liken it to a see saw in the playground, the ups and downs are obvious. You got to balance it perfectly and ensure that each person is taking the weight carefully so that you are both having fun. When one person leaves unexpectedly, you go smashing to the ground, left with an emotionally bruised bottom.
I havent been riding the seesaw in the playground for a while now, to use the literal term. When my ex partner got off the seesaw, I fell to the ground and sat in the dust, waiting for him to get back on so I could play again.
Maybe I just need to meet some new playdates.
All I need to remember is that on Valentines Day everyone was single at one point in their life. We may not have all shared the same experiences or emotions but we all like to go to the playground.
In the meantime I'll see if I can find someone to share my swing ☺

Good luck in life and love,

Honey xx

Dry February.

I'm not doing too well so far, and its only the fourth day of the month. But last night was a one off - I went to a gig and had to have a beer or 5.

Why February?

Because I believe my body needs a break from the constant partying I inflict on it.

Because I cant do Dry July - my birthday is in July.

Because I overspent the fun budget in January and need to build up the coffers again for Mad March.

Because its the shortest month of the year.

Good luck in life and love,

Honey xx

The Boogie Monster.

I wish I could bottle the smell of Friday afternoons. It would be a heady mix of relief and anticipation, coupled with hints of drama, passion and fun. Oh, and we mustn't forget, liberal doses of alcohol.

I'm really looking forward to this weekend. Manic diarising has meant i am attending two barbecues, a night out on the town and then the lovely anticipation of 'whatever goes". But first, there is work to attend to.

A massive generalisation that is probably true - the minutes seem to tick over more slowly when you can't wait to get out of there. I'm doing all of my little tricks - refusing to look at the time until I think 5 minutes has passed, holding my breath for two minutes, taking a sip of water every 30 seconds. How did the time go from 5.29 to 5.28?

Finally, as I stare at the time in the bottom corner of my computer screen, in slow motion the digits change from 5.59 to 6.00. "I'm done", I say as I stand up, log off my computer, grab my handbag and push my chair in, all in one easy motion.

Barbecue # 1 is a casual affair, simply a few drinks between workmates over the wafting scent of sausages. Its a chance to toil down over the working week, bitching about issues to people who actually can relate to them, and understand the jargon and acronyms. Its always better to moan and gripe here, rather than be that messy one who bitches later on at people who barely move to emit bodily gas, let alone have a full time job. A few quick drinks here and then a slightly wobbly dash hailing a cab, and I'm off to the next one.

Sydney has an amazing harbour, and this barbecue has been plonked perfectly on the shores of our idyllic harbour. Add to that a dusky evening where the mosquitos have not yet begun to bite and I feel more and more relaxed as the hours while away. This is one situation where I would be happy for the minutes to go backwards.

But no rest for the wicked. After a few hours of becoming one with a picnic blanket and some bottles of wine, its time for the night to turn the bass up...I am going dancing.

Preparations are slightly messy, to say the least. Downing tumblers full of wine (we gave up on the wine glasses way back when we discovered they didn't hold enough) there is lots of singing, jostling for mirror space, frequent cigarette breaks and I do believe there was even a dance rendition to the Spice Girls song "Stop". Perhaps we should have taken heed from the words of the song - a neighbour politely knocked on the door and asked us to turn it down a smidgen.

Into a cab we pile, a merry duo off to meet like minded party goers. We meet up with my friends, some of whom I was having beers with only that afternoon, and immediately hit the bar for vodka doubles.

Don't judge me - it saves time lining up later on.

The place is trading as an R&B funk joint tonight, so there is plenty of bounce bounce baby bounce factor. Lots of gorgeous men too, I muse, roving an expert eye over the talent out tonight. But plenty of time for that later - I'm here to shake a tail feather. So dance, we do. We drop it like its hot. We raise the roof. We like big butts and we cannot lie. We ain't no Hollaback Girl. We never knew a love like, love like this before. You get the idea.

I duck outside for some fresh air (read : my eighteen millionth cigarette for the night) and in my drunken state manage to smash a glass all over some poor girls exposed foot. I apologise profusely, and the apology is taken with poor grace. Never mind. She had ugly shoes on anyway.

Eventually we tire of dancing and decide to get a meal from one of the late night chinese establishments. Into the place we tumble, our shiny eye makeup and high heels at odds with the lino flooring and chinese warbling coming from the karaoke on the screens. Meals are ordered, drinks are ordered and finally a little bit of order is in place.

Easy conversation is flung from table side to table side, but I am restless. I feel there is still so much to the night and pray the others are of a similar frame of mind. No such luck, to my disappointment. So I cast my nets wider and the following phone conversation ensues.

"Hello darlings, what are you up to tonight?"
"OMG, come out! We are at a foam party and completely off our faces."
"Lovely, I shall see you in a bit. Meet me out the front."
"Its a lesbian foam party!!"
"A lesbian foam party?"
"Yah, and there are hot lesbians everywhere. I slipped in the foam and fell off the stage!!"
"Hmm, ok. I will see you soon."

I share a taxi with one of my mates as we are going the same way, and I can kind of sense he wants to come too, he just needs some very strong arm twisting. I'm not sure how long I'll stay though so I leave it for this time, leaving a mental memo for another day.

My friend meets me at the door with a flaming great big kiss. I suspect this is due to the door bitches at the club turning away a lot of men, due to it being, as you know, a lesbian affair. I have no troubles getting in (hmmmm...) and once past the velvet rope I stop in shock for a second.

There is foam everywhere.

I can barely see some peoples faces, they are covered from head to toe in bubbles. Immediately I regret coming in open toed heels and a satin dress. I am absurdly over dressed for such an event, however I am feeling slightly mollified by the appreciative looks being thrown my way by the women in the area.

I traipse downstairs to the lower dance floor, where the foam abates slightly and order drinks at the bar. Double vodkas again, yes. In for a penny, in for a pound, I say.

After some very tentative dancing (the floor is slippery) we manage to get outside to the smoking area, where I am immediately abandoned by my companion with promises to return in one second.

I'm not too fussed and lean against the wall, drink in hand. After a few minutes, I'm approached by two good looking males and small chit chat is made. While this occurs, I spot a gorgeous specimen of an man leaning on the opposite wall, casting a glance in my direction every now and again. What would I do here? I've started talking to these two other guys, it would be unfeasibly rude to turn away and start a conversation with another?

I head back inside and the night, as they tend to do, passes in a blur. Nothing much of note happens, except I have a great time, which is something in itself, I suppose. As I leave the club I notice I don't have any more cash in my wallet and so a call to the ATM is necessary. I walk down the street, in the midst of drunks, junkies, police, rowdy boys, slutty girls - if you live in Sydney you will know I'm referring to Oxford St ...

Before I reach the cashpoint though, I hear someone behind me trying to get my attention. I turn around and I swear you could have knocked me over with a feather - it was the boy from the alleyway. He saw me leave and had left his friends to come and speak to me. Now, I would never let an effort like that be for nothing so I went and had some drinks with me in the nearest pub.

He was lovely to speak to and spend time with, opening doors, pulling out my chair (??) and I enjoyed a nice easy banter with him. Until he spoke about his ex girlfriend. I asked him when they had broken up, as it seemed to me it must have been recent. He said a few hours ago. I thanked him for the drinks and then left.

Did I overreact? I think not. I would have just rather been on my way home then spending time with someone who obviously was out for a revenge/spite shag. In another world, maybe.

On my way home, I drink dial. I ring my Go To Guy, the boy down the road. He was thankfully awake and so instead of going straight home I get dropped off at the boys house. I'll not divulge too many details, but lets just say itches got scratched, cuddles were given, and a few hours later with the sun high up in the sky I got dropped at my front door, high heels in my hand.

What an utterly fabulous night.

Good luck in life and love,

Honey xx

Out Of The Mouth Of Babes...

My 5 year old cousin told me today that she has a boyfriend.

I didnt know whether to laugh or cry.

My Big Day Out

The sun comes creeping over the city skyline. Its the early hours of the morning but already I can feel the force of the heat. Sure enough, I check the weather forecast for today and its expected to be in the 40s. This is great news to me as I have nothing for my day planned except for my attendence at the most highly anticipated music festival so far this year.

The Temper Trap. Muse. Dizzee Rascal. Passion Pit. Ladyhawke. Calvin Harris. Powderfinger. Girl Talk. Am I listing the days line up or scrolling through my Ipod? All I know is that I cannot wait for the day to begin.

I've got to finish work first. Foolishly I decided to cover the overnight shift and then go straight to the festival from there. Adrenaline will fuel me, I assured myself. Maybe that, and a little chemical assistance. Does that shock you? It needn't.

Yes, I am an occasional drug taker. I indulge every now and again, to make a situation more fun, to make people seem more interesting, to make myself a little wilder. As long as I never cross that line where I NEED to escape from reality, I think it harms no one. Altering reality is fine.

So begins my day of fun. It helps I have two willing partners in crime who match me in action, from lines to outfits and spritzing of perfume. We dont often hang out, but when situations like this arise, we fit together like a perfectly molded jigsaw. Sometimes the picture aint so pretty though.

By now its late morning and the heat is drilling onto us with a ferocity that is only just bearable. Im glad its this rather than raining though - Glastonbury it is not.

My heart is racing all day though, and its not just from the drugs or the millions of drug dogs and police around. The male outfit of choice seems to be checked shorts, a white singlet and a fedora of some type. This is exactly what my ex chose to wear almost every day. So all around me I see him. Lining up at the bar. Walking towards a stall. Throwing his head back with laughter. Dancing along to a song i know he loves.

Of course I know its not him. The hair colour is wrong. The shoulders are not wide enough. The smile, although sometimes welcoming and daring, is never his. But for a tiny second, I see him in everyone that walks past.

Then of course, it happens. Dancing away to the maestro that is Calvin Harris, I see the back of a head. I would recognise those shoulders, that dance move, that uninhibited smile anywhere. It IS him. And I feel like I need to throw up.

I stand stock still for what seems like forever. Then realising my friends are looking at me in a concerned manner, I tell them I'll be right back and disappear a little ways into the crowd. From this vantage point I'm free to stare at him and take it all in. It takes every fibre of my being to not run towards him and bury my face into his neck and cry. It really does. I want to touch him so badly I can feel a physical pain in my chest.

Luckily there is pain. Something stopped me from running over to him. The memory of the pain he has caused me, I have caused him. And so in the midst of thousands of gleeful dancers under pulsating lights and writhing bodies - somewhere deep down inside me, I take my first baby step towards letting him go.

Thats not to say when i returned to my friends it still wasnt burning in my mind. So I danced with forced gusto, I laughed a little hysterically when something was shouted towards my ear, I cast covert glances towards him, only a few desperate feet away. It would have been so easy to walk down that path.

But this is the path he has chosen to take, and so I must walk down another.

Scratch that - i refuse to walk. No one ever said I wasnt allowed to dance my way down that path. So dance I did. And shall continue to do.

Good luck in life and love,

Honey xx

Shaking a Tail Feather

So its been a while since Ive had a chance to update this. Quite a lot has happened since then, so I hope to do all of the events justice by recalling them to their full potential.

The last time I wrote was just after that mind blowing concert I went to. Happiness and fun has been fleeting of late, so it was refreshing for me to have such a great time. There was a true lack of pretension and worry on the night due to me doing something I enjoyed, being with good friends and listening to a kick ass band.

After the concert, I convinced my girlfriend to go out for a few drinks with me. Off we went to the seediest part of town, but any die hard party girl worth her stilettos will tell you thats where all the action happens. Fast forward to a grungy hip little bar and we are downing shots poured from a teapot. Lethal, so but yummy.

Left by myself for a rare moment, a guy comes over to me and introduces himself. I look up and clock unbelievably blue eyes so I agree to him buying me a drink and have a little chat with him. He's a lovely person and we share quite a lot in common so we swap numbers and organise to have drinks another night.

After this, the bar is getting quite crowded and so some extraordinarily cute boys sit at the end of our table. Immediately glances are shot under lowered lashes, coy smiles are exchanged and I may have even been guilty of some hair flicking. As if out of a line up, i pick my favourite boy and luckily he is the one sat next to me. So when an arm lightly brushes against mine, I dont move away. When a thigh is pressed up against mine under the table I press back.

Conversation takes a back seat to the real communication thats being made between us. In fact, I dont recall a word he said to me that night, just how his eyes glint of mischief.

Sadly, as they have a wont to do, all good nights draw to a close. Farewells are called for and so i lean over to kiss him on a cheek. My aim is somewhat misdirected and I end up with a lingering kiss full of heat and passion and promise. I take his number and small chit chat is made to call.

Two numbers in one night. Quite a change from the self imposed celibacy Ive been in for the last few years. (There is an exception to this rule, but we neednt talk about that at this time.)

A small realisation though. I'll spoil the story by saying that although we did try, nothing lasting eventuated from either of those guys. However what I truly believe the big step that I've made is that I got out there and I flirted and had fun and had a random snog and took numbers and flicked my hair and added a little swing to my walk and thought about somebody other than HIM.

Its that kind of realisation that makes me think that its going to be ok in the end.

Good luck in life and love,

Honey

Next Stop...My Happy Place.

Regardless of what my blogs say so far, I am a simple creature. I do not require a lot to make me happy. Green frogs. Oreos. A heartfelt cuddle. Cold beer. Eyes meeting across a crowded floor.

A good song.

I am addicted to music. I live and breathe notes and tunes and harmonies and riffs and frets. I inhale lyrics like air and always think they can be adapted to my own situations. I can find it easier to express a sentiment through song than my own bumbling clumsy words. Lyrics speak to me more than a person ever could, being immortalised in song.

I went to a concert tonight. One I have been waiting and waiting for with bated breath. The expectation I had lain on this event was phenomenal. I am glad to say it did not disappoint. From the chord of the first note I smiled until the dying strains of the last note. I danced like nobody was watching. I sung the words with a gusto only reserved for football matches or a fight between lovers.

This is my happy place.

I am riding on a high that no one else seems to understand. Nor do I feel like sharing it with any one else. This is mine. My secret.

And until I find someone who can express this to me without even saying a word, I will keep it close to my heart. Until I can find someone who can express this to me without even saying a word, I will not fall in love.

When Is Young Too Young?

For the first time in as far as I can remember, I went on a date. Like a proper butterflies in the tummy, holding hands, nonchalant brushing arms when walking date. He bought me an icecream, and in true Honey fashion I dropped some of it on my dress. He told me I was absolutely gorgeous. He held my hand as we walked and I could feel he was just as nervous as I was. When the wind blew he tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. When we lay on the grass together he leant over and kissed me on the cheek. On paper this boy seemed perfect.

On plastic, he did not.

By this I refer to his drivers license.

He is 5 years younger than me.

If you knew me at all, you would laugh at this. I have not had any previous qualms about exploring the younger market. In fact, I actively encourage it. I enjoy the thrill of a younger man, i revel in it. The lack of pretenses, the nervousness of the inexperience they have, the gratitude at the experience I can bring, the awe in which they uphold you. It can become quite addictive.

But generally although I prefer the bodies to be lithe and young, there is something I also like. That is maturity. You can sense right away whether a young boy is ready for this kind of experience. I'd rather not have a relationship with a boy when all he can think about is where to set off the next bunger or whether or not he will get Hungry Jacks before the Simpsons Saturday Special begins.

Unfortunately my date falls into the latter category. There are 22 year old men who are mature, and then there are 22 year old men. Period.

So although he walks the walk, and he talks the talk I dont think I will be the one to draw him into my world. I'm a baby maker, not a baby sitter. I'm a cradle snatcher, not a cradle rocker. You get my point.

But what of the energetic sex, the endless reserves of youthful stamina, I hear you cry. And, believe me, this is a point which has been well considered. Dear reader, this is an area which had been explored previously, and one which, although not been found lacking, comes with side dishes upon which I choose not to partake in. Like the salad on the side of a meal in which you poke about your plate and consider eating but in the end gets pushed to the side.

I believe he is at that delicate stage where he could take one of two paths. One is that he finds a girl his own age and has a tumultuous relatioship in which he discovers the world. The other is that he follows me into my world in which I will inevitably use him and then spit him out like a piece of gum chewed for too long. Can I be responsible for the destruction of such innocence? Such naivety?

Robert Frost famously said -

"I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood and I -
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference."

So for this boy, I will be the road less travelled by. Am I ready for the looks from other passers by, the scrutiny from his friends and family, the self examination in my own conscience? I think not. Never mind that he may make me happy, never mind that I may make him happy. The puppy dog adoration in his eyes, although completely enchanting, is not an avenue I am 100% willing to take.

What does Robert Frost know anyway.

It Must Be Happy Hour Somewhere In The World....

Girl meets boy. Girl likes boy. Girl kisses boy. Boy kisses girl. Girl and boy spend a few nights together in which a connection is established.

Now for reasons I wont go into here, girl had to halt proceedings with boy and events come to a standstill. Now years later boy sees phone number of girl and sends a tentative text. Girl responds and the connection is re-established. Girl and boy arrange to meet up a few days later.

Would this classify as a date? I'm not sure. Girl certainly has butterfly like jitters in her stomach.

So I am the girl. And I have a rendezvous with the boy. For reasons far beyond the realm of understanding, I'm terrified. Why? Because its during the day.

As you don't know me well enough, it's fair to say that its a simple chemical reaction to putting myself out there and taking a dip into that icy pool of dating again. But if I were to throw in the fact that most of my romantic liaisons occur when I'm a little braver - that is to say, when I've had a bit to drink and I'm far more courageous. Dutch courage, you might call it. Courage, the Dutch might call it.

I'm sure I'm not the only person to have ever been in this same situation. The things you want to say to that handsome stranger on the other side of the pub,the bold glances thrown their way, the not so subtle flick of the hair - it's all easier when you've had a drink or 10. Alcohol is a social lubricant by which the cogs of my social skills are heavily greased.

So this date is taking place late morning tomorrow. Luckily we live in a city in which there is always something to do, somewhere to go, people to see, music to listen to and BARS TO DRINK IN. But, fellow muser, where the hesitation lies is that will it be a suitable situation in which I can reach for the bottle, so to speak. Midday is the grudgingly accepted time in which social imbibement can begin, but do I want to look like I endorse this?

Our initial encounter occurred in such a situation where alcohol emboldened the both of us enough to skip the niceties of courtship. I imagine in that state I was fun, witty, daring and had something to offer in the avenue of enjoyment. Or am i wont to view my own reflection with beer goggles?

Either way, can I be that same girl that attracted him in the first place without the help of alcohol? The only way to find out is to go to this rendezvous with all the self confidence I can muster and simply enjoy the day with him. I certainly don't want to go there expecting to have a bad time, and I presume he would be of the same opinion.

Could he be experiencing the same kind of angst I am? Will he struggle for things to say in the glaring light of day? Will it be awkward, stilted conversation? Have I been out of the dating game for too long? Do I even remember what it is like to have the attention of another male who is single, clever, gorgeous and, from what I have fathomed so far, free of emotional baggage?

So many questions. I think I need a drink.

Good luck in life and love,

Honey xx

Plotting away...

Hello again.

So this blog I thought would be about me and some of the things I plan to do - the mischief I plan to cause, mixed in with the achievements I hope to be able to list. As you will soon learn, my constant dithering between the angel and devil on my shoulder is one of my defining traits.

I'm also very open to suggestions about what new experiences I could have, should you have any ideas. Anything within reason, however the more I imbibe alcoholically, the broader my horizons will stretch. In fact they may broaden so much I end up horizontal. I speak from experience.

Since at this stage I wanted the Honey Pot tales to focus on matters of the heart (and the libido) my initial ideas were ones of internet dating, speed dating, possibly even same sex dating. I will, however, avoid married or attached partners. I mean, there are plenty of fish in the sea - is there really any point in going after a tin of tuna?

Allow me at this point to give you a brief synopsis of myself. Perhaps one day, I will be brave enough to post a photo, but for now my timidity shall reign and you must be content with a description.

I am a female in my late 20's who has not yet fallen prey to the monsters of mortgages and rolling over super. I live to love. I love to live. I have more shoes in my wardrobe than weeks in a year. I wear less of those shoes than days in a week. I love them all the same. I swear and drink like a sailor. I graze all day on small meals - this way i don't have to choose chicken or beef? I just have them both. I only eat green frogs and it annoys me when I buy a mixed bag of lollies to see both red and green in there. I dance to the beat of other peoples drums but that is only because I adore music and am always listening to something or other. I hear they have changed the formula for Milo, and this makes me extremely sad. I dance like no one is watching but am secretly thrilled when someone is. I have secret aspirations to be a Pussy Cat Doll. I do realise it will take a little more than strutting in time to a beat, lookinhg sultry and flicking an impossibly long ponytail. I wear false eyelashes as a shield of power and confidence. I wear outfits that boost me up and strap me in. I think the best way to combat low self esteem is to pretend you have too much of it. I have long black hair and dark brown eyes. I secretly love that my friends envy my skin colour but I would never let them know that. I count my fingernails as one of my positives. I love sex. I love Oreos. I would fuck for Oreos. I have an asian background which dictates I should be meek and somewhat submissive but I'm happy to smash that concept the fuck outta here. I have been seen to run through a crowded pub shouting "two dorrah, two dorrah". I was once told I was the most beautiful girl in the world, by somebody I had no reason not to believe, and I hold that away for those days where my eyes are reluctant to meet my reflection in the mirror. I have also been told that while I am a cup of tea, I'm not everybody's cup of tea. I wasn't too sure how to take that. I will always prefer the book to the movie. I get really lonely sometimes, but there is never anyone to tell. I can be very gullible. I am taking it one day at a time. I will fall in love again, one day.

Good luck in life and love,

Honey xx

A word of warning.

A new year traditionally dictates a new start, a leaf begging to be turned over. By past experience I begin the year with grand resolutions, only to falter within the first month, unable to keep the momentum going.



Be honest. How many times have you tried to give up smoking?



So this year I decided to mix it up a little. Instead of doing one huge thing all year, I would try little things through the year. As luck would have it, the year is naturally divided into 12 components, so thus the number of challenges was established. I loathe to call them challenges actually, perhaps these shall be put more positively as GOALS. And as with goals celebrated on the football field, they shall be celebrated by ripping shirts off and guzzling champagne.



This is my first goal. To establish a blog and keep up with it regularly. Even though it terrifies me to have so much out there for all to see. Open to scrutiny and criticism and, I hope, encouragement and ideas. I aim to be completely honest in my adventures of the upcoming months. I hope you enjoy my adventures as much as I hope to enjoy having them.



Good luck in life and love xx



Honey

Building the mystery.

The connection has been made. Introductions have passed and I've made enough of an impression to warrant a second glance, a fleeting thought. So here we are.

Its lovely to see you back, wanting to read a little more. I'll try to make it interesting for you - would you like to know how?



Inevitably this idea stemmed from a New Years resolution. In those final boozy moments of the year when the smell of fireworks had not yet permeated the air, I ruminated over the mistakes and speed humps of 2009. I realised the one thing keeping me back from happiness was my stubborn refusal to let go of my ex, or rather the thought of him. I decided that enough was enough and that the only ex in 2010 would be a triple xxx factor.



So as the roman candles and palms exploded around me, amidst the cheers and whistles from my overly inebriated chums, I allowed one moment to say farewell to him. That smile. Those hugs. That knee trembling kiss. The sex. The make up sex. The fights that led to make up sex. The fights. The breakup. The make up. The break up. The pain of learning he has someone new.



History repeats itself because we werent listening in the first place.



So this is a documentation of my move from heartbreak to happiness, from down in the dumps to dizzy with delerium, from listlessness to lust, from sleeplessness to smiles. Im flattered you have read this far - there is so much more of a tale to unfold. And so you find yourself at The Honey Pot Tales.

Good luck in life and love,

Honey xx

Ooh Honey Honey

Hullo.



This is quite odd, isn't it? You don't know me. I have no clue who you are. Yet here we sit, almost face to face in a way, and I'm going to let you in on some of the deepest darkest secrets I hold.

It won't all be doom and gloom though, who wants to read that? I just have to turn on the news for that now. No, thank you, I shall aim to keep my life light and fluffy - just like a honeycomb.



Aah, now we come to the name of the blog. The Honey Pot Tales. Are you curious at all to know why this is called what it is? Surely you must be. I would. And since technically, Im writing for no one else but me at the moment, Im going to satisfy my own curiousity. I love a good resolution.



Honey, as a condiment is rather strange. Its produced almost entirely by nature, and more impressively, the humble bee. Determined. hard working, single minded, fashionably concious yet apt to follow a trend- and they always are inevitably are drawn back to that one woman in their life - The Queen Bee. Who doesnt love that kind of devotion?



Honey is sweet. Honey is a luscious colour with different shades determining how sweet it is, how thick it is. Honey used to be hard to handle until those ingenious twist top squeeze bottles came out. But the one trait I admire most about honey is that no matter how careful you are, how delicately you wind the spoon, how gingerly you twist that spout....you will always get honey somewhere. On your hands, in your hair, dabbed on the chin - it is inevitable. What a wonderful trait to have.



My name is Honey, and welcome to my blog.

Good luck in life and love

Honey xx