Hello!
Happy Thursday! This weather is making me forget all of my troubles (my troubles being that I can’t find anyone to date and I’m self-diagnosed anaemic). I write today’s post from my sunny living room. I’m between jobs right now and am waiting for some final checks to come back before starting. It’s laborious and I’m skint – hopefully by next week I will be knee deep in my new role!
Whilst I am very happy the sun is shining and I’m starting a fun, new job soon, I love reminiscing over last summer. Without further ado, let’s travel back to date #3 with Handsome Texan (HT), shall we?
At the time of dating HT I was doing quite well with my fitness. I had started training for a half marathon for the 20th time and, for the first time, wasn’t showing signs of giving up. At this point, I had entered five half marathons and pulled out every single time for various reasons, but the main one being – I had no integrity. I could convince myself a thousand times over that I “preferred running shorter distances” or that I “get shin splints” (I have never had shin splints, and I’m sorry if I told you I had in the past), but the crux of the matter was – I gave up when it became too tricky.
So imagine my delight, dear reader, when I made myself a promise to treat myself to a Garmin watch when I had completed an 8 mile run and actually did it! I drove to Best Buy on Pico Blvd and picked out the cheapest Garmin and spent a quarter on my week’s salary in order to gain slightly better statistics on my below average runs.
(The running is key to the HT story. I’m not just bragging, although I suppose I am slightly bragging.)
It had been a week since HT and I had met as he had travelled home to his family ranch (excuse me????) in Austin, and I was busy being Nanny Mcphee to Angel Girl Kelly (baby). There were too many vegetables that needed pureeing, too many baby signs to learn before I could see him again. We had texted back and forth a bit but, despite my desperation to find someone who wants to date me and my chronic phone addiction, I’m a rubbish texter. The chat was pretty mundane from both ends and I was looking forward to seeing him in real life to remember his handsome face and southern charm. When plans were being made for our next date I mentioned I had a ten mile run (YES, TEN MILES) to do the next morning so something non-booze related ending with an early night would be preferential. He politely agreed and suggested a bike ride down to Hermosa Beach with a picnic. Yes! Dreamy! Finally! It’s happening! A man with similar interests to me who listens, is respectful, and fit to boot! Not to mention a US native and can therefore get me a Green Card pretty easily (I would do anything to live in Venice for the rest of my life).
I went to bed that evening with a freshly shaved and exfoliated body, set my denim shorts and girly top out alongside a picnic shopping list to get from Whole Foods, giddy with excitement for the following morning. I just looked back at my diary of that evening and I really did sound like a hysterical teenager.
Until I woke up the next morning:
“Hey Laur, you need to get to the main house as soon as you’re up”
“Make sure you shut all the windows and doors, put some towels down by the seals too”
“I’ve moved the cars to higher ground across the street”
“Make sure you put all the plugs in the sink and bath, the cockroaches will come up otherwise”
Ah! Of course! A 5.1 level earthquake followed by unprecedented flash floods across Los Angeles! It was a pretty manic morning. Roads were shut, our phones were going off with emergency government notifications every hour, everything was flooding. Shops and restaurants were shut, and people had been sent home from work for ‘safety’. I’m not one for patriotism but the whole fiasco made me quite proud of the British drainage system.
HT text to ask if we were still on for a date. I was equally confused at his lack of awareness of the situation and impressed at his ‘keep calm and carry on’ attitude. I agreed, despite the protestations of Enok and Bonnie, who were completely dumbfounded that there would be anything for us to do for date #3. He hadn’t invited me over, and I certainly wasn’t going to invite him to my flooding granny’s annex with a single bed at the bottom of my friend/employer’s garden.
HT picked me up outside my front door, head to toe in waterproofs and a big grin. I had never been so attracted to a man so fully clothed. He suggested we walk until we find somewhere open for a drink. I gently reminded him I wasn’t drinking and he shooed it away. We walked for about half a mile before reaching Jameson’s Pub, an Irish bar on Main St in Santa Monica. Jameson’s is known for being a local dive that you go at the end of the night. I didn’t even know it opened during the day. My friend and I spent a few hours there once and ended the night snogging a pair of travellers in Baseball shirts after convincing them I was Irish for roughly four hours. PSA – Four hours is a long time to keep up a shite Irish accent. What I’m trying to get at is, this isn’t a place you go on a sober date.
Reader, I’m going to stop the story there. I don’t want this blog to become a one-sided version of why all of my dates didn’t go any further, as these men deserve a right to reply. So what I will say is, it ended with said Irish bar, one giant pretzel, ten pints of beer and two diet cokes. To give the story away a little bit more, I still managed to go for my 10 miler the next day, with a completely clear head.
So long, Cowboy.
I’ll tell you what – this one hurt a lot for some reason. Still can’t put my finger on it, but it did leave a big sting that took a while before I could go on another date. I went home to Enok, Bonnie and Angel Girl Kelly and moped about being single, 30 and childless.
“Will it ever be my turn?” I asked repetitively.
“Of course it will be, the right guy is just around the corner!” They echoed.
Of course, they don’t know that for certain. I’m 31 now and very much still single. It’s pretty scary, not knowing if having a family will ever happen for me. Earlier this year I found out one of my ovaries has completely stopped working, and the other is on its way there too. I am trying to date, but I’m so bloody scared of it going wrong again. It’s tricky to keep putting yourself out there, especially when it just seems to ‘work’ for everyone around me. And what happens if I were to find a good guy, who knows if I’ll ever be able to conceive? These are thoughts that are consistently weaving in and out of my head.
Christ, that wasn’t a very funny post was it? Thanks for enduring the whine! Will be sure to regain some perspective after 10 minutes in the sunshine later.
A very quick Happy Birthday to one of my top three best friends, Charlie. She is my rock, and gave me the confidence to start this blog again, so if you’re one of the few people who are still enjoying HMIC, you have her to thank! Haaaapppy Biiiirrrthhhdaaayyy to youuuu. You are the tiniest foghorn with the biggest heart who makes me lol the loudest. Love ya x
See you next Thursday! x