Cliché scene (feel free to reverse roles):
Man: 'I am really sorry, but this isn't working for me'
Woman: 'What do you mean?'
Man: 'You are great, but I can't see this relationship going any further'
Woman: 'Are you dumping me??'
Man: 'No, I mean, yes.. Sorry, didn't want to hurt you.. I do care a lot about you. Please, let's stay friends'
Woman: 'F@#* off'
The question is obvious: can you stay friends with an ex?
Yes, yes, I hear ya, you are in best terms with several of your exes. You are great at maintaining relationships, and regularly in touch for laughs and fun..
Give me a break. This can't be true for all of them, surely.
Whether you can go from mating to mates depends on several factors.
First, the actual relationship. Were you friends before dating? Were you friends in addition to being in love? In both cases, chances are something is recoupable. On the other hand, was the sexual chemistry so tangible you carried an X-rating on your forehead? Were you a bundle of fire together? Was drama on the menu every other day? Then once apart, staying apart may be the best solution.
Second, the break-up. Anything ugly, especially if it involves third parties, is unlikely to bestow a chummy buddy. Broken china and the odd bone are a lot more likely.
Third, children. You have to be civil to each other. To say the least. No choice.
Fourth, and probably most importantly, time. It may look impossible in the aftermath, but years later you may find the most unexpected exes-turned-into-friends by your side. Sharing thoughts, experiences, stories with someone who knows you well, can be very insightful. Someone from a distant place in your past, who understands what you mean and where you coming from. Someone safe, you can speak to freely, without fear of misinterpretation. Someone you actually like and can make you laugh. Who can quote you back, from forgotten memories, who can predict your choices and cut through the superficial crap. Even if they haven't spoken to you for over a decade.
It is not all that rosy, though. There can be perils to be aware of. Specifically, the flame must be truly and utterly dead. For both parties. No hang-ups and no secret hopes.
And, of course, the good old dilemma: can a man and a woman be just friends? But that's another story.
Friday, 29 July 2011
Friday, 22 July 2011
The last taboo
What I am talking about is.. roundness, podginess, chubbiness.. take your pick. Basically, the social unacceptability of talking about one's weight. Especially women's.
The Man once made the horrid mistake of dismissing a very cool cape I was trying on because 'it made me look chunky'. You can imagine the icy silence that followed, the quick gathering of my possessions and the storming out of the shop. Thing is, he was right. I looked totally crap. And huge. But hearing it spelt out seriously dented my already shaky confidence. Which is why few things are as offensive as the 'f' word. 'She looks fat these days.' 'How could he possibly run off with her?? She is fatter than me!!' 'OMG, I am so fat I am in this photo, destroy it now!!' And so on. You know the drill. You have heard it all before. Or said it yourself.
Body weight fixations can impinge on relationships. Tear explosions in the middle of an earthy dinner, hysteria while getting dressed for a big occasion, love-making strictly in the dark.. I remember a friend swearing like a trooper at her image in the mirror on her wedding day, refusing to get married if we didn't find a solution for her (non-existing) protruding stomach. Watching someone you love torturing themselves and hiding away is painful. And frustrating. As confidence needs to be built from within, not from how others see us.
And BTW, if ever buy lingerie for a woman, make sure you know the exact size: too big and the reaction will be 'you think I am fat!' Too small and 'OMG, I am sooo fat!' In both cases, nobody is going to get laid..
At this point, the chubiness counter-terrorism would state that in reality men prefer rounder ladies. This is probably an unfair generalisation. Some like thin, some like round. Chances are, we only end up going out with the people who fancy our particular body type, as a pre-screening is automatically performed the moment gazes cross. That would be him staring at her tits and her staring at his butt.
I personally like a man with a bit of a belly. A spare tyre around to middle to squeeze when hugged. Something to hold on to, to make me feel grounded and real.
This is all good in theory, but with the summer holidays looming, how will we survive the beach walk of shame? Chances are, I will look like a whoopie pie.. Am I proud of it? Not really. Am I in tears about it? No, otherwise I would have done something to avoid it. And yet I wonder. Why should I strive to be a size 6 or 8 (aka 38 or 40)? Who decided I looked better in tiny clothes?
At the end of the day, I am me. I am healthy, I am happy, and I am round. Shoot me.
Thursday, 14 July 2011
(Crimes and) Misdemeanors
Forgive me, sister, for I have sinned..
Being raised catholic comes with a base-line luggage of guilt. No matter what you do, you are most certainly doing something wrong. Feel bad about it? So you should. And hold tight, as punishment is most certainly on its way.
Indeed, the other day mine was around the corner. Literally.
It all started out very innocently. In a moment of solidarity, I shared my food with a fellow human being. Someone I know, not a random bloke off the street. Nothing wrong. Except, as he smiled thanking me, I couldn't help but notice how cute he was. 'Very cute', I kept thinking as I walked down the road. 'Really cute', as I directed my feet straight into a junction. A massive junction. With a big red traffic light. That I missed, thinking about the cute guy. So, to avoid being reduced to a pulp by shooting cars, I had to invert my course, and go round and round the crossing. Stuck at repeatedly insistent red lights. In the rain. Heavy rain. Trousers wet, up to my knees. Heels soaked. Vintage Armani jacket ruined.
When I finally got to the underground, someone thought that activating the passenger alarm and keeping a whole train on a platform for 20 minutes was a hilarious thing to do. At that point, I figured out that I ought to snap out of my thoughts of cuteness in order to save the day. But it was too late, as I had already missed my rail connection. Which led to being late for a call. And pissing people off. And having to apologise for my actions.. There you go, cosmic justice being enforced.
Now, don't say I didn't warn you..
Being raised catholic comes with a base-line luggage of guilt. No matter what you do, you are most certainly doing something wrong. Feel bad about it? So you should. And hold tight, as punishment is most certainly on its way.
Indeed, the other day mine was around the corner. Literally.
It all started out very innocently. In a moment of solidarity, I shared my food with a fellow human being. Someone I know, not a random bloke off the street. Nothing wrong. Except, as he smiled thanking me, I couldn't help but notice how cute he was. 'Very cute', I kept thinking as I walked down the road. 'Really cute', as I directed my feet straight into a junction. A massive junction. With a big red traffic light. That I missed, thinking about the cute guy. So, to avoid being reduced to a pulp by shooting cars, I had to invert my course, and go round and round the crossing. Stuck at repeatedly insistent red lights. In the rain. Heavy rain. Trousers wet, up to my knees. Heels soaked. Vintage Armani jacket ruined.
When I finally got to the underground, someone thought that activating the passenger alarm and keeping a whole train on a platform for 20 minutes was a hilarious thing to do. At that point, I figured out that I ought to snap out of my thoughts of cuteness in order to save the day. But it was too late, as I had already missed my rail connection. Which led to being late for a call. And pissing people off. And having to apologise for my actions.. There you go, cosmic justice being enforced.
Now, don't say I didn't warn you..
Wednesday, 6 July 2011
Tuesday, 5 July 2011
Universal truths: Hugh Jackman, insecurities and wrong bras
I am always wary of gender stereotypes. Especially in this testosterone-fuelled, role-mixing, metrosexual society. We face a gianormous variety of daily challenges, and often need to adapt our personas accordingly. Either alone or with a partner, we have to take on whatever tasks life throws at us, even if they don't necessarily fit under our genetic 'job description'.
However, in the past days, having had the chance to spend quality time with some of my favourite ladies, I was reassured by some comforting commonalities of likes and dislikes.
Here's a digest.
1. Hugh Jackman. He is hot. Super hot. Massively hot. We sat (some of us for the second time) through that pile of rubbish that is Wolverine-X Men Origins just to see him in varying levels of nudity.
2. Comics and graphic novels. We read them. We love them. We are geeks.
3. Shoes. Enough said.
4. Running away. From something or someone. Good or bad. Usually good. Just in case it ends up working out.
5. Wrong bras. As the bra police (aka Single Friend #2) noted yet again, we are constantly in denial of our true boobage.
6. Too much wine. Why is it that mornings after never start with 'oh, what a shame, I wish I had a little more booze last night'?
7. The octopus syndrome (aka calendar overkill). Trying to do too much all the time, and then feeling tired and grumpy because of the evolutionary disadvantage of having only two arms.
8. The a-hole. Who treats you like a scrunched doormat. Fallen for at least once in every woman's lifetime.
9. Insecurities. Too short, too tall, too smart, too silly, too blond, too clumsy, too strong, too assertive, too pushovery.. We are our own worst enemies. When will we learn to accept who we are?
10. Friends. We are fierce and independent, but there is nothing like a shared laughter to wipe worries away, or two minutes of uninterrupted ranting to let steam off.
And of course the truths about sex.. But that's another story.
However, in the past days, having had the chance to spend quality time with some of my favourite ladies, I was reassured by some comforting commonalities of likes and dislikes.
Here's a digest.
1. Hugh Jackman. He is hot. Super hot. Massively hot. We sat (some of us for the second time) through that pile of rubbish that is Wolverine-X Men Origins just to see him in varying levels of nudity.
2. Comics and graphic novels. We read them. We love them. We are geeks.
3. Shoes. Enough said.
4. Running away. From something or someone. Good or bad. Usually good. Just in case it ends up working out.
5. Wrong bras. As the bra police (aka Single Friend #2) noted yet again, we are constantly in denial of our true boobage.
6. Too much wine. Why is it that mornings after never start with 'oh, what a shame, I wish I had a little more booze last night'?
7. The octopus syndrome (aka calendar overkill). Trying to do too much all the time, and then feeling tired and grumpy because of the evolutionary disadvantage of having only two arms.
8. The a-hole. Who treats you like a scrunched doormat. Fallen for at least once in every woman's lifetime.
9. Insecurities. Too short, too tall, too smart, too silly, too blond, too clumsy, too strong, too assertive, too pushovery.. We are our own worst enemies. When will we learn to accept who we are?
10. Friends. We are fierce and independent, but there is nothing like a shared laughter to wipe worries away, or two minutes of uninterrupted ranting to let steam off.
And of course the truths about sex.. But that's another story.
Friday, 1 July 2011
Of Paris, friends and French men - an old post I forgot to upload
A rapid summary.
Smart Friend and I got propositioned twice in the space of 10 minutes. The second time with some very explicit hand gestures. (Because, yes, let's face it, one is very likely to give head to a random bloke walking down Saint Germain de Pres!)
There is life outside London. And pretty cool restaurants too. (Of course, I had to duck under the skirt of the giant sculpture in the middle of the room, just because it was there and looked like a fun thing to do.. And because, as MF#2 noticed after one of my clumsy stunts, some things never change)
In Paris it is not enough to express a simple preference for either still or sparkling water. Oh no. You need to be precise and specify the exact amount of bubble. Smart Friend and I felt like two country bumpkins. Maybe distracted by the cute young waiter, who, according to MF#2, was also waaay too smiley in our direction. (As if..)
The last weeks may have been tough for me, but the care and attention my family and friends gave me are unbeatable. So, I am smiling too. (Not to French men, though. Too dangerous)
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