something you did

Hark the tedious victim cry of womanhood.

Was it me? Was it something I did?…

I wonder if it’s a female thing this propensity to apportion blame on oneself for a relationship disaster.  I can’t recall many of my male friends blaming themselves for their love affairs going tits up… whether it is or isn’t gender specific, it’s a meaningless moan.

There’s nothing pretty about self-pity; wallow all you like but it will only make you ugly and age rapidly. This is a scientifically proven… er…. fact….

‘If only I’d….’

When I hear a friend bemoan their man-less state with such self-blaming tactics, I am forced to agree. Woman, just take look at yourself, desperation is seeping out of every pore… you are sweating neediness.  Ooohhh yuck! Ask yourself this; if you were a man, would you go out with you?

You may think I being needlessly harsh but no one likes a loser, especially a self-confessed loser, it’s elemental my dear.  Blaming oneself for each disastrous romantic scenario is a total waste of energy.

No one is lucky in love 24-seven, so finding yourself in an unwelcome state of single-dom may just be a run of bad luck. You know… one of those periods when it continuously rains on your parade; when it seems as if you are invisible to one and all; when getting a drink at the bar turns into an ordeal and the barman serves everyone but you. When strangers bump you in the street and goddamn it every seat on the f-ing tube is taken, or the worse case scenario ever….   LIKE EVER…

You are at a gig in the late 80’s, watching as it happened The Waterboys.  This was when you still lived at home. You bought the tickets months back and have learnt the lyrics, cause the WB’s are like your favourite band, period! You have dreamt about falling in love (and more….) with every band member and finally, the day of the gig has arrived.

Your dad drops you into town. You and your best friend are all shrill and squeaky with innocent excitement… and push your way through the crowd, up to the front row and the band come on and you are jumping up and down… and then you notice the bass player is looking at you.

Yes, directly at you.

Your cheeks redden, you are smiling up at him thinking, ‘Finally, finally, my luck is changing.’ Cause the truth is, you haven’t ever had a boyfriend… and this man is gorgeous… so you smile back at him and he smiles back at you and….

Wait until everyone at school hears about this. They are going to be so jealous! This is what you think … I mean, Jesus F-ing Christ girl, you are having a Courtney Cox/Bruce Springsteen moment!

By the end of the gig, you have (in your mind), already moved in with him.  The band take their encore, he nods at you, smiling all the while and suddenly you are bashful- and then you see him whisper something to the bouncer and point to you – your heart is pushing through your skin cartoon styleeee and then….

Then you notice the bouncer coming straight toward you.  Oh yes, he is coming straight toward you… and you elbow your friend in the ribs, and…

Reality dawns.

The bouncer ignores you…. and goes… wait for it… for the blonde-haired dolly bird standing directly behind you.

Goddamn, it sister!

If only I’d not worn my braces. If only I’d plucked the centre out of my monobrow. If only I’d lost all that puppy fat! If only I was the blonde-haired slut!

Yeah right!

As if!


Look, it happened a long time ago and I’m over it, but my point is we have all been there.

Alternatively, your run of bad luck in finding love could be due to your adept talent for attracting bastards. Hey… and the best thing about this is, it’s not even a conscious desire, so it really isn’t your fault – it’s subconscious, borne of a self-loathing that only years of hardcore therapy can rectify.

Anyway, whether a) or b) thinking like a loser won’t get you anywhere and certainly not near a person.

So… enough already with the self-pity and moaning.