Honestly is Honesty the only policy?

There seems to have been a recent theme to my life, like a colourful odour effervescing under the surface.  What with the constant updates in the great phone hacking scandal in the UK and the passionate carbon tax debate here is Australia it seems that this theme is resonating around the world.  A boil on the collective conscious.

What is it? Honesty.  Everybody wants it, no one seems to be able to give it and even when you are honest, people don’t believe you anyhow.   Obviously I’ve met it on the internet dating malarkey, it’s the most common trait girls want; well at least think they want which is a completely different thing. 

Aside: malarkey is such a great word, it should have its own show, maybe a offbeat comedy/police procedural called “Codswallop and Malarkey”, staring Bill Bailey as DCI James. T. Malarkey and that girl off the latest transformer movie as DI Brie “Huckleberry” Codswallop.  Only she would be mute, able to communicate only in the form of mime, sign language and Pictionary.  Why, oh why, did they let her speak? Seriously, the set was out acting her. I kept hoping that a Decepticon would tear out her throat and for the rest of the film she would have to speak though a transformer voice box, only accidentally stuck on the Darth Vader setting...  man I need to get a life.

So, what was I talking about?  Oh yes, honesty.  Strange thing about it, especially in relationships, is that honesty is often the one thing people don’t want.  Not complete honesty, not initially anyway.  I often wonder what would happen if I actually said what I was thinking, give a straight, honest answer to every question posed.  Actually I know what would happen; several times I’ve lost my copy of the social contract in the mess I euphemistically call a filing system. What you get is tumble weed and shocked faces. What you get is everyone staring at you with the “you’re the most evil person in the room” look.  Man I hate that look.

So I have learnt, you can’t tell people the real reasons you don’t want to go on another date, you can’t be honest.  You can’t tell the girl with the moustache that the tickling feeling just doesn’t do it, or the larger girl that hands not meeting when you hug is a real issue, or let slip that the reason you are gagging is the whiff of BO, or the reason you are late is because your last date was more attractive (ok the last one I made up).  And nothing freaks someone out as much as talking about your varied, sexual medical problems at length and in detail when you first meet (this actually happened).  It takes a long time to build up the trust in a relationship to be truly honest.

So, maybe, what girls really mean when they write “just want to meet a genuine guy who is honest” is something closer to “I want a guy who tells me the truth about everything except the following: what I look like first thing in the morning, what I look like at any time in fact, why you didn’t return my call, my body, my family, my pets, your emotions (at least in the first two years), baby names, anything to do with babies (unless we are married) , what you do on boys nights out, what you are thinking about after sex, what you think about during sex especially if it is how attractive my sister is, or how attractive my mum is, or how attractive any other girl is, especially ex-girlfriends, sex with ex-girlfriends, ex-girlfriends in general.... oh and what you think of my cooking.”  The truth is everyone wants everyone else to be honest but withholds the right not to be completely honest themselves, because no one wants to hurt someone’s feelings or be made to feel guilty or get the “most evil person in the room” look.

Maybe it is with maturity that you come to accept these half truths and white lies, to see honesty as what it really is, a precious commodity, a window into the soul that only a few people will have the privilege to own.  You have to earn my honesty, as I have to earn yours. 

Laters,

M

Changing Tack...

Ok, time has come to talk about something different, namely me. Enough of the self indulgent claptrap and over analysis of failed relationships.  Time to be positive, time to plan for what's next.

How do you know when you’ve got over someone?  Is it when you stop attempting to facebook stalk them, or when you stop actually stalking them?  Or when you stop the late night phone calls and rude letters, or stop leaving the begging gifts/cakes/stray puppies on their doorstep with various pathetic pleading messages? Me?  I think it was the sky writing that was the last straw... :) I joke I have never done any of these things, nor would I.  I respect people enough to accept any decision they make good or bad, it may take me a while to be comfortable with it perhaps but I am not going to beg.  It’s the arrogance in me.  After a while you just have to start looking for the many amazing people in the world, and there are loads.

I suppose the only time you know you are ready to move on is when you meet someone else who you are willing to take the chance to go through the whole relationship mill with again.  I’m ready ( i was actually ready a while back but I like to eke out as much humour and ranting material out of a situation as I can. :) my last girlfriend was, and still is, a fantastic girl and I hold no grudges).

Now I just need to decide what to do with the rest of my life.  Things I am good at include being a smart arse, making stuff up, knowing random facts, explaining physics concepts, being sarcastic and witty, being charming, looking good (on occasions), learning things and procrastinating.  Things I’m bad at include common sense, knowing what girls want, tact (on occasions) and making decisions.  Any ideas on a postcard please. 

Laters, M

Am I too nice?

This topic came up in conversation on Friday afternoon and has been running around my mind like a rabid ferret ever since.

I have spend nigh on 12 years now stumbling around blindly in the IKEA warehouse called dating in a vain attempt to hit the proverbial light switch, occasionally stumbling on something I actually want but usually bumping into things, falling over myself or, more recently, spinning in circles and landing face first on the concrete floor. I think I have a basic grasp of the general layout of the place, the aisles to avoid because they contain sharp objects and power tools, the reject pile where people have brought damaged goods back (which is a fantastic place to pick up a bargain but not where you would pick up something that is going to last) and the comforting bubble wrapped areas that feel good but nothing on the shelves is actually for sale.  Usually, as in the real IKEA, I am just plain lost.  This said I take any advice seriously; any opportunity to improve myself is taken with open arms.

Except when I don’t agree with it.  The advice most men will give other men is “treat them mean keep them keen”.  The internet is awash with hundreds of supposed manly Lothario’s offering variations of what is essentially the same advice.  On Friday I got berated by several guy friends who basically said my last girlfriend dumped me because I was too nice.  I agreed to go to the niece’s 1^st birthday, the friend’s birthday, the ball and, this was the main complaint, I sent her flowers without any reason (because she told me no boyfriend had ever bought her flowers).  The reason I did all those things was because I was enjoying myself, I did them to make me feel good and I enjoy making other people smile and laugh.  It’s who I am and I really like who I am.  Should I change that to get a girl?

The problem I have with this “be a bad boy, bastard” point of view is twofold. One is that it works, girls will say that’s rubbish but I've seen the evidence.  The number of girls that I've known that have got back together with bastard boyfriends drives me insane. A good friend of mine has never bought his wife flowers in 20 odd years of marriage.  I've even used it myself on occasions.  I hate the fact it works, I hate the fact girls seem to have been conditioned by society to accept this.  I hate the fact a lot of men pretend (and it is mostly pretending, game playing) to be bad to get girls.  Men would not do this if it didn't work. Girls work on emotion, that’s what drives them and nothing generate emotion like being a bad boy. Of course I may be wrong.

The second problem I have is that I have no intention of doing it myself.  I am very stubborn and, as with the last girlfriend, if they say they don’t want me I let them go.  I have a strict, no friends with exes policy, in fact a minimal contact policy (I have contacted my most recent ex only once in over a month).  Am I wrong to do this?  I have no idea.  On Friday one of the girls said to me that it was because the “no one has ever bought me flowers” line was a test, which I failed because I bought her flowers.  Another told me that girls never want what they say they want, so she never wanted flowers because she said she wanted flowers.  Can this be right?  Are they serious? I think they are, partially at least, but I am not interested in games and if the reason any girl has left me is because I am too nice, well then I don’t want to be with them. 

The thing I have learnt the most from the past six months is I know what I want, I’m just struggling to locate the right aisle and shelf number.  I want the aisle that likes flowers and is turned on by gentlemen rather than bad boys (so basically I’m looking for a girl who says she likes bad boys and being treated badly).   Now if the room would just stop spinning and someone would turn on the light I might find it.

M

And yes I do exaggerate, it’s my style, I love it here in Australia.  Please come a visit (I’ll be in the UK at Christmas, hope to see everyone then).

Silly Love Songs

I spent quite a few hours recently, being the insomniac that I am, thinking about life and silly love songs.

What is it about human interactions and relationships that makes no sense?  Maybe it's the fact I have an overtly Physicsy brain but sometimes I'm reduced to a quivering wreck by people's meandering reasoning and emotional absurdity.  What do you do when someone makes a decision, is completely confident it's the right decision, but, as far as you can see, it is based on version of logic that is so twisted their mind might as well  have dunked itself into a massive bowl of spaghetti.

But recently I've come to realize that human beings are illogical, by their very nature.  Once I nailed that fact into my cognition things got a little easier. Everyone has there own internal set of parameters that they base their decisions on, some they are aware of and other which they are not.  The intermingling and cross pollination of these various factors leads to a virtual maypole dance that may make perfect sense to you but to anyone else it seems like you are communicating through a straw whilst submerged in a bath of treacle.

Maybe that is why I accepted the illogicalness of my recent break up without the normal bought of  recriminations and stupidity. It must have made sense to her, and in the end that's all that matters.  I haven't the time or inclination to untangle the spaghetti strands to find out if there is a meaty core at the center or just a hole. People don't make sense, which is makes perfect sense when you think about it.  A illogical logic that can explain the unexplainable, such as why Justin Beiber exists, why the 2022 world cup will be played in a desert in Qatar, why Conan the Barbarian is getting remade and why I'm single.  Ok maybe not the last one perhaps but you get the point.

So people will naturally fill the world with silly love songs but as the great Paul McCartney once said; "what's wrong with that?" Without the vibrant colour of emotion, good and bad, the world would be a grey gloop of logic.  I think I can deal with the occasional blackened hues if if means I can experience the vivid kaleidescope of life.

Laters.... M

A side track in the New Mark Strategy (c)

Mmm...

Well I'm back again, after a brief sojourn into the world of online dating and ridiculous work load I am back to square one. For those that don't know I've been seeing a great Australian girl for the past 3 months and thought, with some justification, that things were going well. Until this week that is...

I knew something was wrong straight away, though it has amazed me how quickly it went from hot to cold, from being a plus one at a ball and going to her niece's first birthday party and meeting extended family to being dumped within 7 days (which included me sending her flowers - idiot that I am). So what happened? I have some ideas but I didn't want to delve into the gallows that is ended relationships. In my experience, whatever the reason, it is best left alone.

The official reason? Well something along the lines of our professional lifestyles being incompatible (a blatant made up excuse, who's professional lives are matched perfectly? Certainly not any parents I know), the physical distance (1 hour drive each way, I'll give her that one) and the statement that at some point in my future I will want to go back to England (not at all true, I'll go wherever for the right person). Still I was impressed with how I dealt with it, calm, understanding and a complete gentleman. I was comforting her, as strange as that seemed. Maybe I wasn't as attached as I thought.

The real reason? I have been through a few break ups now, both from dumped and dumper point of view and I am fascinated how easily it is to tell a lie in these situations and to believe the lie you tell yourself. Only one thing causes such a quick turn around, there is someone else, most probably an ex boyfriend and I was the rebound. I know she was meeting her ex socially, who treated her badly, because she told me. It is not a big stretch to the point where she saw him, he professes he should never have broken up and wants to get back together, causing conflicting emotions and thus getting rid of me so she doesn't feel too guilty when she goes back to him (why do girls always go back to men who treat them badly?). Of course I may be wrong.

So what have I learnt?

(a) I am in tune enough with girls feelings that I can sense when something is wrong, not that I know what to do about it or what the wrong thing is.

(b) I am capable of dealing with rejection because, let's face it, I'm awesome (well at least I know who I am and what I want, makes what other people say or do a lot less relevant to my happiness). It also helps that I like myself.

(c) Girls like me, just have to figure out how to stop the girl's I can see myself marrying from dumping me first.

(d) I am ready to settle down. This is a slight shock to me. Not immediately you understand but in the next few years.

(e) Did I mention I was awesome? I think I did. :)

Till next time,

M

31

Age, it is just a number after all but it doesn’t seem that way. It takes on a life of its own; an arbitrary statistic that hangs around like an unwelcome guest at a party, irritating not merely by its presence but by the fact it exists at all. It’s a party; things should be good, relaxed, happy. Anything that doesn’t fit with the ebb and flow of familiar conversation jars, butting into everyone’s subconscious, becoming part of the problem but so entwined with the whole fiasco that to remove it would mean ending everything. It’s the rubbish colleague at work whom everyone thinks should be fired but if they were, the conversation in the staff room would become stilted and boring. It’s the dry, disgusting cake that a random relative bakes that you know is going to be horrible but you eat it anyway because you know you have to and perhaps, one day, it will be better.

My number is 31. I’m lucky, I’ve managed to do most of what I set out to do by now but there are things missing, wife, kids, an Irish Setter called “Dog”. But I’m not ready; the number doesn’t fit my psyche. Sometimes it feels like I am wearing another man’s body, the number etched on my forehead like a crude practical joke. Why do we define it so? Why is it so important? I suppose it’s because we mark out our lives by events, birth and death the bookends, our experiences the books, with coloured markers to highlight the expected milestones; birthdays, education, first kiss, virginity, marriage, birth of the firstborn, grandkids, retirement... Mine has some interesting, funny and thought provoking books but most of the coloured markers sit stacked at the end, like lifetime confetti. A life yet to be lived.

But I struggle with this view; I struggle with the notion of what is expected of me, it is partly why I am where I am today and not in an office in London making numbers dance for faceless people. I want my life to be marked by the people I meet, by the lives I touch and by the things I do that make a difference. I want to be judged by who I am not what I have done, but that is difficult because what we do is part of who we are, what we have achieved is part of the plethora of bricks that builds our soul. I know the coloured markers will one day be placed amongst the many books I still have to write but I no longer fear that fate as I once did. Still the number sits astride the bookcase, smiling his fateful grin and waving his hand in mocking metronome, tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock ....

An aside: thank you for the many kind words and comfort I received from the last post but I can assure everyone I am happy with who I am and where I am. As one famous author once said, a writer is someone who writes and whilst I try to actually write something proper like, I will continue to write this blog. Still it is good to know there are so many people who care about me, that is both touching and warming and I thank you again.

A funny old Christmas

I have insomnia again, which is why I am writing this at 1:50am instead of sleeping. I get it a lot, not persistent; it’s not a problem, mainly because I know exactly why I can’t sleep. The more I think the less I sleep, and sometimes I think a lot.

This Christmas has been a strange one, don’t get me wrong I had a good day, a lie in, a picnic in the park, drank too much, ate too much, had a few laughs and wore a stupid paper hat, but it wasn’t the same. I’m in Melbourne and things were just a little wrong, things that you have been brought up to expect suddenly aren’t there, it gives the whole proceedings a detached air, almost like an outer body experience. I mean people were wearing shorts; we were having a picnic, on Christmas Day, a picnic! There was no family, no traditions, the things that annoyed me about this time of year are suddenly the things I miss the most. Like the way my Mum always buys a strange selection of beers and spirits when for years I’ve only drunk wine and the way I have the same conversation with my Nan about three times. They say everyone has at least one Christmas or Birthday when you are on your own and, even though I wasn’t technically alone, this has felt like mine. At least I have the Boxing Day test to look forward to and some great friends in Melbourne to make me smile.

My dry spell...

I have been following a friend of mine’s blog, which is very good and I recommend it (life and talisha). If you click on the link you will notice she is very beautiful (she is also a great person, annoyingly) and it is good to get her view on the world because, despite what people claim, being attractive has huge advantages (it also has disadvantages I admit). Now I know some people are going to rant and rave about me saying this, and many will disagree but these are my experiences, from the perspective of someone who is average looking.

I’m in a bar/ club, I get bored and fancy talking to someone, I approach and before I open my mouth I get the “absolutely no way” look, I get this a lot. Girls are expert at this look, brilliant in fact. The only way to negate this seems to be either to be out with other attractive girls or to have a good looking friend. Once I’m actually talking I have half a chance. I am average looking so I have to employ other avenues, witty banter is normally my in but sometimes sarcasm and irony can back fire, badly. That said I went through a period of having success internet dating because girls got to know me before they actually, you know, saw me. Not that I am ugly but I am also not hot. I’d say about a 6 (feel free to comment, as I said before I don’t really mind what people think).

I used to think I was quite good at flirting and making people feel good about themselves but recently this has backfired too. Apparently you should only make the girl you are interested in feel this way. But what if you don’t know who you are interested in, which in my case is true initially because my major turn on is intelligence so I have to actually talk to them first, or, as it was in this particular case, if you aren’t interested in any of them and just enjoy flirting? Even so I get further than most because I’m confident but, either consciously or subconsciously, attractive people are given more lifelines, they are allowed more mistakes. The thing that most girls I approach don’t realise is that I am genuinely just looking for someone interesting to talk to; I am so stupidly picky that it is unlikely I will continue to find her attractive once we start talking. You can tell when I am really interested in someone when I don’t talk and just stare, like a creepy zombie. Inside my head is a conversation going something like this:

“she’s pretty and intelligent, I am enjoying talking to her, just relax, she’s smiling, she not running away, it’s all good. I know, find out if she’s single, no don’t that’s too forward, too obvious, relax, just chat, she’s only human. Talk, just talk, no, don’t, don’t clam up, stop it. Relax you idiot, don’t fuck this up, shit you’re fucking this up, what are you doing? You idiot, say something! Anything, no, not that, that’s lame and a little creepy, stop staring. Just. Stop. Staring. That’s it, it’s over, she thinks you’re a moron, and there you go, she’s gone, she’s left and you haven’t even got her number, typical...”

Still I am interested in people and in human behaviour so I find the whole process amusing. This used to make me angry but I’ve grown up, it is pointless raging at your genes when there is absolutely nothing you can do about it, and I like other aspects of being me. I know that my recent slump is also because I am overweight and don’t currently have the motivation to change this. Thing is if I get fit, slim and looking reasonable then I might have to address the real reasons I am having no luck, either my personality sucks, I really am that ugly or I just don’t want a girlfriend. These are harder questions to face because they tunnel to the core of who I am rather than just what I look like.

This may contain things that some people find offensive...

One of the brilliant things about Australian's is how friendly they are, and laid back. They are really easy to talk to but this had lead to the unleashing of an annoying habit I have of offending people without meaning to, partly because I don't explain myself clearly sometimes and partly because I am an arrogant something or other. (see last post for classic example).

Other examples have included my comments on Australia and why it is different from the UK. I have dropped such stupid comments as "Australian men are misogynistic" to "why are you so afraid of lesbians, exactly?". Not very proud of these moments, caused by my mouth engaging several hours before my brain has had a chance to calculate all possible outcomes and offended people. I have tried changing this only to get comments like "you're very quite today Mark?" and "what's wrong? don't you have an opinion?". So now I just go with the flow and know I risk causing offence. Still at least people can laugh at me.

I know I will offend and for that I am sorry, but I am starting to realise that I have to write, I have to let these ideas and thoughts out so I am going to continue to offend. If that is a problem then please read something else.

On a separate note, loving the fact the Ashes is on terrestrial TV, not loving the fact the English have rediscovered their batting collapse form.

I am beautiful

What is beauty? Do you ever stand around naked thinking, maybe I need a new body? An upgrade, maybe something a slightly different shade and shape?

If you are like me you do, occasionally wondering what is beauty? Who decides that I am not the perfect specimen and that Brad Pitt is? I partly think my resistance to going to the gym and changing my body style is the resistance to this culture prescription of what a guy should look like. That and the strands of laziness that have woven themselves into my being over the past, well, forever.

Denis Dutton has an interesting view on beauty (see video), linking it to evolution and putting beauty at the very core of human nature. I am not sure I completely agree with him but I like the pictures and it has made me think at least.

As a person who's self worth has nothing to do with what he looks like and everything to do with what is inside the strive for perfection bemuses me. I just don't understand the whole urge to make yourself different to who you are, especially superficially. Plastic surgery does not change your age and make-up does not stop you from being a bitch. It may fool a few drunk people for a couple of hours but what about the morning after?

Since moving to the Gold Coast the question of beauty has stirred it's ugly head a few times. You cannot have a society based around the beach without the question of body image rising to the surface. After all it seems most Gold Coastians spend their entire life in as little clothing as possible (not that I am complaining most of the time). Maybe that is why the word I most commonly hear to describe the Gold Coast is "fake". If you try and project an image that isn't true then, when people see through the mask, they loose respect, take back the most valuable of human gifts, trust.

Perhaps that is what true beauty is, the confidence to be who you are meant to be whatever people may think of you. Well, it is the lesson I am taking and one of the core pillars of my new paradigm, the New Mark Strategy (NMS).

“Everything has its beauty, but not everyone sees it” Confucius.

End. M