30

So what happens next then? What is the next decade going to bring me, and where am I going to allow myself to be taken?
30 is the new 20.

Apparently.

I'm looking forward to it, surely it's got to be sweeter than my 20's? The 20's were all about excess. Excess drinking. Excess smoking. Excess baggage. And excess heartbreak.
No thanks.

I've had enough of that. I want to turn a new leaf. I want to drink responsibly, but granted...I probably won't. I've given up on that occassional social cigarette - that was my stipulation when I started to train for the 10k. Safeguarding my lungs seems somewhat more important than that little drag every now and then.

And all that baggage?

No thanks, that I shall leave at the curb. I don't want to bring that into my new decade and I sure as well do not want to accumulate any more.

Ditto on the heartbreak.

I'm still convinced that 2005 will be the year of love, and although the greatness of 30 does not from cynicism break, I still believe whole heartedly that my own great love affair is just around the corner.

And I think that there's where the journey will start to get very exciting.

Temporary Insanity

Temporary insanity is the only thing I can imagine to have acted this way. I am a tit. Offically.

Someone had taken my logic and replaced it with this neurotic insecure lunatic who for some reason was looking back at me. And all about a Boy. The WelshOne. Who for the first time in ages gave me butterflies, and who made me realise that there are lovely men out there...

I called the WelshOne Saturday afternoon and left him a message. Now, answer phone messages are always hard to call because you want to be sexy and funny. But it's just a message.
And you're just a voice.
And how can you conjure up the sex appeal?
So instead, I panic. And babble something so randomly bland like "Hi, it's me... uh, LadyMissM (although I use my real name obviously). Give me a call when you get this...
Fine, there's nothing wrong with that... I think.

No call.

No text.

Hmmmm.... speak to Knickers about it, she says call him back Sunday, he may have no signal as was supposed to be climbing/with his mate/ his phone may be dead as it went straight to answer phone/ he could be on a tube/ my phone/ his phone could be playing up/ football's on... see my frantic and desperate grasps here?!
Especially as am already freaking that I have spent the night at his house (although did not get up to anything I shouldn't) and have been out of the dating loop for a while, and still coming to terms with liking someone and being totally unsure of where I stand.

I love this feeling.

So Sunday am. Phone rings, t'is the WelshOne.
We chat. And make a date to go for dinner tomorrow night. Fabulous.
I have made it to the 3rd date, this is a personal best.
So in my excitement and comfortable glow, I ask him to accompany me to an engagement party for one of my best friends the following Saturday night.

Oooh, not boding well. He seems a bit taken aback.... Is it too soon to ask him to a party? Can he read my mind and see that I'm a neurotic freak? So I ramble and witter on about how cool MsD and her fiance are, and how much fun it will be... and if it's not too weird, it would be great if he could come....
Ah hell.
But I recover, he says he'd love to. Plans are confirmed, Smith's tomorrow night.

Frantic text to best friend, Knickers.

"He just rang, we're going for dinner tomorrow night. Didn't get message until 1am. I feel better now."

*Send*

Shit.
Ooooh!
Shit
Shit
Shiiiiiiiit...

In another display of complete stupidity and not paying attention... I do not send the text to Knickers. I scroll past her name to the WelshOne.

*Send*

Cold fear of dread.
Oh god oh god oh god... while on phone to Knickers in vain hope I haven't been so stupid, a text message comes in.
From the WelshOne.

"Don't think you meant to send me that. See you tomorrow..."

Just shoot me now, the humiliation.

Temporary insanity. Obviously.

3rd date disaster...

Those of you who have been following the gongshow that is my love life over the past few weeks and months (and years for the Canadian contingency) and who were starting to worry that I may have in fact managed to meet a man willing to put up with my quirks, fear not.

Don't be so damned silly. This is ME we are talking about!

The gong has once again been rung and the words "NEXT!" bellowed across the streets of London. Yes, ladies and gentlemen... the rumours are true. Despite my personal best of getting to the 3rd date... disaster.

Over a fantastic meal of lucky squid (not so lucky now after I'd ordered it, now is it?) and steak in a mustard seed sauce, washed down with a lovely bottle of Rioja on the 3rd floor of Smith's of Smithfields, the words that can bruise an ego faster than Tim Henman can choke in Wimbledon finals were uttered...

MissM - "Can I be controversial and ask...?"

The Welsh One - "Can I be controversial..."

*shakes his head*

MissM *Gutted* "Ah."

*Speechless. Downs glass of wine. *

The Welsh One - "I'm sorry - you're one of the most fantastic people I have ever met... that's not helping, is it?"

MissM - "No, not really."

*smiles*

"I sort of knew it was coming..."

So there you have it folks, the gory details are just too damned painful to go through again right now, however on a more positive note he did say some very lovely things - that the bloke who can get to and past the 3rd date is going to be a very lucky man indeed (yep, still not helping), and that he would love to stay friends with me, because as he said he has never met anyone as charismatically charming and fabulous as me (I think in our drunken state, we decided to launch a ladymissmarquise/welshone self appreciation society) and I in turn was able to keep my pride and head held high and act with dignity.

So, now I've got this dating thing totally under control again, don't worry my Canadian readers. The Lives and Loves of the Divine LadyMissM still has several more chapters to be written so keep watching this space.
Look out boys, here I come... again!

mojitos and mayhem

I am sure that everyone has heard of the anti-Americanism that is so prevalent in today's society.Well, let me tell you, that anti-war, anti-Bush, anti-Americanism is well and truly alive and kicking across the pond. So much so that certain Londoners seem to have had their brains so addled by this that they have also melted Canada into that bubbling cauldron of genetically modified intelligence that is the United States of Amereeka.

Canada?

America?

"Same thing, isn't it?" they sneer.

What happened to the greatness of Canadians? When did our tree hugging, granola eating, Birkenstock wearing mentality become similar to that of the gun toting hypocrisy of the US of A?

Example: LadyMissMarquise, enjoying her mojito and chatting to mad Welsh friend Tiki, who for reasons unbeknownst to us, is on mission to score A Banker.

Spies A Banker.

Off like a shot.

Leaving little Miss M quietly enjoying her cocktail.
Friends of Banker spy...

Lady Alone.

Make beeline.

Friend of Banker, now quite drunk, leans in to slur something resembling the english language incoherently into my face.

"Pardon me?" I say, having been brought up with good manners.

"Oh...."says Friend of Banker, recoiling - and I do mean recoiling. "Obviously you're American."
Sneering the last bit.

Without skipping a beat, MissM calmly

"...and you are obviously an asshole."