Things I’ve Done Since I Stopped Doing ‘it’

Since saying goodbye to my favourite fling I have had a lot of thinking to do, I wanted to make some changes and accomplish some goals, so here’s what I have come up with in the last few weeks:

Things I’ve Done Since I Stopped Doing ‘it’


    Built a pillow fort

There is something ridiculously comforting about building a blanket fort around the TV and eating, dozing and watching movies in there on a Saturday.

    Thought about exercising

I want to say I actually did exercise – but my new exercise gear is still sitting mockingly in the cupboard with the tags on.

    Cleaned the bathroom

What? It’s a crap job and I avoid it.

    Stopped drinking

Surprisingly, this was the best for me I think, and it made me feel better about the whole ‘no exercise’ thing.

    Booked a dentist appointment

Another thing we all try to avoid, but look at me, being an adult.

    Prepared lunch for work instead of buying it

Hello money! How have you been? I’ve missed seeing you in my savings account!


I scrubbed out the bins so they no longer smelled of nasty bin juice – nuff said.

    Thought as little as I could about the boy I missed so terribly

This one was harder, this one had no pillow-fort quick fix, this one I still am working on.

I guess that’s ok though, because now I am a bin-scrubbing extraordinaire, fort-building machine, exercise-junky …um… philosopher and by the time I’m done with all this adulting I’ll be so wonderful that Prince Harry will be referring to me as ‘the one that got away’.

Well that’s the plan anyway.

I stood up for myself, now what?

We do the ‘strong’ thing – we read the self-help books, we tell ourselves that we’re making the right decision by walking away from someone who won’t give us what we want, we let our friends tell us how great we are for doing it – moving on from an unsuccessful relationship is so incredibly positive.

But what about when that relationship fling is so good and so wonderful and makes you so happy? Why is it then a good thing? Because this morning, when I told the best sex I’d ever had, that I couldn’t see him anymore because I liked him too much, it didn’t feel great.

This was a guy who ticked every box, we had such wonderful dates that on one occasion I laughed myself into a state of asthma (so sexy) and he laughed so much that a police officer at the train station wanted to check if he was ‘alright’ because it sounded like he was ‘choking’.

I could have kept seeing him, I could have continued having these wonderful dates and the BEST sex of my life with him but he had a deal breaker. He was the ‘no relationship’ guy. He had his reasons bla bla – but at the end of the day, there was no way I was going to try to talk a man into wanting to be with me. I have too much self respect for that.

So why does it feel so shitty? Why does standing up for yourself look like Beyonce but feel like Taylor Swift?

I don’t care what anyone says, it doesn’t feel empowering – it feels devastating, I saw this guy 4-5 times a week, every week for the last two months and now zero.

Sometimes being single is just a little lonely…and maybe that’s ok, but I guess I’M not quite ok with that feeling yet, I’ve still got a lot of work to do.

Green light means GO!

If relationship is red and single is green, then what I am doing right now is very much amber.

So call me Amber.

I’m Amber and I’m hooked on a pseudo-relationship meets friends-with-benefits situation.

I’ve been engaging in regular, carefree but exclusive sex with Mr. Handsome and damn it if he’s not some of the best I’ve ever had.

But it did occur to me while I was doodling ‘Mrs. Amber Handsome’ on my notebook, that I was starting to fall for this guy.

I know, I know the whole fuck-buddy becomes true love thing is an awful clich̩, I apologise РI wish I was more creative.

It has got a little out of control though.

At the start of last week, I found myself opening my wardrobe and starting my day with the thought; ‘what would Mr. Handsome like to see me in today?’ (Probably no clothes – but regardless of that, I still aimed to impress.)

I then sensed alarm bells so I changed his name in my phone to ‘Think about it, I mean it!’ Just as a general reminder to THINK before I…um…’do.’

Then it got worse, I started putting my phone in my draw at work so I would stop staring at it, waiting for ‘Think about it, I mean it!’ to text me.

That led to me opening and closing the draw every ten minutes. To my colleagues it must have looked like I had some sort of OCD issue that required me to constantly check that I had adequate pens and post-it’s.

The hardest part was that after three days of demonstrating my willpower to NOT TEXT HIM FIRST – I only received one text from him. Ouch.

I know what you’re thinking, ‘it’s time for you, Amber; to be a big fat green light.’

Well you’re right. I finally admitted to him how I felt and I could almost see him giving birth to kittens. I’ve never seen a man look so hurt by being told such nice things. It was like he realised he was no longer going to be able to have all the perks of a red light situation but still remain a green light! How rude of me.

After my confession, Mr. Handsome requested that we have sex, preferably regularly, only with each other, but that we keep it a secret and never go towards the red zone.

To that, I said: ‘alright’ and drove him home.

In my head however, I was doing the single ladies dance. Call me a green fucking light, I like this guy, but I like me more.

Mr. Handsome, you had your chance and you shoulda put a ring on it.

Wa – oh – ohh.

I’ve got a terrible disease, it’s called ‘single’

Being single is perfectly fine — until that dreaded day, the day you try your hardest to get out of, the day where you pep yourself up with positive affirmations before leaving the house (that you would never otherwise use) like ‘you are on a journey’ and ‘beauty is within’ or in my case ‘you’re a fucking boss, and you look rad’.

You guessed it, it’s the family function. Oh the dreaded family function. If you turn up single you may as well have turned up with a sign around your neck that reads ‘Ask me personal questions about my love life and relationship history, I LOVE to talk about it!’ or you should have just come with leprosy because being single and being a leper are practically the same.

I’m guessing you can sense my frustration.

I walked into the lion’s den on the weekend. My Nonna asked me ‘what happened to Jamie?’ (Which is not my ex boyfriend’s name) when I understood what she meant I told her he was gone. She immediately asked WHO ended it?

This is not a polite question. Ever.

I told her it was a joint decision and then she patted me on the shoulder because she knew ‘mutual’ was code for ‘I got dumped’. So then she asked WHY we ended it.

Also, not a polite question. Ever.

I said because ‘we didn’t want to be together’ after which she offered me her opinions on why ‘Jamie’ dumped me.

Yes, the woman who does not know the first name of the guy I dated for two years, was telling me me why we broke up.

Well that was fun. I then had another person in the family who greeted me by saying ‘hello, WHERE’S THAT GORGEOUS BOY OF YOURS?’

Really? Not even a ‘how are you? just straight into the single bashing. That was in front of maybe four or five family members.

I said ‘he’s gone’ and then I had to be told that I would find someone and that it’s ‘ok’ and that I’ll be alright.

There was smoke coming out of my ears. Just pouring out of my ears. It was like my ears were each smoking a tiny cigarette. Did I once say I was unhappy? No. But being single apparently equates to failing.

I said to my Nonna at one point, ‘yes we broke up but since I last saw you I got a degree, got a decent job and enrolled in a masters’. She then consoled me and told me ‘its ok, you’ll find someone.’

I left feeling beaten and deflated, I no longer felt like a fucking boss. I was not looking rad. I felt completely unsupported by my family and actually left with them having achieved their goal, I felt lonely.

Fellow singles, as someone who is new to dealing with single bashing after two years of having a relationship to make my family proud – how do you deal with this? Because I’m still emotionally hungover two days on.

It’s ok Man, I think you’re very pretty.

It is generally accepted that when it comes to insecurities, women tend to carry the flag. My recent sexual exploits; however, seem to be teaching me that men are fighting us for the role of flag bearer.

My Mum, in her infinite wisdom and to whom I owe the inspiration for the title of this blog, always tells me that people are attracted to confidence. It’s true! No one rallied behind Neville Longbottom until he became a boss, horcrux destroyer and no one paid attention to Sandy until she dressed like a spandex-clad sex kitten and danced on the Shake Shack with Danny Zuko.

It was after a week or so with Mr. Handsome that I started to notice his insecurities. He was confident, polite and charming in every other way but I noticed that as soon as we had finished dancing in the sheets he would put his underwear straight back on.

In a drunk, tactless state I asked him why he couldn’t just parade around with his junk on show. It was foreign to me – most other guys I had encountered had been incredibly proud of their penis’, it’s like I’m being introduced to a special ‘member’ of the family –

(‘and THIS, is my penis, [naked power stance] I know you’ve been excited to meet him, I can tell you that the feeling is mutual, but do treat him with respect because he is very busy and important!’)

I eventually ascertained that It was because he felt self-conscious about being uncircumcised. Mainly because an ex had hated it. He was so self conscious that he had looked into voluntary circumcision.

A week later after he felt more comfortable to be on show around me I patted him on the bottom and told him he was ‘so fluffy!’ (he has a bit of a hairy butt – if you needed me to explain) – he then confessed that he hated that too.

He had thought about having the hair removed and asked me what my opinion was, to which I quite plainly stated that he should ‘go get a voluntary circumcision and then a good bum-wax’.

Finally, he laughed and I think he realised how little I cared.

I know being confident can be tough, a lot of the time it feels natural to ask for reassurance when you think he’s just been staring at your new pimple the WHOLE time you were at lunch, but this has been an eye-opener for me – Mr. Handsome doesn’t know what my insecurities are (or if he does, he has been too polite to mention it) but what he has done, is told me that he loves my body, likes that I am confident in bed and enjoys my ability to laugh at myself.

I’m not trying to get a big head – but these are nice things to hear – these comments increase my confidence more than a reassuring comment about my insecurities would.

So ladies, if you ever want praise, or compliments from a man, do something that makes them admire you. Be proud, happy and confident because, as I have learned, it will make them desire you and appreciate you more than you seeking their approval, and pointing out your flaws so that your man will dispute them.The compliment that ensues will feel so much better.

Same goes for you boys. Time to man-up.

Oh hey there, Handsome

Mr. Handsome has done a number on me.

He made me a pork roast (food is the key to my heart) took me to a party, then gave me what I had been craving for 2 months.

A freddo frog.

Ok, you know I’m joking, a freddo may have sweetened the deal but he actually gave me something better, a night of blissful, unapologetic shagging. Yes 6’7″ did attempt to fill that void. But he ‘tried’ for 30 seconds. Kissed me on the cheek, told me it was awesome, and went to sleep.

With Mr. Handsome, well I honestly wasn’t sure how he would be in bed, these were the three scenarios I had played out in my head in what I considered to be the most likely order:

1. He would engage in some gentle ‘love making’, because some idiot has been running around telling men that that’s what every girl wants – some gentle, slow, romantic love maki- Zzzzzzz. Sorry, I fell asleep just thinking about it.

2. He would be sloppy – let’s not forget that this is the man who threw up in his hands.

3. He would be a gun and do me like a man (sorry to be crass, there was just no other way to phrase that).

What eventuated was not quite on the list – we broke his bed three times in 2 days.

I invited Mr. Handsome over to my place a couple of nights later and we broke a lamp. I don’t even know how we managed that one! I am never taking this man to Ikea. He would leave a trail of destruction.

So I suppose he was number three. Ding, ding, ding.

I’m in danger zone – the whole awesome sex + polite guy + making dinner equation is equalling some pretty confused emotions from my side of the bed. Do I continue because it’s fun? Or do I recognise the warning signs and stop seeing him because I could get attached?

I’m such a girl.

Oh Friday, you get me every time

Last Monday’s resolutions:

I will not go to Friday night work drinks
I will not get drunk this week
I will have a quiet weekend
I will not chase boys
I will not have sex this week

The last four pretty much hinged on me following number one. Number one was key. Number one was the reason I booked an appointment with the computer repairman for 8pm on a Friday.

I didn’t stick to number one.

Bet you didn’t see that coming.

In fairness I got accepted to study a Masters of Diplomacy and Trade on Friday afternoon. It didn’t take my workmates much to convince me that partying and celebrating was a must!

There may have been an ulterior motive too, there may have been a certain handsome fella with a rockin’ bod who was texting me, also telling me to get my butt to drinks.

Such a poor, innocent, passive female, how could I resist their plea’s? It would have been rude not to go!

Well it turned out to be quite a magical evening. My gay work mate told me that if he wasn’t gay he would ‘pound my pussy’ (ew!) and gave me a big kiss that was far too open-mouthed for my liking, we then performed a haunting rendition of Jennifer Page’s ‘Crush‘ at a Korean Karaoke bar and danced on the stage of a club to ‘Smack my bitch up‘.

I wasn’t drunk! … well …

Mr. Handsome was being quite flirty and more forward than he had been in the three weeks he had spent chasing me. I was beginning to think that the chances of us ending up doing the horizontal tango were pretty likely. Almost a sure thing. After my kiss with my lovely – but somewhat sexually aggressive – gay friend, Mr. Handsome pleaded to ‘get in on that action’.

It may have been all too much for him, in fact the phrase ‘peaked too early’ probably summed up what happened next quite aptly.

Mid-dance floor, mid-great conversation, mid-drink, Mr. Handsome began throwing up and commencing the futile attempt to catch it in his hands. Ladies, take it from me, nothing will close your legs like watching a man trying to catch his own vomit.

He ran to the bathroom…well, first he ran to the back of the room where there was no bathroom, looked around completely confused, realised there was no bathroom there and ran to the actual bathroom.

When he came back with a big patch of vom on his shirt, I told him it was probably time he got his sloppy-self a taxi home.

He obliged, looking like a wounded puppy, to make matters worse, I was not being a caring, Earth-mother type, I was laughing, I was revelling in his embarrassment. In fairness it was hilarious!

So next time I tell myself I mustn’t drink, I’m going to remember this magical evening, because how could I miss something that wonderful, that spectacular, that unexpected.

After all, the nights you plan on having a ‘quiet one’ are always the ones where people throw up in their hands and you end up pashing a gay dude at Korean karaoke.

You know what I mean?

Burrito > Date

I was so excited for my date. We had been playing text message ping-pong for about 2 weeks and we finally picked a time to meet.

I was in such a good mood. I’d just come from a hugely successful meeting at work and was hot-footing it down the streets of Melbourne to meet him and may as well have been accompanied by a boppy movie theme song that indicates the character is having a good day.

I walked into the cafe and looked around for him, I’d only met him once when very drunk but was sure he wasn’t the obese 45 year old in the corner. I didn’t trust my drunk judgement though and had an internal battle about that one for a good few seconds. When I realised he was not the middle aged man but was in fact sitting under my nose, I laughed and said hello. I expected him to stand up to greet me, or even say hello from where he was seated. But no, he sat there and stared at me like he was the Queen of England and I was a court jester.

This guy was clearly playing dating games – which I hate, he was barely speaking to me, being slightly rude (ie. telling me he hated my job, hated the suburb where I lived, hated all my hobbies) and rolling his eyes at me. I believe, from extensive chick-lit reading, that this was an attempt to get me to play for his approval and affection.

I did not. I got bored and realised pretty quickly that this guy wasn’t very bright. I thought he also knew that it wasn’t going very well. I thought we were both counting down the minutes, we had got onto the weather and my Mum had called and I’d said ‘sorry I have to take this’. Surely he knew that if a girl is enjoying herself, phone calls from the parents go unanswered.

That’s when I decided to ditch him. I was in no-way interested in sleeping with a guy who was so rude and negative. I went back into the cafe and told him I was going to leave, we paid (individually), and walked outside.

When he got up to pay for his share I finally saw what he was wearing head to toe…oh boy. I usually don’t care what guys wear, my ex had no idea what size he was and was constantly wearing clothes that were too small. But this guy….

He had clearly tried to pull off the indie look, he was far too short and stocky for that, he was wearing Skinny jeans that stopped mid calf, and then high top shoes. He matched these items with an oversized cable knit jumper and then a massive green puffa-vest.

If there was any doubt left in my mind it was killed right there. I could just imagine him seductively trying to take off his puffa-vest, hmmm quite amusing – but no thanks.

When we got outside I had to have the awkward exchange that I was dreading.
Him: Dinner?
Me: No thanks, I would like to go home.
Him: How much is a taxi?
Me: I don’t know, I will take the train.
Him: what are you doing when you get home?
Me: I don’t know yet, but I’m wrecked from work, I’ll probably have an early night.
Him: Do you want some company?
Me: No thanks.

He then went in for the kiss. Really? REALLY? I suppose he had nothing to lose, I tried to divert it onto my cheek but it landed kind of half-on/half-of.

Then I went and got a burrito. And damnnnn it was such a good burrito.

Burrito good. Date bad.

Now, if only he would stop texting me to meet up again.

I am not jealous of your relationship

I share a flat with a couple, and I hate their relationship. I love living with them, but their circumstances, history and relationship dynamics are completely foreign to me.

Dear flatmates:

1. Having casual sex does not make me a bad person
Just because you both lost your virginity to each other, does not mean you can judge me for wanting to have sex with more than one person. Call it research.

2. Just because I have not been a six year relationship doesn’t mean I don’t know what love is
Trust me on this one, the length of the relationship does not correlate to how much you love each other. I’ve had two serious relationships and the shorter one was more loving, respectful and the sex was way better.

3. Losing your virginity to another virgin usually means you’re just as bad as each other
“Have you ever done this position? Oh of course you haven’t, because I haven’t. Ok let’s just do it the normal way.”

4. Having a successful relationship does not make you better than me
I do not measure personal success by the success of my relationship. So sod off.

5. I’m sorry, what was that? You’ve never had an orgasm?
Yes, that’s right, when raving to my flatmate about the power of my vibrator; the orgasm whisperer, she told me she has never had one, she doesn’t have time for orgasms and that she and her boyfriend don’t have sex very often anyway because it’s not that important to them.

Bitch, please! Don’t speak of what you don’t understand. Orgasms give us strength, they give us hope and they give us joy. I think she could use an orgasm too, sometimes when she is stressed, I am tempted to shout ‘go have a wank, life is better after a wank!’

6. When I said ‘where’s the weirdest place you’ve had sex’, and you said ‘on a fold-out couch’, a slow-clap played in my head
It’s hard not to be a slut when these are the standards.

7. I’m not jealous
As I said, I’ve had two serious relationships, I’m not jealous, because what you have, looks pretty similar to what I had with the first guy, and it was boring.

I promise, I have learned more about myself by going through ups and downs, through heartwarming moments and heartbreak and spending time out of highschool being single and independent, than you have learned in your only relationship, which from the outside looks codependent and static.

Please note, I love some couples and their relationship dynamics, I also love being in a relationship, this post is about one couple only and I see their smug faces everyday.


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