Category Archives: ‘no boys’ challenge

The Masochism Mambo – Part 2


Just like the addiction of the first date rush, it’s easy to get caught up in the excitement of doing something wrong.

I’ve known Alex for about seven years, on the surface, he’s everything a girl wants – good looking, smart, caring, funny with a dry sense home humour and ‘look after me eyes’. I had a crush on him for years, but a mild flirtation (which only ever went as far as a drunken kiss) turned into friendship and eventually, he dropped the pretence and let me into the world of Alex – a place where serial dating and masochistic binges are taken to a whole new level.

“I’m about to try and get off with a girl in front of her boyfriend! Help! ” he texted me last Friday night. I was out with my flatmate at the Dragonbar in Shoreditch. The drinks are cheap there and the bartenders uniformly HOT.

“You’re f*cking twisted.” I replied.

A second later my phone beeped “I’ve left. Your text did the trick. Where are you?”

Alex came to meet us at the bar, and shuffled in on the sofa with me stuck as a wedge between him and my flatmate.

“So… you left,” I said, gulping my drink. I don’t know what it is about Alex that makes him so magnetic to be around, I didn’t fancy him, I’d stopped liking him years ago but he still made me giddy. “What’s your deal anyway? Who was she?”

“Just a friend. Her boyfriend’s a real dick.” He has this slow way of speaking that’s really hypnotic. “So I just wanted to see if I could kiss her with him standing right there.”

“How, exactly?”

“Well, first I took her arm like this,” he demonstrated, “and then I pulled her closer like this.”

I unhooked myself and reached to grab my drink form the table. “So how’s your new girlfriend?”

“she’s good.”

I’d actually been joking. Alex had been seeing a girl for a while but he was a non- committal kind of guy. “Wow so you guys are serious!”

“Yeah.” He replied. “I love her.”

I snorted into my drink.  This was so typical Alex,  for him, it was wholly possible to exist in two realities, one where you are in love, and another where you try and kiss some guys girlfriend in a bar. The latter had nothing to do with love. It was about Ego.

As I stood outside the bar having a cigarette, I watched him swoop in on my flatmate, his arm sprawled across the back of the sofa, leaning in to fill the gap I’d left. I rolled my eyes, it’s not like I was worried, I’d already warned her about him, but there was still a small pang of irritation that made me smoke my cigarette faster and wedge my butt back on the sofa between them.

Alex left shortly after, whispering in my ear that he was about to ‘pull’ my flatmate and needed to take himself home.

I don’t think he even wanted to pull my flatmate, that’s not the way he operated, he did things to make himself feel powerful, and he’d obviously accomplished what he’d come for.

“It all stems from my innate need for attention.” I slurred at my friend last night, New Radicals were playing on the stereo and we shared a cigarette out the window. “My dad was never there so I’m, like constantly looking for a attention from guys to replace what I , like, missed out on…as a child”

“My issue is that I just can’t handle rejection.” She replied and looked painfully at her phone.

Perhaps the Massochism Mambo is less about the rush of doing something wrong and more about validation, an emotional poly-filler for parts of you that are missing.

………Jade texted me later that night to let me know she didn’t call her dead dog after all.

XX Amelia

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the Masochism Mambo


As my twitter-oos will know, my plan of a boy free three months resulted in a bout of binge texting.

The swede and GB were texted last night, the latter thankfully only resulting in minimal polite text banter which seemed to quench my need for attention and dulling the impact of the former who didn’t reply at all.

Not only did I binge text two people I care very little about and have only a very small interest in seeing but I decided to randomly message a guy I worked with almost five years ago in TV. Why ? who knows?

I know I’m not alone in this madness

I invited my friend Jade over tonight for dinner to cheer her up after her dog died.

(aside… the term dead dog originated when my friend Jessica, frustrated with the constant banter but no date invite from a guy she met, threw her phone down on the table and exclaimed- “I feel like I’m poking a dead dog with a stick” since, ‘dead dog’ had been coined for a boy that has, for some reason or another, turned out to be a loser. The activity of poking dead dogs is universally acknowledged to be pointless but at the time, a harmless bit of fun)

Jade’s dog hadn’t actually died of corse, she was merely grieving the loss of a something she thought had potential.

An entire bottle of vodka turned into a Karaoke session of singing into remote controls and jumping on the sofa to Flashdance soundtrack. I made the mistake of putting on Celine Dion when Jade slumped onto the sofa and declared that she wanted to poke her dead dog.

I knew how she felt.

If I still had Chris’s number in my phone I would have texted him in a second. If I still had PC on my Facebook I would have easily slipped into checking his profile.

You know it’s bad for you, you know no good can come of it but yet you just can’t help doing it!

But then, as I checked my facebook for the hundredth time (maybe the guy I messaged will message back after all….) I realised, there is a euphoria that’s so intertwined with doing something you KNOW is bad, that you just can’t help doing it.

Like maxing out your credit card on a last minute trip to Ibiza, or partying late on a Sunday. Have you noticed that watching Jeremy Kyle is really only ever fun if you’ve pulled a sickie?

“How have you been?” golden Boy texted me “it’s been a while.”

“Blah Blah Blah…. “ I responded, or something to that effect

“I’ve just moved to Clapham…..” he replied.

I’d stopped caring whether he replied or not. It wasn’t’ even fun anymore.

Thinking back over past relationships, not only have I always wanted what I couldn’t have, but I’ve always wanted things that were bad for me.

Is it fundamentally impossible to stop dancing the masochism mambo?

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Kicking the Habit


Hi everyone, my name is Amelia and I’m a Dataholic.

It’s been about three weeks since my last post and I’ve come to the conclusion that something isn’t quite right.

I can probably pinpoint my second of realisation to the moment I stood under the florescent lights of my work bathroom mirror.  A girl in the mirror opposite looked up  as I was frantically applying blusher and mascara. “Hot date?” she said.

“No.” I replied, “meeting a friend.”

She smiled back but I’d wished I DID have an actual date to tell her about.

There is a whole ritual attached to meeting guys that is so much more than the actual event itself.

First it’s will he call? Won’t he call? The endless dissecting of kisses in a text message the routine browse through his facebook pictures trying to guess who the ex is (don’t even try to deny you do it!)

The rush of excitement from meeting, dating, the first time he says he loves you, the time you meet his friends and his mother… all amount to a string of highs that will eventually come to an end, but if you’re single, present  endless  little fixes. They are a constant supply of adventures to tell your friends about (or blog as it happens), outfits to plan and futures to fantasise over.

It’s easy to develop a habit.

More worrying than this, is that it took a guy I knew for 48 hours to make me forget about Chris, something that all my holidays, work, fabulous friends, and writing couldn’t do.

So, I’ve decided to give it all up for three months.

No more eye contact over the bar (or as my friends like to call it ‘strawface’). No more snogging in clubs, contacting golden boy (or the Swede, or the French one) no more obsessing over lift guy at work (we’ve been saying hi to each other in the lift for six months and I don’t even know his name)

Done.

So, how will I get on? And what on earth will I have to write about?

Well, I’ve been four days sober and it’s not been easy.

Temptation is everywhere and I pretty much broke on the third day (yesterday). It really wasn’t my fault. Lift guy jumped into the lift just as the doors were closing and said “Hi.”

“Hey,” I replied as the doors closed and the lift was plunged into silence. He shoved his hands in his pockets, I looked at my phone, the doors opened and a girl got out. They closed and he shuffled a little closer making room for someone else. We made eye contact, he smiled, I smiled and cringed and looked at my phone again before the doors opened and I all but ran out of the lift.

Now this would have all been fine had I then not attempted a Sherlock Holmes campaign to find out who he was finding his exact seat and counting how many rows it was form the back of the room. It took several failed attempts of peering over abnormally high telesales desks like some kind of lost Meer cat before I gave up.

I’d cracked, slightly, but I was determined to get back on track.

That evening I was meeting my friend in Shoreditch. It only took one mojito for me to get halfway to drunk and start reminiscing over our time at my old work, Chris, and how funny last summer was. She was having boy problems and we dissected a text, sent another and analysed the entire situation between bouts of laughter and faces full of prawn crackers.

We moved onto another bar in Brick Lane, a homely little cove of tatty velvet furniture that looked like it had previously belonged to an eccentric granny, red lighting and movie posters form the 80’s.

It had been several vodka limes and I was trying really hard not to pull ‘strawface’ at two guys that had sat opposite us.

“He’s disgusting” My friend said.

He probably was, but I was drunk and there was something about his American smugness and Michael J Fox hair that was making me want to give up on the whole no men thing.

Thankfully, they left and after several more drinks and cheese bagels really could have done without, I was on my way home in a cab and trying my very best not to contact Golden Boy (now in my phone as booty-call Nick.)

That night I couldn’t sleep, and in my half drunken delirium couldn’t stop thinking about Chris.

Was it impossible to have a world without men or is it just me? Do I have an actual problem?

After a long day at work, I decided to take myself shopping and replace one vice with another. It’s amazing how much walking round a department store can cheer you up, (It’s amazing how shallow I feel even saying that)

Browsing from Ted Baker to Karen Millen, it occurred to me that picking up guys in bars, and shopping really aren’t so very different.  You see something you like, you have a closer look, pick it up and feel the fabric, maybe try it on for size then either discard it or buy it. Sometimes you find something amazing that fits perfectly and you have the exact same rush of excitement as when you’re in a cab home with someone you can’t wait to get into bed.

Suddenly I wasn’t even in the mood for shopping anymore.

I took the escalator to the lingerie department…. Just to say goodbye to the pretty things I really won’t be needing anymore. Among the frill and lace, in the corner of the department I saw a row of plain bras I’d never even looked at before. I decided If I was going to go without men, or sex then I was going to damn well get some comfy underwear.

I walked out of the store with two plain bras that were totally gross but fitted better than anything I had and couldn’t stop smiling all the way to the tube.

No more worrying about guys texting, no more itchy lace, no more disappointing nights in bars in Balham surrounded by idiots. Three whole months about me, and my writing and friends.

It could be worse!

So I guess this may be good bye for a little while! Wish me luck!

Xx Amelia

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