Men Are Like Fruit (A Rant About One Particularly Annoying Young Man Who Was Unfortunately Also A Brilliant Kisser)

This is, as the title would suggest, a rant against men generally, but particularly against one young Irish man who took my list of why Irish men are better than Australian men, took a big crap on it, and set it on fire. Yes, it was Wickham, and, yes, I know that I predicted this type of ending, but I am an eternal optimist with a touch of the romantic (despite what my previous self-loathing, emo-styled post would suggest) and thought that I might be wrong about this one. I most definitely was not. A date occurred, fun was had, kissing occurred (lots and lots and lots of kissing, did I mention the fact that it was brilliant?), and at the end of said date young Wickham suggested a second date. I agreed to the arrangement and he promised to contact me to organise further details. I did hear from young Wickham again, the very next night, stating that he had had, and I quote 'a great time' and that he would really like to see me again. I replied that this was a grand idea, and that he should contact me when he was free. Apparently young Wickham has been quite the busy bee, because I have now not heard from him for two and a half weeks since this last hope-filling conversation. Needless to say, I passed through a stage of blind rage, and am still slightly irritated by this turn of events, but have had my own personal revenge by deleting his phone number from my telephone (very cathartic, even if he never knows about it). The whole situation was very confusing and I did ask three gentleman for their take on the situation. My work friend, Mr. Arizona, said that he would never write to someone expressing a desire to see them again if he had no interest in doing so, and one of my flatmates, Donut, agreed. My other flatmate, Smartie, who fancies himself a bit of a Casanova (really not, not at all), told me that he would make it common practice to make such contact after a date, 'just to keep his options open.' Surely you can keep your options open without suggesting further contact?! With a message such as 'I had a nice time last night' or 'it was nice to hang out with you,' etc, etc, etc! There are any number of ways you can approach it. In my view it is just bloody bad form to suggest something which you have no intention of following through with. I don't understand men at all, they are all confusing, infuriating, weird, alien creatures who make no sense to me whatsoever. Why say something you don't mean? ARGH!

In an attempt to rationalise this (which is virtually impossible) I have come up with the following formula: Men Are Like Fruit. How so, you ask? Well, in my infinite wisdom I have decided that there is an optimum time to pick men. Too soon and they are not ripe enough, lacking a fullness of character and flavour, not having experienced enough of the world to be truly satisfying. If you pick them too late, chances are they are rotten, having been trampled on by many others before you found them cold and lonely on the ground and decided to take them home. The rotten flavour may not be immediately discernible, but the more you bite into their personality, the more obvious it becomes. Be they too green, or too ripe, either way, you're fucked. I've experienced both ends of the spectrum. The King of Emotional Fuckwittery was definitely too green, and the Lord of Emotional Fuckwittery was rotten to the core (thanks to his never-ending list of failed relationships that had gone before, 'it just didn't work out because she was very unhappy' was the line I heard about several of his exes. Did you ever stop to think that perhaps that means there is something wrong with you, and that you should take a long hard look at why you keep making people miserable? Sorry, side rant). Young Wickham definitely falls to the side of too green. I am yet to meet a man who was perfectly ripe for the picking (with the exception of one, who I suspect was right in the zone, but, alas, I myself was not yet ripe enough and was still clinging helplessly to my branch as the King of Emotional Fuckwittery was growing right by my side).

I figure that if I am meant to be with someone, we will meet when we are both perfectly ripe. I can feel myself getting close to that point now, so I hope he hurries up and that there aren't too many more Wickhams before him.

Fruity Yet Fabulous,

B. J. Barnes

A Brave New World?

Before I embarked on my odyssey, and since arriving here on the other side of the world, a lot of people have referred to my decision to leave everything behind on a whim as 'brave.' I don't know if this is the word that I would personally attribute to my decision. I say this mainly because, if anything, and as pointed out by my lovely best friend Porgie, I am at heart an escapist. I feel a little bit like I am running away from the realities of day to day adult life as fast as I possibly can, and this feeling has continued to grow since arriving here, as I really have very little desire to return home anytime soon, the thought makes me feel a little queasy. All of my friends are settling comfortably into adult life back in Australia, getting married, buying houses, moving up in their jobs, living with their partners. What am I doing? I am living in a foreign country, going out on the tear every weekend, kissing lots of Irish lads, attending music festivals, working in menial jobs, share-housing; in short, I am basically doing what most people do when they're in their late teens or very early twenties, before they settle down, going absolutely mental and loving it. 

I am not complaining about this, but it raises some serious questions about my level of maturity, and my ability to settle generally. In a way, I missed out on the crazy lifestyle that lots of young people have, I went straight from school to university, I studied hard for six years, then went straight into full-time work. Of course, whilst at university there were some fun nights out, but I had never travelled and felt that something was missing. I spent a large chunk of time in a relationship with the King of Emotional Fuckwittery, and thought that that relationship might logically end in marriage (thank god that particular turn of events never occurred, I shudder to think of what my life might have been). By the time my parents were my age they had two children, were divorced, and were in new live-in relationships with different people. I can't say that I would have been happy with that situation for myself, not at all, but I sometimes wonder if I will ever settle. 

I've never had a live-in relationship with a man before, despite two major, long-term relationships, and, to be completely honest, I've never really felt content with anything in my life before. I have always been restless, and coming overseas hasn't caused homesickness, rather it has just upped my capacity to be restless, I constantly want to be running around, seeing everything, cramming lots of activities into short spaces of time. And I feel the clock ticking ominously, counting down the months to when I have to go home, and it makes me feel a bit ill. Because at this point I don't really want to go home. Because it will mean facing up to reality and dealing with a few issues. Like why I can't seem to hold down a relationship, or why I struggle to establish them in the first place. Is it really because I keep picking the wrong men? Or is there something about me that makes it impossible for men to want to stick around. I am becoming increasingly convinced that it is the latter, and that is terrifying, because even though I don't mind being single, the thought of being alone for the rest of my life, and of never having the opportunity to have children (if I want them at all) is overwhelming. I'll also need to address what it is I really want to do with my life. Did I waste six years at university doing a highly specialised degree, only to find out that I don't have the willpower and/or talent to get anywhere that I actually want to be, or that the specialisation I chose for myself really isn't for me after all? I worry that I'll never make enough money to own my own home, or to be able to save. I worry about a lot of things, and coming here was a way to push all of those things to the side and focus on myself as a person, minus all of those pesky big questions. It has worked, to a degree, and I am loving it here, but the problem with that is it makes me want to stay in this limbo world forever, and that says something about me as a person which, quite frankly, frightens me. 

Yours in restless contemplation,

B. J. Barnes