Love, Lust, and Loss in The Emerald Isle

Since being here I've come to the following conclusions about myself and, more generally, life:

• One night stands are fun for a certain type of person. I am not that type of person. I need more than a physical connection. I've also found that they tend to be rather sad affairs, everybody has baggage, and this baggage becomes pretty evident during one nighters. It's amazing the things that come out of the mouths of men in these situations. I'm going back to my previous policy from now on, no one nighters (unless Henry Cavill begs me to sleep with him, but can only do one night, maybe then). Having said all of this, I wouldn't take any of the three back, they were learning experiences. They taught me I'm not cut out for them.
• Never allow yourself to fall in love with someone that you can't have. It will tear you to shreds, and you will be terribly sad for as long as that love lasts.
• Running away does not really solve all of life's bigger issues, but it is a hell of a lot of fun. Escapism is still a huge part of my personality, and I will stubbornly refuse to get my head out of books or the vivid imagination they have contributed to. I will live here forever, and hope for the best.
• Honesty is still the best policy. Always be upfront with people, mainly men, even when they're not willing to pay you the same courtesy. At the end of the day you come out the better person who didn't need to resort to games to get their own way.
• Assess what you really want from a romantic relationship and accept the fact that no one person will ever satisfy your every whim. That's why friends and family are so important, they fill in the gaps in your life. 
• Don't settle for less than what you feel you deserve, but be open to the fact that the person that might be perfect for you won't necessarily be the most obvious one. And this leads to always giving people a chance. 

In summary, Irish men and their strange habits of courtship have led me to a realisation of everything that I value most in life, and how important these values are. Thank you to the men of Ireland for being strange, exotic, handsome, confusing and confused, sentimental, self-deprecating, romantic in the worst possible way, and, most of all, great craic. You've shown me the value of difference, but also made me look on my own more fondly. I think I'm ready for an Australian man now, I hope that one is ready for me.

B. J. Barnes

Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow

The Writer leaves Dublin soon. And so do I. I am at a loss, I am not sure what I will do when I can't see him everyday, hear the now familiar rise and fall of his voice. I am still in love. I thought for a time there that I had managed to overcome it, but I haven't, not yet anyhow. I know that in time it will fade, as all loves, even great ones, do, and that one day I will look back on this fascination as a very specific, but ultimately inconsequential, moment in time. But, at this stage, it is still there, tearing at my heart a little with each hour that passes. 

I met her the other evening, for the first time. I was bitterly disappointed. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't her. He is so vibrant, and passionate, and, well, different. She is so nice, and normal, and dull. There was nothing that I could see that made it possible that he has chosen her, and only her, forever. I feel like the worst person for even thinking such things, but it was impossible not to think them. It made me want to scream at him 'Why not me? Well as me as another.' We are the same, this I know. And it does not take copious amounts of wine to identify this, I know he sees in me a kindred spirit. But he also sees what I try so hard to hide from everyone, a hopeless, pointless sense of something better to come, but the ever growing fear that it will never eventuate. This manifests itself in a questioning nature, a lack of contentment, sometimes a feeling of isolation. It is too much of a headfuck for him, and he would be too much of a headfuck for me. I think we would ultimately destroy each other, because it could probably never last for long. It would not be better to have loved and lost in this case. It is much better that I never loved, or fulfilled such love, at all. 

So, where does this leave me? This leaves me in the unsavoury position of having to pretend like nothing ever happened. That I never met him, that I never loved him. But that is impossible. He is text inexorably printed on my soul, like a favourite book that broke your heart, but whose words will haunt you forever. 

He is for London, and I am for Sydney. At least for the moment. I will return to Europe, and most probably live in London, most likely at the same time he lives there. But will I see him? I don't think I should. It is too dangerous. I am too old for this painful, ridiculous, sorrowful longing. I'm not a teenager prone to flights of whimsy anymore, and I should behave accordingly. 

This was a moment, that is all it was. 

B. J. Barnes

A Very Animated Evening

So, I met someone on Saturday night. And he was lovely. He is lovely. Lovely enough that I felt inspired to write about him. Probably because I've had such incredibly bad luck over here when it comes to all things man related, he really was a breath of fresh air. But first of all, a recap of all of the shit I've been through since being in this fair country:

• First guy I met over here, let's call him Mr. Zodiac. We meet on a very drunken night out. He follows me around all night. We kiss. He follows me all the way to a cab to my house. I'm very shocked when I turn to find him getting out too, but can't be bothered arguing. Turns out it was well worth the inconvenience, even if he was not my traditional type. We have a few dates, a lot of epic 'tea,' and then, out of the blue, nothing. I didn't bother chasing him. Six months later I receive a text. We start something up again, see each other for a month or so, then, bang, 'Sorry, I'm getting back together with my ex' (who, incidentally, unless he cheated on her with me, he couldn't have been with for more than six months). Rage. 
• Second guy I met over here, Mr. Dishy. Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous, in a way that only an Irish man can be. Snogtastic date (best kisser ever, sadly enough). Then, nothing. Rage.
• Third guy I met, Sad Sack. Nice looking youngish guy, completely down on himself and the world. Didn't hear from him again. Indifference.
• Fourth guy, the Non-Starter. I've touched on this one previously. Two months of dates and Darcy gentlemanly manners. No sex. None. Not a chance in hell of getting it to work. Insecurity.
• Fifth guy. Dell Dealer. Possibly the funniest of my tales. Met him on the side of the road when trudging home from the pub in the first snow, very romantic etc. The next weekend he invites himself over for 'tea.' Again, it's like getting blood from a stone over here, so I acquiesced. He arrives, and pushes me into my room whilst the kettle is boiling (note to all female travellers- in Ireland tea means sex). I turn for a minute to close the curtains and when I turn back his pants are off. He jumps on me, I'm still fully dressed at this stage. After making out for a few minutes he leaps off me and declares that he can't do this, he has a girlfriend. He then proceeds to ask me for relationship advice, professes his undying love for his lucky lady, and then offers me a Dell, seeing as he works for them, in return for my silence should I ever see him on the street with her. I didn't take the computer. I should have. Dell Dealer proceeded to contact me twice more in the coming fortnight, trying to get back inside. It didn't happen. Mild amusement. 
• The sixth guy. Pharmacist (more affectionately known as Crazytown). I met him when I had just started seeing Mr. Zodiac again, but he was far too cute to pass up. The morning after he offers me a cocktail of drugs, including Valium. I take a painkiller for my splitting hangover headache, thinking it will be sort of like Panadol, and am later informed by Crazytown that it is pretty strong and that I would probably feel a bit 'mong' for the rest of the day. Mong was the right word, I was out of it, even eight hours later when Mr. Zodiac arrived for an afternoon tea date. 

I picked Mr. Zodiac over Crazytown, thinking it would be the more sensible, reliable choice. Bad idea. When that went balls up I decided to go on a Man Ban. The rules of the Man Ban are simple enough. Don't pursue men. If they come to you and you're interested, you don't have to say no, but you're not allowed to participate in the chase.

Which brings me to Saturday, and The Animator. I met him in Coppers, the scene of many a crime. Coppers is the late club you go to if you're looking to 'shift' and get a 'ride.' I did both of these things on Saturday. I noticed the group The Animator belonged to first of all because they were all exceptionally tall for Irish men, and secondly because his friend, Dr. Nick, was amazingly, excruciatingly good looking. Dr. Nick was taken, and The Animator, also a very nice looking boy, was chatting away to me. Suddenly he literally jumped forward about fifty centimetres to kiss me. It was a shock, but a very nice one! I ended up going home with him (again, blood from a stone), and he was talking a whole lot of crap in the cab:

TA- That's the building I work in. We're having a work party there next weekend. I'm going to take you. (Silence)

TA- Would you rather settle in Dublin or Sydney?

BJB- I don't really have a choice

TA- Yeah, but if you did have the choice?

TA- Please tell me you don't have a boyfriend

BJB- Of course I don't, do you have girlfriend?

TA- I don't, but I'm working on it

If these were lines, very cute. But he really didn't need lines, he already had me. This was definitely the best experience with a guy that I've had since I've been in Ireland. He was sweet, attentive, and funny, and he restored my faith in Irish men. He has my number, so I guess it's just a waiting game now. I'm hoping he'll contact me, but even if he doesn't, it's a nice way to end things before I start my Man Ban.

Did I mention that he was also an artist? Sexual fantasy box ticked. 

Happily yours,

B. J. Barnes

Itching For A Fight

So, this is partially about how it was I came to be here in Ireland, but more generally about what I want and need at this time in my life. At the end of 2008 I was on a sojourn in Melbourne to visit my very best friend. We were at a bar that we frequent, mainly due to its large proportion of travellers (ie. men with gorgeous accents), and whilst there I met a young gentleman called Danny (a very bad name for me). He was, unfortunately, not foreign, but, as luck would have it, he was from Sydney. We got along quite well and he took my number and contacted me upon my return to the harbour city. Some dates occurred, lovely, wonderful dates, and I thought that it might be going somewhere. It wasn't. He ended up doing the normal guy thing, avoiding me when he felt things were getting too much like a relationship, and I was devastated. Not so much because of him personally, but just generally. Too many men had done this to me, and I was at my wit's end. I was also in a very bad place with my ex-boyfriend/best friend/worst enemy. He had just left to go to Argentina for six months, having given me one week's notice of this. We were still on and off at this stage (he was like an addiction that I just couldn't shake), and I was slightly heartbroken that he didn't feel that he should share this fairly important information with me. I ended up making the journey back to my parents' house after work that day, and collapsing in a fit of tears at the top of the stairs. My parents were due to fly to Dublin in a month's time to visit my stepdad's family, and my mum immediately decided that the best thing for me at that point was to travel. So I found myself the next month flying into Dublin and, well, the rest, as they say, is history.

The bigger point of this story regards a story this young man called Danny told me. We got to talking one night about our exes and he told me all about his cheerleader ex girlfriend. They had broken up about a year previously, but it was clear he was still somewhat hung up on her (not that I could talk). He told me that after she ended it with him, he was heartbroken and ended up coming over to Europe for a few months with one of his brothers in an attempt to move on. It didn't work, and he told me how he would call her everyday from phone booths all over Europe. One of the stories he told me was about how he left the hostel at 2am to search for a phone booth because he knew she would be available to take his call at that time. He found one, after almost getting mugged, and she kept hanging up on him, but he kept calling. This might sound stalkerish to some, but to me, this is hopelessly, terribly, heartbreakingly romantic. 

And it brings me to this. What I want, more than anything in the world, is a man that will fight for me. That won't let go, no matter what I throw at him. Who could be in some of Europe's most beautiful, amazing cities, but who can't keep his mind off me. Once upon a time I didn't think it was that much to ask. I've watched guys that I've known uproot themselves entirely for the love of a woman. I always thought that when someone loves you, they would do anything at all. But, as I've grown older, I've realised that's not true. Someone can love you, but not be brave enough to risk it all. I want someone who is willing to take a risk for me, because I think that I'm worth a risk. However, I'm now at a point where I don't necessarily believe that this is going to happen. Or that anything is going to happen. Most guys my age or close to it are either in relationships, or not worth having. It is a depressing state of affairs really. I'll hold out hope though, it's all you can do at the end of the day. 

B. J. Barnes

The "One." To Be, Or Not To Be?

I've been thinking a lot about fate of late, and wondering where this life is taking me. I have always believed in the concept of "The One," which I know is pointlessly romantic, but I am a pointless romantic. I have not had any experience in my life (or even really witnessed it in anyone else's life) that should lead me to hold out hope for romance on any grand scale. But still, I cling to this idea, because there is something in me that wants to believe, that can't let go of this ridiculously foolish notion.

What if you meet "The One," but the timing is wrong? What if they're already with somebody else? What if you feel irresistably drawn to them, and can't help but feel that in some small way, they're drawn to you too, but nothing can ever happen because of circumstance? 

I think that this might be what is happening to me right now. I think that I am genuinely in love with this man that I work with, let's call him The Writer. I have never felt this pull towards someone before. Sure, I've been physically drawn to people before, sometimes to detrimental effect, but this is not that. He is gorgeous, of that there can be no doubt. But it is not just his face, or his smile, or his stature. It is him. Just him. My heart skips a beat everytime he looks at me, I can barely breathe when he touches me, and this happens a lot, so I am suffering from breathlessness and heart palpitations on a fairly regular basis. I didn't know that it was possible to feel this way. I have been in love before, but this is different. Every other time love has struck me, I have still always felt uneasy, uncomfortable, like something bad was just around the corner. I can see that this attitude of never quite allowing myself to be comfortable or content in a relationship caused a lot of instability in the past. But this situation now, I have never felt more comfortable with a man, he is such a good friend, and puts me at ease instantly. Which makes it so much harder.

I guess my question is this- last time I was here, as discussed previously, I felt inexplicably drawn to this city, this country, this place. I could not put my finger on why, I just knew I needed to come back here. Is he the reason I was meant to be here? I know that I sound like a legitimate crazy person, but I can't help but feel that he is. Which brings me back, is he really "The One," but unavailable, probably forever? Or is he just someone that I have idealised and put onto a pillar for no apparent reason, other than that he is one of the nicest people I have ever had the pleasure to encounter?

I feel a bit like circumstances have led me to here. We both started work on the same day, and I don't think that I will ever forget looking up and seeing him give me his cheeky half grin, a look I am distressingly familiar with now. I had the opportunity, a week after starting this current job, to take another position that could have led to me being sponsored and being able to stay on here in Ireland, but I said no. And I can't explain that. I have no words for it. Because it would have been exactly what I need and want. But there was something stopping me. And I can't help but think it has something to do with this, without me knowing it at the time. 

I may be reading too much into the situation at hand, but I can FEEL it! In my bones, in the very core of my being. And I could feel it last time I was here. I don't know if this is what my life has been leading up to, and I hope that it is not, because if I am right, and he is the reason I came here, but we can never be together because of circumstance, I think that my faith would be lost. The romance in me might dwindle, and eventually die away. And that would be a crying shame. Because everybody needs to hold on to a little bit of romance, a little bit of magic. It is what makes life worth living. 

Hoping to Let The Right One In, 

B. J. Barnes

All At Sea

Bear with me, as I'm feeling a little sorry for myself today. It could be the mild hangover, it could be the change in weather and the fact that it is getting darker earlier, whatever it is, I am not feeling as chipper as I normally would be. 

To be completely honest, my confidence has been a bit shot of late, when it comes to romance at least. One of the reasons I have been so quiet since August is because I was dating someone for that time period. Someone who appeared to be a Darcy. He was a gentleman, and although not traditionally what I would consider my type, I was willing to give something different a try, as dating idiots seems to have become a past time for me, and I really need to break out of it. It took a while for us to get comfortable with each other, as he hadn't really had very much experience with girls, and at times conversation could be awkward. But I stuck it out, and we had a nice rapport going. I waited dutifully for a month before inviting him in after a date, and then the problems began. He had performance issues, in that there was no performance. At first I thought that this might be because of his earlier issues concerning awkwardness around girls, and that he was probably just nervous and the next time everything would be fine. I was wrong. It wasn't fine. And it happened a number of times before I finally asked him what I could do, and he told me not to worry about it. I was worried, and the relationship has since petered out, but not before it made me feel incredibly unattractive. I know that I am not, and that his issue probably had nothing to do with the way that I look, god knows that other men have not had such problems. But it still hurts a little bit, especially because an explanation was never offered, and I was left to ponder why. 

I picked up and continued on from where I had left my former self, ie. going out pretty much every weekend and flirting relentlessly with men. I had some success on Halloween, kissing a lovely boy from Monaghan. It was a very brief encounter though. But Halloween also brought me another little surprise. My friends and I were admiring from afar a rather tall, handsome in a way that only Irish men can be, gentleman dressed very stylishly as a gangster. As we walked past him later I commented upon his rather big gun. This prompted him to say things to me that no man has ever said to me before. Let's just say a wall, a shower, and a bed were all involved in his suggestions to me. Normally such behaviour would have resulted in a stern rebuke from myself, but I am at a point of desperation, and he was very nice looking. I know that I said before I am trying to avoid idiots, but, eh, what is one to do when faced with such an opportunity? I did not take him up on his offer that evening, but he did take my number and some texting occurred the next day. He has since befriended me on a social networking site (ah, who am I kidding, THE social networking site) and on Friday night a conversation took place that if I was to be completely honest about, has not left my mind since. He openly suggested that we become friends with benefits, or, to put it another way, (insert expletive) buddies. I am wary of this situation, I have been in it before and it did not end well. To be fair though, the person I was in that situation with was the King of Emotional Fuckwittery and it was after we had broken up, so there were always going to be residual emotions floating about, tampering with the very fine balance that is the friends with benefits situation. I have a feeling that it might just work with this guy though. For starters I have no feelings of a romantic nature towards him, just a sense of mild amusement at his outright cockiness. And I am very attracted to him, in a physical sense. Intellectually though, not so much. He can barely spell, and struggles constructing basic sentences, so I don't think that I would be tempted to take it any further than the bedroom. Another plus in the situation is that he does not live in Dublin, he is a Galway man, which makes sense, seeing as all of the gorgeous men in Ireland seem to reside West of me. At first I did not view this as a plus, seeing as he can't be on call at the drop of a hat, or a drunken text. But I guess in a way it works out, he comes to Dublin fairly regularly, and he can just blow in from time to time, and then blow right back out again, leaving me free to do as I please in the interim. At the moment though, this is all pure speculation. The offer has been made, I have tentatively accepted, but who knows whether anything will come of it. I did send a drunken text last night, and am yet to hear back. Not a great sign for the beginning of a fantastic physical relationship. Time will tell. 

So, I am feeling a little wounded, pride wise, due to the lack of response to my text, but also for a couple of other reasons which I will mention briefly. I spent a long time attempting to tune two separate men last night and nothing came of it, I feel like it was a wasted night. I have a fairly high strike rate here, usually all I have to do is smile and speak, and the second my Australian accent is heard I'm in like Flynn. It probably didn't help that my friends both picked up (one of them kissed three different guys!) and I went home alone to ponder the safety issues of attempting to make a bacon and egg sandwich whilst drunk at 1:30am (the risk was ultimately assessed as too high, and I had to wait until later this morning). My failure with one of the guys bothered me more than the other. It really is not fair that a guy with the most beautiful smile I have ever seen, gorgeous blue eyes, and slightly curly brown hair is called Laurie. It immediately made me think of Little Women and I ramped my seduction (snort, I was so drunk I don't really blame him for displaying very little interest in me) techniques up a notch. I pulled out all the stops, I smiled a lot, I touched him on the arm and chest, leant in when we were talking to each other, and was very confused as to why he didn't respond. I probably just wasn't his type, but weirdly it was him who approached me first, rather than the other way around, so I am still a little perplexed.

Anyhow, that is my whinge session for now. Back to the drawing board, and here's hoping my friend with benefits comes through with some benefits very, very soon. 

A little shaken, but still stirred,

B. J. Barnes

Why Me?

Sigh. Unrequited love. It's a bitch. Especially when you're single, and they're not, and when you know that they are very unlikely to be single ever again, and that you are likely to be single forever. Again, sigh.

I've been mad about someone who wasn't so mad in return once before. But when this madness was in full swing I was in a long-term relationship with someone else, and it was more a case of 'the grass is greener' (it was much greener, think lush rolling green fields compared to a barren desert with the occasional tumbleweed). It is much easier to love someone else from afar when you're relatively secure in a relationship, and they're also taken, because it is just a little fantasy you revert to when times are bad in your own relationship, it's not something that consumes you. In hindsight I know that I was thinking about my ex whilst in another relationship because I was idealising him and the brief relationship we had. I felt like circumstances had ruined our chance, but that we were actually meant to be together, and that one day he would break up with his (horrid) girlfriend and come running to me, giving me a golden opportunity to escape the dead-end relationship I was trapped in. I thought that we would rule the country together, that he would go far in politics and that I would be right there beside him, urging him on, that we would have a family and be happy and successful and perfect. I knew that this was madness, but it was a form of escapism, and I'm a sucker for that. I'm a romantic escapist, a very dangerous combination. But I'm also capable of being rather pragmatic, and I know that the reality was that I just didn't get enough closure with Chinchilla to properly move on, and that if we had stayed together or got back together at a later stage chances are it wouldn't have worked, because there were aspects of his personality (particularly his propensity to bitch relentlessly about people behind their backs but be their besties when face to face) that would have irked me, and vice versa. This wasn't some magical, fated relationship (even if our first kiss was at a ball and we walked the city streets afterwards and kissed on a park bench whilst wearing our finery). Not to him anyway. It was just a brief, largely meaningless mistake he made with a girl who to that point had been his friend. I still think about him sometimes, but I know that it is foolish of me to do so, because he's not the one and I need to accept that. 

But if all of this sounds bad, it is nothing compared to my current predicament. I've been working in a temporary job for the last few months and I am madly, completely, I-am-literally-going-slightly-insane, in love with one of my co-workers. He is loveliness personified. But, of course, of course, OF COURSE, he has a girlfriend. A girlfriend that he lives with. A girlfriend that he is moving countries for next year. A girlfriend that he loves more than anything. A girlfriend that one day will be his wife and a mother to his children. And I wish it was me. More than anything, I wish I could go home to him at the end of the day, and see him smile, and be with him. It is heartbreaking and ridiculous and creepy, but it is how I feel. It is like someone took everything that I could ever dream of and made a man. Sweet, smart, good-looking, funny, and just the perfect amount of nerdy to make it a decent match. I'm going all Bridget Jones on myself, but I can't help it, if you met him you would understand. It's impossible to be around this guy and not fall a little bit in love with him. Harumph. 

In short, I need to meet someone, even if only for a brief fling, incredibly soon, or I am going to lose my mind, as well as my heart. 

Your Creeper, 

B. J. Barnes

Am I, Like, Fifteen Again? Seriously

Firstly, I am back, and have been very lax in my posts lately, due partly to work, and partly to a really bad illness from which I thought I might never recover. Luckily both of those pesky distractions have since disappeared and I am free to blog at will. 

I had a really bizarre experience the other day whilst walking the streets of Dublin. First, some background will be essential in order for you to fully appreciate the reaction I had. 

Many moons ago, somewhere amongst the mess that comprises my romantic history, one particularly amusing train wreck occurred. Amusing in hindsight, at the time, not so funny. I was a fresh-faced twenty year old, with only one serious past relationship under my belt, and hence very little experience of the male variety. I was in my first year of a new degree, having just traded up. And there was a boy studying the same degree who I was very, very, very interested in. Now he was a typical Bluck (black hair, blue eyes, generally very good looking young man), and hence exactly my type. He was actually one of the first Blucks I ever encountered, and he set in train an obsession with that particular look that does not appear to be lessening with age. He was in one of my tutorials and my best friend Porgie and I made it a fairly regular mission to sit in the back of this class giggling and hoping that he would turn and look at me. Things moved forward, a rather drunken school function occurred, and I succeeded in my goal of kissing the Original Bluck. Victory was mine! After this encounter we formed what I would call an uneasy friendship. We talked a lot in the library (let's just say that my library usage increased... a lot), assisted in making awkward conversation by another lovely young man, let's call him Chinchilla, who was also in our class. This went on for months, there was not another school function in sight and chances of kissing in the library were nought, I had to take affirmative action. One day, after hours of conversation in the library, I trudged off to my car to drive home and feel sorry for my cowardly self. I arrived at my car and suddenly realised that I had just left the Original Bluck back in the library by himself, and had missed a golden opportunity to ask him out. I, being young and inexperienced, had never asked a guy out before, and it took a gargantuan effort for me to run back to the library with that aim in mind. As I arrived back he was walking out and I crashed into him. Great start to an epic romance. He was very confused and asked why I was back, and I stuttered out something about forgetting a book. Just as he was saying goodbye I blurted out something along the lines of 'Would you like to have dinner, or lunch, or a drink, or a coffee, or something with me, maybe, sometime?' He gave a simple yes in response and my heart soared. 

So there I was, poised at the precipice of a very exciting date with the Original Bluck. We had settled on the coming Saturday and it was to be a lunch date, which was good, in my mind, not too much pressure, nice and relaxed, a good way to kick off what I was certain was set to be the greatest love of all time, surpassing that of Romeo and Juliet, Cleopatra and Marc Antony, Scarlett and Rhett, Lizzie and Darcy, you get the picture. I went to bed on the Friday night sick with anticipation. At roughly 3am the following morning (read: the time of night when all the clubs are closing and people are starting to get desperate) my slumber was interrupted by the rude ringing of my mobile phone. I groggily answered it and was shocked to hear the slurring of the Original Bluck on the other end of the line:

OB: Are you out tonight?

BJ: No, I'm in bed

OB: Oh, ok. I'm out. Listen, we're still meeting up today for lunch right?

BJ: Yes

OB: Great, great. Look, there's something I need to tell you before we go out for lunch.

BJ: Mmmhmm?

OB: I'm a 'have sex with' type of guy, not a 'going out with' type of guy. Is that ok with you?

BJ (slightly shell-shocked and still half asleep): Ummmm, I don't know.

OB: What do you mean you don't know? Are you ok with that or not?

BJ: Listen (insert first name), I actually don't know, it's three o'clock in the morning.

OB: Alright, well how about you just come over to my place tomorrow and we'll sort everything out from there.

BJ (young, foolish, and still hoping that this is some sort of nightmare): Um, ok, see you then.

End of call

The next day I received a text message stating that he was far too hungover to go out for lunch and asking for a raincheck. I gave one, with some relief. After this I became intensely rageful towards the Original Bluck and three months went by with neither one of us breaking the silence. I eventually started talking to him again, after I started dating the King of Emotional Fuckwittery (who at that point was a sweet, lovely boy of eighteen, you would never have guessed what he was to become), and forgave him for his sins. 

In hindsight, hilarious, that I would get so self-righteous and horrified by a guy behaving like a drunken moron, and not just laugh and tell him to rack off (god, that's a phrase I never thought I would use). Unfortunately for the Original Bluck, things just got worse, and about six months after our big falling out he started going out with a girl from the year ahead of us. He moved in with her within a few months and they are now engaged. Shocking, that the 'have sex with' type of guy was so easily tamed, and disheartening, that I was not the one to do it. A lot of what ifs flew through my mind. What if I had just succumbed to his desires? Would he have realised that he was, in fact, a 'going out with' type of guy and promptly shacked up with me, followed closely by a proposal and a happy, long, joy-filled marriage? Probably not, because he was a bit of a dick. But still. 

Anyway, I'll get to the point. I hadn't heard from the Original Bluck in years, and I was quite happy with that arrangement. We run in different circles, he in his engaged 'I'm a dick' circles, and I in my single, happy, carefree, 'I'm not a dick' circles. We are "friends" on Facebook, but he appears to lead a very boring existence and he's gotten a bit ugly with age, so he is not really cyber-stalk-worthy, and I had sort of half-forgotten about him. Then , BAM. The Original Bluck IM'd me on FB (oh, listen to me with my techno acronyms, I am so down with the technology etc) about a month ago, and asked if I was living in Ireland. Why, yes, I am. OB responded by telling me he is currently living in England (conveniently left out that he lives there with fiance, who, by the way, appears to be a jealous bitch from hell, perfect for him, really. The only time I ever met her, and I use the word met loosely, was when I was talking to OB following an exam and she marched over, and stood about two metres away from us with her arms folded across her chest until he stopped talking to me and ran over to her). OB (whose mother is Irish and father is English) told me that he often comes to Dublin to visit family and that next time he was over we should catch up. Yes, I responded, great idea (secretly thinking, yeah right, like that's going to happen!). I thought that would be it. 

Life went on, I once again forgot about OB, after laughingly telling my friends about his ridiculous IM-ing and chortling over how much of a dick he is. What a dick. This Saturday just gone I was walking home from Henry Street, crossing the O'Connell Bridge, when I saw someone who looked a little like OB. I glanced over and acknowledged this resemblance. Then I looked again and realised, with growing panic, that it was OB. FUUUUCCCCCCCKKKKKKK!!!!!! I also registered that Jealous Bitch from Hell Fiance was marching along in front of him, no doubt on a mission to stare down anyone who so much as smiled at him (not that anyone would anymore, he has lost the magic, that's what impending doom, oops, I mean marriage, does to you). I didn't know what to do. Did I call out to him and have an awkward 'Hey, what a bizarre coincidence', 'I was going to FB message you tonight to see if you wanted to catch up (internally: 'not really, oh fuck, I can't believe I saw her here, now my jealous bitch from hell fiance is going to be on my back for months'),' 'Haha, great, yeah, we should totally catch up (internally: 'please shoot me now, omg, jealous bitch from hell fiance looks like she is going to attack me. She's smaller than me, I could probably take her, although I have to factor in the fact that she is way meaner looking than me)' conversation? Or did I pretend that I hadn't seen him and hope he hadn't seen me? I, in true fifteen year old style, looked at the first opportunity I had to speak to an old "friend" (I guess he was kind of a friend, once, before I realised he was a dick) from home, the first person from home I have randomly seen in a foreign city, and I put my head down and ran as fast as I could in the opposite direction. Proving what? That I am reverting back to behaving like a weird teenager? Probably.

Anyway, that's my story. Pointless, I know. But kind of amusing. The good times just keep on coming. 

Like, Whatever,

B. J. Barnes

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