IMG_8137.jpgI’m often come across talk of “soulmates,” about how there is that one someone special out there for everyone. Every shoe has it’s perfect match, apparently. I could probably just be content with someone whose company I enjoy, though obviously I do wish for more. I want the fairytale, if such things even exist, but I’m not holding my breath. Nothing and no one is perfect, so I’m not holding out for that. I get really disheartened at times when I see what’s out there though. I have dropped my standards when it comes to what I expect out of a man, but I refuse to let go of them completely. I shouldn’t have to. 

About a week ago I was excited when a fairly okay looking doctor (but who I suspect is balding since his pictures seemed somewhat strategically cropped) reached out to me. Let’s start off with a little snippet from his dating profile…


Sounds good right? Perfect for me.

We exchanged numbers and texted a bit. He didn’t seem anything like the guy in the profile. Actually, the man was pure and unadulterated asshole. Here excerpt from our conversation…



Well, to make a long story short, we did not meet. I was completely put off.

So, as far as soul mates are concerned,  I accept the responsibility of being my own. The way things are going down, that’s the only choice I really have. And I got to tell ya, I’m getting kind of awesome with the way I treat me. I think I’d make a fab boyfriend! I didn’t want me to feel sad on Valentine’s Day so I did all sorts of lovely things for myself. I am loving myself in the way that I would like someone to love me. I guess that’s the next best thing. Admittedly, it’s a far cry from having a romantic partner, but I’m not going to lower myself to the degree where I’m going to waste my time with a butt wipe, whom I imagine is probably a racist and a Trump supporter (yeah, I totally made that up in my head, but I believe it wholeheartedly). The spirits of my female ancestors did not manifest in my soul so that I could be the foot stool for some fuckwit’s feet. This much I know. Therefore, if I can’t get kindness and respect from a man, I shall give it to myself. In the process, I have decided that I may just ridicule the douche bags that cross my path on my blog  … because, hey, it’s kinda fun. And if I wasn’t able to laugh about it, I’d probably cry. Those of you who know me, know that I do that too. A bit less often these days, but it still happens.

So how did I treat myself on Valentine’s Day? I bought myself a lovely Marc Jacobs tote. It is perfect for work. I plan to use it as my everyday bag. It has this gorgeous bright red interior that makes me feel happy every time I open it. And guess what? I didn’t even buy it on sale. I just treated myself to exactly what I wanted when I wanted it. It was a bit pricey, but whateva. I also ate some delicious buttery shortbread. One by one, I polished off the whole box. For dinner I made myself one of my favorites: wings. I make mine in the oven. It’s an easy recipe: 1 part honey to 1 part harissa (Moroccan spice paste) which I brush on to the chicken once it is cooked and crispy, then back in the oven another five minutes. The trick to getting them crispy is to pat them as dry as possible when raw, salt them, and then cook them on a high temperature on a rack that allows the fat to render. No oil. Nothing is as good as fried, but this is a very satisfying alternative. Try it, tell me what you think.

I do acknowledge that there are good men out there. I have met a few. I know they actually exist, but I haven’t met the one who is right for me. Until then, I am in my own care. I want to do right by me. Partner or not, I hope you will do the same. Nobody will ever know how you need to be teated better than you. Be careful of what you tolerate because you are showing people what you will accept. Show them how it’s done dollies!

Lots of love and kisses to all my readers on Valentine’s Day. I love you. 

Valentine’s Day is about to rear its ugly face again. Please, pass me a Hallmark card. Don’t forget the envelope, that’s for the vomit, don’tcha know. I thought this year on my blog I’d do something different. I don’t want to waste space discussing my lamentable love life. Nah, old news. Instead today’s post is sort of a love letter … to myself. And why not? Rather than waiting for some guy to tell me how special I am, maybe I can just do that for myself, after all, they surely don’t know me the way I know me.

I’m trying to turn over a new leaf. It’s not that I’ve given up looking for a partner. It’s just that it’s gradually sinking in that nobody will ever fit the job description better than I will. And so, I want to treat myself with all the love and kindness that my imaginary perfect boyfriend would. Gloria Steinem hit the nail on the head when she said, “Some of us are becoming the men we wanted to marry.” Is it sad, or is it awesome, that I have more of the qualities I look for in a man inside of me than the men I encounter?

I want to take the time to care about how I feel and do nice little things for myself to make life more beautiful. Should a wonderful man cross my path, well that would be excellent. He could be the cherry on the cake that I baked myself. And should he not come around, well that cake will be damned fine without him. Well that’s what I’m going for anyways.

If I had a partner, I’d love to sit and listen to all the reasons why he loves me. The ego wants what it wants, eh? Who doesn’t like hearing about how awesome they are? Today I write about what I love most about myself, and I kind of recommend you do the same, partner or not. Our partners can be clueless when it comes to knowing how to meet our needs at times. And furthermore, it’s not fair to them to expect them to be mind-readers. Even the best girl/guy won’t be able to accommodate 100% of what we wish from them 100% of the time, so some of that needs to come from ourselves. We all have bad days. They will too. And when we stop giving them the power to effect our mood (easier said than done, for sure), it can be very liberating. I think maybe meeting my own needs isn’t the worst idea I’ve come up with.

Reasons why I love me:

My resilient heart: despite having had my heart broken, time after time, I heal. I heal like a mutha fucka… and I manage to do it without bitterness. I still believe in love, and I will never give up. I leave my heart open to possibilities.

My ability to see the good in people: Some will say it’s naievity, I say it’s anything but. We all have good and bad, we all have beauty. What we find in others is actually a reflection of ourselves, not the person we are observing. I choose to see the good. That’s the way I like my world to be.

My stillness: I like that I am quiet. I like that I can be comfortable not showing off or screaming for attention. I like my soft voice. I think there is beauty in restraint, a peacefulness and an elegance.

My smile: I do have an awesome smile… for real. You would be jealous.

My appreciation for beauty: I love the way my beady little eyes seek out beauty. I think I have an amazing aesthetic. I am able to enjoy all sorts of art from street art to the old masters. I find beauty everywhere I go, and quite frankly, being able to do that makes me feel very wealthy indeed. Maybe it’s because I can appreciate the finer things as well as the simple ones, without the need for ownership. I consider that a very great blessing.

Happy Valentine’s Day to myself, my best girl, my ride or die. I love you.


Valentine’s Day. I loathe you. When I think of you I vomit in my mouth a little. For the last three years you have been a source of grief. It’s my fault, of course. I let you tell me that something is wrong with me because I don’t have a man in my life, and that is bullshit!

Valentine’s Day this year falls on a Tuesday. I’ll be working and I hope the day will pass without too much fanfare. At work they like to make big deals out of all the holidays. There will be a potluck, I know that much. They may as well call it,  “The Let Me Eat My Feelings Free for All” LOL. I refuse to partake in such shenanigans. I’m saving myself for food that is not laced with bitterness and unrequited love — oh dear, I must get out more. I am turning into Sylvia Plath.

There is a guy showing me some interest. Actually I have known him for two years. For the sake of this blog, I’ll call him Mr Big because he is definitely one of those larger than life characters that you don’t come across too often. He is loud, brash, and sometimes downright rude and horrible. He is also the smartest person I ever met. He has a brilliant mind with an IQ that ventures into Einstein levels. He is also very successful. We are total opposites. He is completely out there, while I am quiet, arty, and romantic. That is part of what he likes about me. The thing is, sometimes we clash terribly, which is why we never had a real relationship. I am starting to look at Mr Big with new eyes though.  There are two main reasons:

  1. Despite the fact that we can really rub each other the wrong way, and we might stop talking for long periods of time, he has never given up on me. He is steadfast. This is a quality I’ve been searching for in a partner since my marriage ended. We live during a time where humans treat each other as disposable. Everything is expected to be fast and easy. If it’s not, you throw it away and start again. The world is full of choices, after all, and the possibilities are endless. I don’t like this mentality. It’s fine for things, but not for people. People have hearts and memories, and if you hurt them, the effects can be very long lasting. Despite getting quite angry at me, Mr Big has never given up on me- and trust me, I can throw one hell of hissy when I’m provoked (and so can he for that matter)! He has seen me in my “special moments” – at times, he has been the cause of them. But guess what? He never left.
  2. I don’t have to convince him of anything. One great source of pain in past relationships is that I always felt I had to convince whoever I cared for that I was enough- that I’m pretty enough, smart enough … etc.  I wanted to prove that I was worth sticking around for. Mr Big wants me with a capital W. He tells me I’m beautiful, that I’m smart, and he likes talking to me. I don’t go out of my way to impress him, he just kind of adores me.  And get this, he is not afraid to use the “L” word!  It is so nice to be in the company of a man who is not all wishy washy. Mr Big knows what he wants, and that just so happens to be me. How cool is that?!

I don’t know if this can work out. At best, we can compliment each other beautifully, but because of his bluntness and my over sensitivity, sometimes things get volatile. There are times where he is just too much for me. Maybe if I can keep my cool, and he can do the same… maybe…

Could the person I’ve been looking for be the one that’s been around all along, or should I just stick to cake?


As you read this, I am in New York City, hopefully having an awesome time hunting Space Invaders in the freezing cold while eating my weights worth of Levain cookies and Murray’s Bagels. A girl needs to insulate herself with a smidge of blubber when she is exploring the frozen tundra after all. There are museums to visit, department stores to browse, and cakes to eat (yep, cakes with an “s”). This requires plenty of fuel dontcha know. Horrific posts of gluttony are soon to follow, I’m sure. For the next few days, I want to ignore the fact that I am unemployed. I will do my upmost not to let it ruin my time here. I prefer to think about that later. I’ve got plenty of time for that.

I do actually have some news, so here goes….

Valentine’s Day is not my favorite day of the year. While I do love limited edition pink and red boxes of shockingly overpriced chocolates, not to mention flowers, I kind of hate this holiday. I don’t need some glaringly obviously reminder that I am alone. But… I’m not so alone this year. I’ve actually met someone, and I am kind of excited about it. Part of me is really freaked about by even writing about him. Part of me thinks that as soon as I put it in black and white, he is going to be gone in a puff of deliciously scented smoke, but I am ready to air my dirty laundry. I wouldn’t go so far as to call him my boyfriend, I think it would be more accurate to say that we are “seeing each other.” While nobody is perfect, he is pretty freaking close.

I shall state my case:

  • He wears Bond No 9’s Sandalwood … it is dead sexy.
  • He is very handsome. He has the most awesome smile, and I love his dark hair and dark eyes.
  • He is smart – I will never fall for a stupid man. What’s the point of beautiful eyes if there is nothing worthwhile in between them? I have to be able to have an intelligent conversation with a person.
  • He is successful in what he does, but unlike a lot of men, he doesn’t define himself by his profession. I love that. Most doctors define themselves by their title, and they tend to have huge egos. He doesn’t.
  • He is very passionate about certain political issues. He has something of a man crush on Bernie Sanders actually LOL. What I think is great is he doesn’t just talk a lot of s*it, he actually is very politically involved and has even taken part in protests where he risked being arrested for speaking out about his beliefs.
  • We share the same birthday, and his first name is the same as my dad’s name. I don’t know why exactly, but that is significant to me… almost as if someone is trying to give me a sign.
  • What I like best about him is that he has never made me feel as anything less than special. Let’s face facts, I am a 4o year old woman who is living with her mother (text book “old maid” material). I don’t have a car. As of Thursday, we can add the fact that I’m unemployed now too.  Though I think I have some wonderful qualities, sadly, I don’t think any man describe me as a catch. Never once, however, did he ever make me feel  shitty or embarrassed about my situation. He has only treated me with kindness and respect … and that my dears, is priceless.

For the sake of this blog, I shall call him Birdy. Why? Because of he reminds me of this poem.

How much does he like me? Honestly I don’t know. He likes me I’m sure, but I have the feeling that I probably have stronger feelings for him than he has for me. I have pre written this post, and I honestly don’t know if he will even be around when this entry gets published. Why? Because I’m afraid I’m a bit of a train wreck. I don’t have the best track record when it comes to men, and I no longer have the confidence in myself to believe that he will stick around (or why he is there in first place). All I can tell you is that since I’ve been living in America, nobody man has come close to this one. He is something rare and wonderful. I kind of know that I am not the only woman who has thought the same of him. What makes me any better than them? Is it possible that some kind of late Christmas miracle is going to happen where he will be able to see the real me that lives behind all this tarnish? What makes me think I have a snowball’s chance in hell? Hope.

Happy Valentine’s day dollies. I love you.



First of all, I just wanted to say thank you to the kind comments you left me on my last post. I was really feeling low. There are times when this world seems like a very cruel and dark place, but you helped to remind me of the good things.

In less than a month, it will be Valentine’s Day … again. Last year, I thought for sure that by the next time this holiday rolled around, I would have rediscovered love. That didn’t happen. That’s the bad news.

My dad taught me something cool when I was a little girl. When I had a problem, and I would cry, he would let me cry about it for a while, and then he would ask me, “okay, so what are you going to do about it?” It taught me that there was a time for tears, and a time to take matters into your own hands.

So now, this good news part is about me telling you how, in my own small way, I have decided to do that. Because as much as I don’t mind being 100% real and telling you when I feel low, I sure as hell don’t want to be the type of woman that people feel sorry about (or to spend loads of time feeling sorry for myself, for that matter). Yes, it’s natural for a girl to go through low points, but I believe that truly good women do not stay down. I believe they make the effort to pick themselves up.

In my own frivolous way, this is how I have chosen to do that: I am going to spend Valentine’s Day in New York. For four days and three nights, I am going to give myself the best ever Valentine’s alone that a person can have. I am going to the museums, I am going to hunt street art, I am going to browse around Barneys, Bendels, and Bergdorfs, I am going to eat burgers and stuff my belly with fancy cake, I am going to get my hair done at a chic salon, and I am going to the MET for the first time to see an opera. It’s going to be F’ing freezing, but I don’t care. Some overpriced gloves and some new boots will take care of that. What I will not be doing is sitting around at home crying about being alone. I’m going to be bad ass with a fat ass LOL. I am so looking forward it.


aad93773d1a2bd0fecd85f36b9fd6827On December 20, 2013 I started keeping a journal. Why? Because I wanted to have something to look back on and say, “yes, I’ve come a long way since then.” Since I started it, my life has become unrecognizable from the one I lived back then.  I am living in another country, I have started my first job in twelve years, I am divorced, I am learning put myself out there in a way I wasn’t able to do before… but I couldn’t say I am happier. I do know that I am moving in the right direction though.  I am on my way to rebuilding myself. It is a hard and lonely process which has left me quite heart broken. But okay, I can’t keep looking back. Someone I don’t like too much, but really admire, gave me some excellent advice “winners don’t live in the past.”  I refuse to remain a looser. I owe it to myself to achieve my vision of success. For me, in order to feel successful, I need to feel loved.  So on Valentine’s Day I vowed to myself that I make a dedicated effort to find somebody worthy of me, somebody who is smart, kind, and emotionally available. Don’t get me wrong, being alone is absolutely fabulous—if that is how you choose to live, but the thing is, it’s not my choice. I am not content. I need to start taking more responsibility for my happiness. I won’t wait for a miracle anymore. I am going to create one of my own.

So, what did I actually do on Valentine’s Day?

Let’s start with Friday, the prequel to all the Valentine’s Day festivities. It was a day which saw me crying in a grungy bathroom cubicle. The girl who sits near me at work got a bouquet of roses. She looked so happy. She is an absolutely lovely girl. I should have been happy for her. All I could think of was how alone I felt. I felt very sorry for myself, truth be told. The self pity had well and truly set in. It got better though.

That evening a friend and I went to see 50 Shades of Grey. I read the book, and unlike most girls, I didn’t love it. I have to say though, it was *cough*…. quite entertaining LOL. The best part was the audience. It was made up of 90% of women who were sniggering, cheering, and whooping in the same way that you would imagine men to do during the Super Bowl. You would never get an audience like that in the UK. For the first time since being here, I actually felt happy to be back in America. Strange huh? It was a late movie. By the time I got home, Valentine’s Day had started, but I was ready for bed.

Valentine’s Day itself passed like any other day. In my heart of hearts, I was praying for something which I’m a little too embarrassed to put into words here, but for better or for worse, it did not come to pass. I guess that’s to be expected when you give one particular day too much power and/ or expectations.

In real life, there was no handsome prince on a white horse. There was me, my mother who had fallen asleep on the couch where she snored like a chainsaw, and lots of junk food that I ate till my stomach hurt. Thank God this holiday only rolls around once a year. Next year, however, I intend that my life will be equally unrecognizable from the one I live today, and I mean that in the best possible way.

Hell no! You need to back the f*ck up!
Hell no! You need to back the f*ck up!

Truth be told, I think there is nothing more precious than true love. Being that I am fast on my way to becoming a cranky old maid, however, you might guess that I am not looking forward to Valentine’s Day. I really don’t need a holiday to remind me that I am alone. I really do not want to see happy girls with beautiful bouquets of roses in order to remember that once upon a time a man loved me. I certainly don’t want to see heart shaped boxes filled with chocolates. It will only serve to remind me of how my Napoleon would buy me boxes of delicious pralines from La Maison Du Chocolat right nearby to Green Park where we would spend hours kissing on a picnic blanket. No, I don’t want to be reminded at all.

To all of you that will be with your significant other, I wish you a very happy Valentine’s Day. To those of you that are unattached, I send you a kiss of solidarity. Even if you are on your own this year, it takes nothing away from how special you are. Do something lovely for yourself. As my mother always says, “if I wait for a man to buy me flowers, I’ll grow a beard, so I buy my own.” My mom has some good ones LOL. She is the one person who has stuck by me through all the crap, and her love and kindness to me has never wavered, so this year I will be spending the day with her. She is, after all, my first love.