ANOTHER wedding, another slice of cake, an-other vain attempt at telling the future by putting it under my pillow.
The results from this experiment were, however, slightly alarming. Not only did I dream of my supposed future husband, I also dreamt of the kids who would jump on the bed of a Sunday morning, the fresh white sheets and the sun rays streaming in the window.
Sound ideal? Not when the subject is someone I should not be dreaming of and someone who I now have to try to face regularly without imagining him facing me on my pillow.
There were also the feelings you can have for or about someone in a dream which steals into your conscious — like anger, love, jealousy, or worry — sometimes without you being able to remember why.
I’m now looking at my ‘dream lover’, just pondering — what ifs aplenty. The dream felt so real and idylic that I was disappointed with reality when I awoke.
When I see him now, I still get that rosy glow the dream was immersed in.
Three times in as many weeks, people who I haven’t seen for a while have commented they are surprised I’ve not settled down with a husband and kids by now, because they thought I’d be one of the first.
Even my ‘dream lover’ unwittingly slipped in a ‘marriage material’ comment, and then questioned my blush.
I was surprised that they thought this of me. Playing mummies and daddies when I was young, I was always 19 and called Julie, so I suppose I always thought, like these faces from my past, that I’d be well settled down by now.
The question is why are these well wishers coming out of hibernation now — making me question myself.
I’m still totally puzzled as to where I am meant to find these potential suitors, and how I’ll know if they are worthy of my marriage plans, or if they’ll run out the nearest door when I mention anything about the long term.
It takes me back to the ‘why doesn’t she have a boyfriend, she’s funny’ scenario of so many columns inches ago.
The new kid on the Singled Out block and I were discussing this very topic the other night. Our friendship happened quite by accident but I’m so happy it did.
She is the kind of person that can put what you have been struggling to say into words effortlessly. She reckons we are both of the age that if we stand any chance of being settled down and ready for some quality time before children come along, we have to allow ourselves to be found, and not let our age get in the way.
She also agrees with me that it’s best to find out, right from the beginning, whether it has the potential to go long term. If someone says they just want a bit of fun, or they’re not looking for a ‘big thing’ — don’t take it to mean ‘but if I’m with you long enough I could change my mind’ even if these are the exact words they use.
My problem is, when I’m married I want that to be it. The end. Til death do us part. Forsaking all others. Happy ever after.
I’m very unsettled by the modern day phenomenon of ‘starter marriages’ — young couples tying the knot for the first time not considering what marriage really means, not seeing it as the long haul they should; going into it with a ‘suck it and see’ approach.
The romance, the full-blown white wedding, the first house, promising careers, a full social life and a healthy bank balance are the dreams of so many couples, only to be shattered when reality rears its ugly head.
I read in a recent article: “While most marriages are entered into with the best of intentions, some see their first failed marriages serving as dress rehearsals for more stable marriages later on in life”.
I read with amazement the story a few weeks ago about the centenarians celebrating their 80th wedding anniversary. Nowadays, couples see it as a milestone that they reach eight.
While celebrating a couple’s recent 25th anniversary, we had a laugh imagining our own anniversary parties, with our circle of friends surrounding us like the happy couple’s were surrounding them.
For these future parties, I’ll probably still be scraping together a platonic plus one at the last minute.
Considering I’ve never lasted longer than a few months at time in a relationship, you can understand why I am cynical about things. The fact I just spent half an hour trying to figure out how to spell cynical shows I haven’t used it for a while.
As I’m writing this, my favourite ex has just slated my past performance in relationships sending me spiralling into ‘I’m doomed’ mode. I pointed out that we are in fact as bad as each other, and therefore probably ideal for each other — our own misgivings would cancel the other’s out.
I’ve just had my next wedding invite through the post, and secured my platonic plus one with months to spare. Hopefully by the fortune telling powers that pillow covered cake holds, I’ll discover if my sub concious is any better at commitment than my awake self.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Monday, June 06, 2005
Playing to win
IF, like some of my friends, you thought I would be appearing on your screens in the Big Brother house last Friday night I’m sorry to disappoint you. I’m still here.
It’s quite disconcerting to walk into a room and your nearest and dearest start laughing. Apparently, though, they had a wager on that I had secretly applied for the sixth series, after threatening to last summer.
And am I not so glad I failed to get that application in. I don’t think I would have lasted the first night!
Lesley is actually Little Britain’s Vicki Pollard in disguise; Science would get fed up of me saying “Eh?” after everything he says; and I’d be worried Mary would abduct and take me to whatever planet she’s due to visit next.
I think I could safely say I would be the quietest, most subdued person in there. In fact I would probably be the token boring one.
It’s strange to think of yourself being in the public domain like that. The housemates this year only seem to be interested in the benefits their notoriety will bring. And it seems the more obnoxious and unlikable you come across, the more you are loved and kept in by the viewing public.
It’ll only be a matter of time before like-minded individuals dish the dirt in our newspapers. And if it’s in the tabloids you know it must be true. I wonder what people would write about me!
Cast your mind back to the very beginning and you will remember Craig went onto the show to win money for charity, and for others it as a self-improvement and confidence building exercise. Now you are guaranteed your week or fifteen of fame. Some stay afloat, others sink into oblivion.
Talking of fame-seeking no hopers who should sink into oblivion quite literally, Celebrity Love Island springs to mind — someone please take their boats!
The only decent ones in the programme were Jayne Middlemiss and Lee Sharpe and now programme makers have taken them away to play ‘Cilla’ with their affections. It’s all going to end up in even more tears.
I have first hand experience of Paul Danan — somebody should take away his E numbers and keep him out of the sun for a while.
I have to admit I would love Callum Best’s babies, but let’s face it: our genes would surely mean the said babies would be alcoholics from birth.
And I can’t decide who I can’t stand more; Abi Titmuss or Rebecca Loos. I don’t think it’s purely coincidence that their surnames can be easily edited to become profanities, which best describe them.
The reason most of the contestants are famous is they’ve slept their way to success. Why do they feel the need to show us what they do best, on national television?!
I’ve got to say though I’m hooked. It’s like car crash TV — you have to watch it because it is so surreal.
It’s also educational — if you ever become famous you’ll know if you get offered the chance to go to Celebrity Love Island, exactly what kind of person the general public think you are.
My very own ‘reality’ show transmitting at the moment involves concocting a wedding outfit from my private collection, after a disaster last week.
I had a family function on the Saturday to which I ended up wearing the second option for a funeral from the day before. I was feeling fat, frumpy and miserable about myself, so black was definitely the colour.
It didn’t help that I developed a film this week to find pictures of my lovely Valentine’s bouquet from my lovely boyfriend.
But I have tried to be very good this week, eating better, thinking positively, walking more and trying not to lose the bet with my favourite ex that I’ll answer to Ronald McDonald’s temptations.
I think I’ve cracked it though. My outfit has come together beautifully and has reminded me why I buy things ‘just in case’.
I spoke too soon last week — nothing more has been said about our planned getaway. I’ve heard about last minute deals but this is getting ridiculous. I have been doing well on the ‘getting over him at last’ stage, and hardly flinched when he told me he was possibly becoming romantically linked with his first ever girlfriend again. Hardly!
I think I just need to get out onto that ‘field’ which I’m expected to play again. I’ve just been offered a night of ‘beautiful shoes and vodka’ so things are looking up.
It’s quite disconcerting to walk into a room and your nearest and dearest start laughing. Apparently, though, they had a wager on that I had secretly applied for the sixth series, after threatening to last summer.
And am I not so glad I failed to get that application in. I don’t think I would have lasted the first night!
Lesley is actually Little Britain’s Vicki Pollard in disguise; Science would get fed up of me saying “Eh?” after everything he says; and I’d be worried Mary would abduct and take me to whatever planet she’s due to visit next.
I think I could safely say I would be the quietest, most subdued person in there. In fact I would probably be the token boring one.
It’s strange to think of yourself being in the public domain like that. The housemates this year only seem to be interested in the benefits their notoriety will bring. And it seems the more obnoxious and unlikable you come across, the more you are loved and kept in by the viewing public.
It’ll only be a matter of time before like-minded individuals dish the dirt in our newspapers. And if it’s in the tabloids you know it must be true. I wonder what people would write about me!
Cast your mind back to the very beginning and you will remember Craig went onto the show to win money for charity, and for others it as a self-improvement and confidence building exercise. Now you are guaranteed your week or fifteen of fame. Some stay afloat, others sink into oblivion.
Talking of fame-seeking no hopers who should sink into oblivion quite literally, Celebrity Love Island springs to mind — someone please take their boats!
The only decent ones in the programme were Jayne Middlemiss and Lee Sharpe and now programme makers have taken them away to play ‘Cilla’ with their affections. It’s all going to end up in even more tears.
I have first hand experience of Paul Danan — somebody should take away his E numbers and keep him out of the sun for a while.
I have to admit I would love Callum Best’s babies, but let’s face it: our genes would surely mean the said babies would be alcoholics from birth.
And I can’t decide who I can’t stand more; Abi Titmuss or Rebecca Loos. I don’t think it’s purely coincidence that their surnames can be easily edited to become profanities, which best describe them.
The reason most of the contestants are famous is they’ve slept their way to success. Why do they feel the need to show us what they do best, on national television?!
I’ve got to say though I’m hooked. It’s like car crash TV — you have to watch it because it is so surreal.
It’s also educational — if you ever become famous you’ll know if you get offered the chance to go to Celebrity Love Island, exactly what kind of person the general public think you are.
My very own ‘reality’ show transmitting at the moment involves concocting a wedding outfit from my private collection, after a disaster last week.
I had a family function on the Saturday to which I ended up wearing the second option for a funeral from the day before. I was feeling fat, frumpy and miserable about myself, so black was definitely the colour.
It didn’t help that I developed a film this week to find pictures of my lovely Valentine’s bouquet from my lovely boyfriend.
But I have tried to be very good this week, eating better, thinking positively, walking more and trying not to lose the bet with my favourite ex that I’ll answer to Ronald McDonald’s temptations.
I think I’ve cracked it though. My outfit has come together beautifully and has reminded me why I buy things ‘just in case’.
I spoke too soon last week — nothing more has been said about our planned getaway. I’ve heard about last minute deals but this is getting ridiculous. I have been doing well on the ‘getting over him at last’ stage, and hardly flinched when he told me he was possibly becoming romantically linked with his first ever girlfriend again. Hardly!
I think I just need to get out onto that ‘field’ which I’m expected to play again. I’ve just been offered a night of ‘beautiful shoes and vodka’ so things are looking up.
