Timing

Timing.

The comic's best friend. The comic's worst enemy.

The catalyst of two people meeting; of sparks slicing and frittering into a night sky; to merge into something beautiful and huge, like an opera of colours and dizzying emotions that are popping out of a million champagne bottles, pop, pop, pop, POW! Right in the kisser. Bang. Shot to the heart. Shot to the pelvic area, where night flies buzz and swirl; they light you up inside, take you for a ride, turn day to night, while showing dancing lights. Timing can be beautiful.

Or timing dismisses you.

Timing is the waiting around for hours in London for girl X/Y/Z to show up, only to then find out:

A) They had got wasted on drugs with friends the night before

B) Met someone else the night before, stayed over at theirs and decided not to tell me.

C) They were getting back with their ex.

None meant to be. All duds; poor jokes and tumble weeds. Cest. La. Vie.

You can't even blame people for timing. You can blame people for being arseholes, but for timing? No.

Some people just still really love their ex; who are you to think they are an idiot for it? Just because you've had enough time, you think you have the right to feel vilified or mad? They haven't had enough nights of crying into their pillows, of torturing themselves over whether or not to send a text to the person they love, of writing for and against lists again and again as to whether or not they should stay with that person/give it another try... for old times sake. For loves sake.

Daenerys thinks the Game of Thrones is hard? She should try lesbian dating

I mean, for fucks sake. Its tough. Incredibly tough.

Right now, I am in a wonderful place where I am more or less indifferent to love and the opportunity to meet someone special. I don't crave love. Nor do I fear it. I fear living with someone again, of them taking my time, taking me away from my own life and hobbies and turning me into a faceless entity, lacking any form of identity. I have re-found myself and that took a while. Its not something I particularly wanna do again any time soon, if ever.

Jo Cooper: available for hugs most weekends.

But love is wonderful. Maybe not right now. But at some point again, of course.

The downside to dating is that we assume/hope that everyone is on the same level as us, or wants the same as us, or is at least a moderately functioning human being. However, reaching that level doesn't happen over night and ultimately all everyone wants is some attention and for someone to care. So I guess the moral to this story is, whoever you date, give them a cuddle. Doesn't matter if they don't ever call you back, or it fizzles out, or they are occupied with someone else. We are all in our own time zones; but what travels beyond those ticking clocks is a great big hug.

A lesson in lesbian online dating

Hands in the air: I'm kinda drunk right now, so bear with me.

I met my bro for a couple of drinks and the subject of dating naturally came up, what with us both being single, attractive and moderately decent human beings (if you ignore our hatred of 99 per cent of the squealing, excitable, false, arrogant and frankly bizarre women that we witness in bars every week).

"Hey Ben, I'm writing a blog on dating."

"Maybe wait til your sober?"

"Nah, what's thw worst that can happen?"

So our discussion came down to POF, aka Plenty of Fish, an online dating/hook-up site that we both use to meet potential suitors that will, with our hopes at the top level, love us despite of or even for our quirks,will be our best mate who has amazing sex with us and is ultimately awesome so we can love them too, despite our fears of being hurt etc., or, with our hopes at the bottom level, offer us intelligent and witty banter, amazing sex, and fun dates for a couple of months (or in my brothers case, a couple of hours). Does this ever happen? VERY VERY  RARELY. And why doesn't it ever happen? Is it because no girls are interested? NO. Is it because girls are fucking crazy? In a nutshell: YES.

In a recent article I spoke about part one of my year of being single, which mainly involved a barely-serious rebound with a girl and the intense feelings of a girl called Hazel. The plus side to both of these women, despite their obvious differences in interests, looks and social abilities in the crazy world of dating, was that they both made it clear that they were INTERESTED. Yeah, Hazel attempted to give me herpes; yeah, she frightened the life out of me during our date, but she showed she was keen, right!?

Same with Caroline, I knew she liked me. I knew I liked her. I knew we were both in pain but regardless of that we enjoyed each others company, we had chemistry and we liked each other. Things were fairly simple, despite the obvious.... distractions towards ghosts of our pasts. But since... I don't know... October WHAT THE FUCK LESBIANS?!

I have had to avoid the same lesbian friend due to two horribly-cringe experiences for a period of a month or so each time. One involved her giving me the most awkward massage of my life in a gay bar; I didn't ask for it and I didn't want it, but she gave me it anyway. At one point she commented on how tense I was during this over-jacket-molestation, to which I said "Yes, because I don't like people touching me like that if they're not my girlfriend." This is true. The thought of someone even standing near me if I don't know them freaks me the Hell out. Following the knot-inducing massage, she later tried to kiss me, and even though I made it clear to her I wasn't interested by A) not kissing her back! and B) Not meeting up with her for a month or so, she still was the gift that kept on giving. Regarde:

(I won't name names, lets call her Shamone) Shamone: I am having such a hard time with this girl I have had sex with a couple of times and really like. I was seeing her when she had a girlfriend but she broke up with her because she was having sex with me; but then went to stay over at a girls house who she met off POF to watch films and now they call each other lots and hang out all the time and I don't know what to do. I asked her about it  and she said she kinda likes POF movie night girl and kinda likes me so I asked her out on a date and she said she couldn't because she was seeing this POF movie girl and I was so jealous. She then asked for a lift to meet this girl so I drove her half the half an hour journey and she didn't even pay me any money! I just really like her so much (because she is clearly such a brilliant person to have in your life. Wow.). By the way, are you free next Saturday? I thought we could have that date we have talked about, but have it at the local gay bar where this girl is gonna be with the POF film over night girl, what do you say?"

I say: CLICK: OFFLINE.

But what do I really want to say? How about: "How did we come to this? Where we sacrifice our friendships to get laid by skanks? Where we sacrifice our own honour and ethics for our own ego, so we can be the one these awful women choose? Shamone, you don't give a fuck about me, and what the fuck? We never discussed a date! I am so mad right now and hurt that you would treat me this way. Like a piece of relatively good looking meat to make some other girl jealous? Is my soul worth that? Is our friendship worth that to you? Do I mean so little that I am just an exterior?!"

So yeah, I mean, that story wasn't relevant to my point at stumbling at the first hurdle. Well, it is for Shamone and her skank I guess, but I was a mere pawn in that scab pile cesspit of poor behaviour.

I have stumbled at the first hurdle a few times, or even managed to get over the first hurdle, only to stagger a little, try desperately to keep running and ultimately end up bloody kneed and bashed on the floor, alone and bewildered. This is what happened with the police officer. We chatted online for a while, then she asked me out for dinner and I happily obliged despite her inability to converse properly online. Most conversations complimented me on my good sense of humour, with little banter back, but she was stunning and had a cool job.

So that weekend I was in a four star hotel in London that I got an amazing deal on and I was running late so the police officer offered to come to me. I gave her my room number, carried on getting ready and a few hours later there was a knock on the door. She was so beautiful. I still remember this really cute smile she did over something I said before we went to get food. We were flirting on the way, linking arms and teasing each other and play fighting and we chatted away in a bar in Earls Court. Before we knew it it was pretty late and I told her if she needed to stay with me because of tubes or whatever she could and I wouldn't try it on, so she did. Her profile was beautiful, as she lay there, semi smiling with her eyes closed and waiting for me to kiss her.*sigh*

So... what do you think happened next guys? After we spent the night making out and even kissing our way to the hotel door as we said our goodbyes and ,made promises to see each other soon and sent texts all day and for the next few weeks saying how amazing we thought each other was? What do you think happened?

"What DID happen next???"

I have not seen that girl since in the flesh. Just the odd Facebook update, and do you know why? Because I don't. We went from texting all the time, to nothing. Its not a big deal, in the big scheme of things, but she said she really liked me and gave me a really positive vibe, then she just disappeared. What the fuck is that?

So after a few weeks of expecting something to somehow develop in a hell hole of disappointment, I moved on to Daniella, an attractive, opinionated but ultimately weak strumpet who rang me every other day and flirted with me all the time only to stand me up on the day of our date because she met a 'straight' girl the day before who she was unsure about but thought she would give it a go. Things went well on that date for them, meanwhile I was left feeling like a dick by some toxic lesbian who had the audacity to say: "You shouldn't put all your eggs in one basket, you should be more like me and have more options open, but if things dont work out with me and (thinks of name to make up for sake of politeness) Dickmouth can I give you a call?"

"Errrrrrrr...... NO."

I naturally left her and Dickmouth to it; hurt, yet smug in the knowledge that they were clearly doomed. Three months later I got a call from Daniella, and it was back like old times. She was flirty, charming and witty, while also hurt and angry at the behaviour of Dickmouth, who was secretly messaging men on Facebook and flirting with men in bars. They were rarely having sex, bickering all the time and generally making one another miserable. So, from this, did Daniella take her chance at potential happiness with me? NO. Partly because I laughed at her downfall when she told me about it, partly because I admitted I was cautious at giving her any benefit of the doubt after her previous shitty behaviour, and partly because her egotism made her want to keep trying to be better than Dickmouth's desire for dick. Once again, and for the final time, Daniella let me down. Seriously, what the Hell?

After those two experiences I felt I needed some time out... and I am kinda drunk so its hard to remember what happened next. I did meet a girl at some point in Norwich who was nice enough and fun to talk to, save for when she was bitching about her parents. She ruined it by saying she had to be home by seven because her parents would be mad. FYI, she was 24.

There is also the story of coke girl. But I cant do that right now. I'm sorry.

"And the ones that aren't emotionally spasticated, that would be awesome. Thanks."

Another prime example of the weird behaviour of single people is Text Girl, who has been messaging my brother for weeks and telling him where she is on nights out, so he shows up and she ignores him. When he leaves she texts saying he should have stayed so they could go somewhere together. With this at the back of his mind, he goes to the next place she tells him she is at at a later date, only for her to ignore him again. What is the point in this behaviour?? Why do girls treat people this way? Is it that they just aren't into you? Or is it more that they frequently tend to have some sort of emotional relationship going on with an ex that they cant quite let go of yet, so they instead string along someone else as a distraction? Or is it all that so many women are just absolutely insane?

Still.... when disheartened and blue, there is always Michelle Jenneke to look at. <3 

A year of living singly Part One

It has been a year since I broke up with Ali. It the worst break up of my life and potentially the worst time of my life. In the space of a month I lost my job, my girlfriend, and had a partial thyroidectomy to remove a potentially cancerous lump from my throat. It wasn't exactly a typical break-up... I've never read a problem page story that reads: "My girlfriend was depressed, hated herself, hated me for loving her, hated our dog, hated going to uni, hated having a job, hated responsibility, hated everything, until one day she met a self-righteous, preaching, bi-sexual c-word and decided to go travelling with her. Wanted me to sell the dog because she needed money to run away, would sigh, roll her eyes and play Angry Birds on her tablet as I cried and tried to make things work, blocked me out by putting on her blinkers and looking straight ahead, past the three years of being in love, past the arguments, past her insecurities, her pain and mine, to those beautiful beaches, those exotic smiling people, the blistering sun and those sensuous calming seas, and of course, the potentially beautiful future she could have with that bikini-clad Lithuanian vilifying strumpet. What do I do, Dear Deirdre? What the fuck do I do?"

Some say life's a beach. I'd say its more of a massive stinky anus.

That was all a year ago, and what a year it has been. It all began with a rebound relationship with an emerald-eyed, engaging and emotionally engaged holistic therapist who dated me partly because she liked me and partly because I looked uncomfortably similar to the ex-girlfriend she was still in love with. She didn't tell me this fact straight away, of course, that would be weird.

By rebound I really do mean rebound. I broke up with Ali in late May 2012, I had my operation on the 10th of June and I met Caroline, my neck a butterfly stitched ugly mess of rawness, around the 20th. We walked around Hammersmith chatting in the sunshine before getting some drinks and nachos; I remember I liked her smile, the way she arched her eyebrows flirtatiously and her calm, relaxed manner. She asked me to go camping with her a fortnight later and I agreed because I liked her attention, I liked her, I had just acquired nearly five grand in redundancy pay and the thought of being in the same building as Ali for any longer than absolutely necessary was too unbearable. I had recently walked in on her and The Other Girl sharing the sofa bed one morning and had a major flip out. Items were thrown and savage, pain-filled words were hissed into Ali's confused, faux-innocent face: "Friends share beds Jo, its normal, you just cant handle the fact that she is bi-sexual. You think that means she likes me, but its not true, I swear it."

They say what hurts often instructs and I can honestly say that I have learnt a lot. One of the key things I can tell anyone reading this is:

One should always ignore the ifs and the buts
and instead listen to the head and listen to the gut.

If something is gnawing away at you, it is gnawing for a reason. Your gut isn't your insecurity, it is your protector and it is your friend. Listen to it and get out. Don't do what I did, which is basically the same as seeing a tiger running towards you and closing your eyes thinking that tiger isn't going to be there any more because whether you open your eyes or not you are going to hear that tiger coming; you are going to feel its hot breath on your face and you are really going to feel it as it rips you to fucking bits. Get out. Get out. Get out.

"You should have run when you had the chance."

You would think I would want to get Ali back for her turning my heart into an obliterated hole, and to be honest at one point I thought I would like that too, but when it came to it, came to me packing my bag and her knowing I was going to see that girl, and me seeing her making that face she makes when she is trying so fucking hard not to cry and I am chewing on my cheeks to stop me from bursting into tears because all I wanted at that time right then was for her to love me and for her to want me and to want to be with me and to make it work so I wouldn't go get on that train and I could stay with her and we could somehow be happy despite everything; but she couldn't do that and we couldn't go back to that... we couldn't go back to happy. So I got on that train and spent a weekend camping with Caroline in Devon.

We had a lot of fun camping. I remember we spent 16 hours together in a tiny tent because it was pissing it down, and we drank wine, and we had sex (I cried afterwards), and we read books to each other and she played her guitar to me. I am glad she was my rebound, even though it was so obviously doomed. We lasted around five months of camping, staying in hotels and at her parents house before we called it quits; neither of us was ready for a relationship and we both obviously had a lot of shit to deal with. It hurt a lot though. Despite her occasional spoilt brat behaviour, her criticisms, and the time she waved her hands around my head in front of a gang of bewildered butch hockey players to 'heal' me after I smacked my head on her car, it did hurt (not the car, that obviously hurt, even after her alleged healing hands wafted air around my head, I mean the break up itself).

This is a prime example of what love is.

As another one bit the dust, another girl came along. Her name was Hazel, she was a singer/songwriter and she was the most intense, crazy-ass date of my life, save for coke-girl, but she comes along later. For now, we are all about the Haze (I never called her that). We spoke online, on skype and on the phone all the time before we actually met and there was a definite bond of some sort, which Hazel took to mean that I was the love of her life. When we met she had written me a little love letter on a postcard, had two hair products for me because I once casually mentioned that they looked good from an advert, and a cup with her home town printed on it. Within half an hour she was looking up flights for me to go to France with her in a fortnight to meet her sister, was asking me to go to a hotel with her and generally being terrifyingly intense. It was in Tate Modern when I  accidentally touched her hand on the escalator and felt like I had been electrocuted that I realised I was out of my depth in this situation. We went to a cocktail bar and Hazel and I sat in the sun chatting, a nice casual conversation for a first date:

Hazel: We don't have to get a hotel, I could come home with you?

Me: Errr... I think we could just spend some time together today, during the day and see how we feel about that at another point.

Hazel: But we could spend so much more time together! I really wanna keep hanging out with you and I could meet your family.

Me: Mmm. *sips long island iced tea*

It was then that Hazel went in for the kill, kissing me in a way that reminded me of a turtle gumming on some cabbage leaves. Once it was over I asked to be excused to go to the bathroom, where I made a hasty phone call to my friend Tony.

Tony: Hello? Aren't you on a date?

Me: Help me!

Tony: What?

Me: She kissed me and I didn't like it and she asked me to go to France with her and she wants to come home with me or for us to get a hotel and I'm frightened!

Tony: Err...

Me: Hurry!

Tony: I don't know! I've never been in this situation!

I hung up in disgust and went back upstairs where an expectant Hazel waited.

Hazel: So?

Me: What?

Hazel: Did you feel anything from our kiss?

Me: *coughs awkwardly* Well.... no. Actually. Did you?

Hazel's eyes filled with tears and she put her coat on. So I did too, because it seemed like the time for us to put our coats on. We walked out, Hazel first, her back rigid with rage. We walked a little while together, in silence, while I hoped she wasnt about to punch me with her tight fists.It was then that she turned on me, her eyes hard yet watery.

Hazel: You didn't feel anything?

Me: I'm really sorry.

Hazel: Nothing?!

Me: I'm really sorry.

Hazel: But I thought we had a connection. We talk all the time! We tell each other everything! I really like you and I know you like me.

Me: I'm really sorry. I do like you but I didn't feel anything and I'm sorry.

Hazel stared at me for a while as I looked at anything but her.

Me: I'm gonna go.

Hazel: You're leaving me here alone!

Me: Well, you know how to get back don't you.

Hazel: You don't want to talk about this!

Me: I'm really sorry.

It was then that I got on the nearest tube and got the early train home.A few weeks later Hazel rang me to confess something, told me I would hate her and that she was sorry. I told her not to be silly, of course I wouldn't hate her and that I was sure that whatever she thought was bad really wasn't that bad. It was then that she told me she had herpes and felt really terrible for trying it on with me so much. She had also had sex with someone just before our date, and one person after and felt she needed to confess because she "really, REALLY, liked me."

"Bitch, that makes no sense."

It was another lesson to learn I guess: Just because someone may be really awesome to talk to, may make you laugh and be a great listener and good looking and talented and cool, doesn't mean they aren't an absolute herpes ridden nut job when it comes to dating. Haha, that wasn't where I was going with that at all, what I really mean to say is that regardless of all of the above, if you don't have chemistry, you don't have anything. This was a lesson I learnt with my next date: the beautiful, pillow-lipped, lovely, yet ultimately bland Lauren.

To be continued.

(In part two expect more awkwardness, me being molested, straight girls trying it on, me losing friends, vag-teases, commitmentphobes, girls with girlfriends, Ali realising the grass isn't greener, a make-out session with a hot police officer and a night with a coke-taking Jamie Winstone lookalike near-to-millionaire munchkin)

Lip Service Series Two

God bless BBC3 and their right honourable thumbs up to the next series of Lip Service. The Glaswegian guilty pleasure is in production and I thought long and hard to myself "Just what could happen in series two?" and came up with these relatively facetious but highly likely possibilities:

1.) Frankie (played by the sultry eyed Ruta Gedmintas) and Cat will continue to have awkward sex lacking realistic passion but will claim to be madly in love with one another. They will also both continue sleeping with other people (Cat with Sam, Frankie with anything that moves... or doesn't move if it is a particularly attractive looking object).

2.) Tess will get newly published writer Ed to create a lesbian theatre show based on the lives of her and her friends in a blatant rip off / homage to Jenny Shecter's book cum movie Lez Girls. The two will have a massively successful opening night and will go home to get drunk and have sex, leaving Ed heart broken once again and Tess confused.

3.) Sam will cheat on Cat with Frankie after Frankie is arrested and taken into a cell. Sam will act disgusted by Frankie's rebellious, devil-may-care attitude but deep down she is a lesbian and no lesbian can say no to those big green eyes and floppy hair. Frankie will do it to spite Cat because she can't choose between the two. Drama!

4.) Sam will fall hard off her high horse and will crumble with the guilt. Perhaps an STD doing the rounds could cause a climactic moment between Cat and Sam where the two admit their guilt to each other at the same time?

Cat: I have something to tell you.

Sam: I've got something to tell you too.

Cat and Sam: I slept with Frankie. What?! You slept with Frankie!?

5.) Tess will go on Lou's morning show as a guest and the two will still have chemistry. Lou will ask Tess out on a date but will Tess be faithful to Fin? Probably not. More sex, more guilt, more drama.

6.) Frankie will continue to be an emotional whirlwind, one minute laughing and joking, the next taking offence at throwaway comments and acting like a five year old by stropping off in a mood. Her mates will continue to ignore or shrug off this behaviour rather than simply tell her not to be such a dick.

7.) Jay will be single for a while but young girls in bars will make him feel old and he will go back to that terrible actress that played his fiance in series one.

8.) The recession will hit Glasgow, leaving Tess and Frankie squatting in empty homes for weeks at a time with the unstable Sadie.

9.) Frankie will meet her Mother, but will recognise her from the Glasgay scene and will remember that they shared a drunken night of passion two years ago.

The series will end with some sort of cliffhanger. Frankie will probably run away again but while driving to the airport will end up crashing into Sam's speeding police car. Cat will be torn between whose bed to sit by. Whatever happens in the next series I know I will be watching and occasionally shouting at the television "Ha! I told you so!"