So, I’ve had a little sabbatical (sorry guys). Truth is, I had kind of lost my datespiration, become bored of the whole scene: dreadful dating apps, even more dreadful men, dreadful invites to, ‘chill and watch Netflix’.  We allllll know what that means, don’t we ladies? No sooner do you get over to his and he loads up some truly awful rom-com, five minutes in, his creepy, pervy hands start wandering and then he tries to ram his slimy snakey tongue down your throat.

Sorry, not for me but thanks for the offer.

But don’t worry, in my absence from the World Wide Web, I’ve manage to clock up a few more dreadful dates to share with you all. Firstly, I must make a confession. I’m afraid to say: it’s happened again, I’ve succumbed to my addiction (the other addiction not the champagne one, I succumb to the champagne addiction every other evening). The other vice seems to be large rugby playing men. T’is these Neanderthal-esque creatures that are my number one choice of hombre: my catnip, my poison, my huge, hairy downfall. All the guys I’ve ever cried over have, at some point in their lives, thrown an egg-shaped ball around a field of mud.

*However, off tangent, but of late there seems to be an increasing number of Polo players finding their way to my social media pages and throwing in likes, favourites and follows. Strange, as before I moved to London I wasn’t actually aware that anyone bar Prince Harry actually really played polo, never mind could make a career out of it. Perhaps before long I’ll be writing a post on The Polo Player. I should imagine that instead of the ‘Netflix and chill’ line, polo players would use a line such as, ‘would you like to come round to mine and see my ponies’ and if I’m honest, it probably would work a treat. ‘Why, yes of course. I’d be delighted to come over to yours and play with your pony.’ *

But rugby boys, seem be a very bad habit that I just can’t seem to break. I don’t attempt to try to find them. For instance, this weekend, I was casually keeping myself to myself when over struts some rugby boy and friends with shots of Cafe Patron after about six said delicious bean infused tequilas, number swoping and I’m embarrassed to say, a club neck or two (hey- blame the Patron) I casually asked his profession, only to be told, ‘I play professional rugby’.

Aww for fucks sake. Again? I mean it’s getting to the stage where it’s a legitimate problem. I’m actually genuinely terrified about this World Cup coming up as it’s going to bring an influx of them to London which will probably result in an occurrence such as my ovaries spontaneously combusting or something similar.

Whilst many members of the rugby community are dreadful human beings, one or two of them actually are very sweet. One league player that I dated last year was a particularly sweetheart (if a little scary and stalkerish). But to be honest I’ve put up with worse and what’s a little stalking? At least it shows they care.

I met Rugby Guy when I was home in Liverpool last summer. He played for one of those North West rugby league teams that begin with a W (or do all the rugby league teams begin with a W?) He was sweet, kind, naïve and also far too bloody young for me. In my defence I didn’t know he still practically a child until a couple of dates in. I mean he was 6’2’’, about 17 stone and had a full on beard. No-one expects out the blue, their very manly date to suddenly announce they just turned 22 last month.

So, it turned out I was dating someone not long out of adolescence, someone who would have just started secondary school when I went to university. And whilst physically, he didn’t look particularly young. It was his attitude which gave him away as youngster. Firstly, one of our first few dates (his choice, bless him) was to the safari park to see the animals. I drove. I felt distinctly like his mother as he leaned up against the window to make funny faces at the baboons whom were trying to pull my new car to pieces. These ‘amusing’ faces he was making, made one particular male baboon markedly angry; which led to the enraged simian punching a little dent in my car bonnet, pulling off my aerial and then jumping down to shit on the road right in full sight of us.

‘Want me to get out and beat the little fucker up?’ he asked.

‘Nooooo, they’re dangerous.’

‘No it’s ok, I deal with worse every weekend.’ He continued.

‘Please Rugby Guy do not beat a monkey up. He’s just a monkey, he doesn’t realise he’s destroyed my car.’ I begged.

‘It was the shitting right in front of us, I was going to beat him up for, I mean that’s just disrespectful. The little monkey fucker knew exactly what he was doing. And doing it front of you. I mean I have to protect my princess don’t I?’ and with that he kissed me.

Doesn’t seem that romantic does it? A kiss in the middle of a safari park, from a guy who wants to beat up the monkeys, in front of a pile of monkey poop. But I found it quite cute at the time.

A few dates in, this one wanted to meet my friends, family, take me away on holiday, he was a little bit of a dreamboat as far as guys go. Although, I felt all this was a little naïve: he was too sweet and too keen and that kind of put me off a little.

Any guys reading this may think that they can’t actually win, and in reality you can’t. Us women will always pick fault and find something wrong. Me especially, I’m the worst. You can also guarantee I will really, really like you as long as you have no real interest in me. The moment that changes and you actually seem keen, your very presence will disgust me: go figure that one out.

Rugby Guy was very persistent about meeting my friends and family, it was early days,(far too early to introduce my lunatic of a mother to him anyway) so I kept on trying to delay the meeting. Until one evening Rugby Guy decided to take matters into his own hands and stalk me and my mother around the Trafford Centre. ( a large shopping mall)

Rugby Guy, knew what my evening’s plans were as I had discussed it with him that afternoon. He told me that he himself was headed to the cinema with a friend and we would catch up later in the week.

During our shopping trip. I took my mother to Yo Sushi for a sushi and some prosecco and took a series of Snapchats of the retarded woman attempting to use the chopsticks.  Both the waitress and I tried to teach her to use them but alas it was not to be, she threw a maki roll all down her top just moments later. It was so painful to watch that the waitress thrust a wooden spoon that they give to the children at her and ended my mother’s chopstick ordeal.

‘Where are you? Yo Sushi?” Rugby Guy asked of my Snapchats.

‘Yes’.

‘Which one? Selfridges?’ he continued.

‘Yes. Why?’

No reply. Hmmm, he must have gone into the cinema I thought.

So after the sushi fail, me and the mother took ourselves around Selfridges for a bit or retail therapy. Then, in the women’s clothes section, suddenly from behind a rail, up popped Rugby Guy.

‘Hiiiiyaaa’ an enthusiastic Lancashire voice chirped from beside the pencil dresses, ‘so you going to introduce me to your mum?’

Oddly, Rugby Guy did not think his behaviour strange in the slightest and proceeded to have a nice little chat about California rolls, chopsticks and wasabi with my mum for the next ten minutes. Whilst I looked on dumbfounded.

‘Are there any dresses here that you like?” he asked me enthusiastically. ‘I think that red one would look great on you, would you like me to get it for you?’ he ventured, perhaps sensing my uneasiness at our, ‘chance meeting’

Bless. As strange and stalky the behaviour was he still was a cutey. Like a big, overgrown puppy.

‘No thanks Rugby Guy, I’m rather tired and we have to drive back to Liverpool and feed the dogs.’ I hinted to my mother. Luckily, she took the hint and backed me up in my lies. Rugby Guy looked crest fallen, dejected and broken. I felt like I’d just shattered his little puppy heart.

On the way out my mother passed comment, ‘seems like a nice lad but the stalking is a little bit strange isn’t it? And his eyes are too close together. Never trust anyone with their eyes too close together. I don’t think he’s the one for you sweetheart.’

And she was right, he wasn’t, I was just using him to keep myself busy because I was in Liverpool over the summer. It was cruel to string him along any further. So I tried to cool things down a little. Despite his offers to take me on holiday to Mexico the following week, come and visit me every week in his off season and oddly, pay for my new car.

I distanced myself; took my time getting back to messages, made up excuses about being busy at the weekend – every weekend. And blatantly flirted with other lads on Facebook where he could see it. Eventually, poor Rugby Guy got the message and in a fit of fury, deleted me from all of his social media, only to add me again a week later and then delete me all over for a second time.

I do think I acted a bit cruelly with Rugby Guy but at the end of the day he was simply too young and too naïve for me. I maybe should have come clean and told him this, opposed to gradually disappearing but I have no back bone. I couldn’t possibly have looked into his little puppy dog eyes and told him it wasn’t going to happen.

Sadly, since last year my encounters with rugby folk have not been as pleasant. Perhaps it’s a type of karma, perhaps it’s because most of them have enormous egos. Whatever it is, I feeling its time I sought out some help for my addiction ( I wonder if The Priory has dealt with cases like this before ) and called

‘Next’…

“Some girls are full of heartache and poetry and those are the kind of girls who try to save wolves instead of running from them.”

Nikita Gill

As if dating isn’t hard enough already but to add insult to injury we have to contend with, negate and hopefully avoid the psychopathic types predatorily prowling about on the scene.

There is no worse potential suitor, as a single woman to meet than that rouge handsome Hannibal Lector type all eager and ready for your, ‘fresh meat’; a new victim for them to play with and tease. Woe betide us poor, defenceless victims of their wicked spell and game.

Sadly, for us it seems there is a veritable cornucopia of these specimens out there roaming freely, like hungry lone wolves ready to tear into and destroy their next victim.

Unfortunately for me, I seem to be somewhat adept at attracting this breed of man; my heart seems to be a playground for emotional vampires and to further the problem I love to wallow in my masochistic tendencies and actually seek them out (this might be a good indication about why my dating life generally is so unsuccessful).

A pertinent question I must ask myself is, why oh why am I so fascinated with his type of individual and why I’m drawn to them so much? Yes, they may appear charming and say all the right things at the start, but I’ve always been too savvy to not see through that; I know and can spot their dark nature when I get into the relationships and still pursue them like a demented lunatic. (*at the end of this blog I’ll go over just a few of the narcissists/sociopaths I’ve dated over the years).

I’ve narrowed it down to a few things; firstly, maybe it’s because I’m identically opposite to them. My emotions run too close to the surface; as a child I was banned from watching the news because I used to cry at the state of the world. I now spend my weekends inflicting the same emotional pain on myself by sitting under a blanket with a hangover watching sad films on Netflix and wallowing in the misery of the characters on the screen. Maybe me and psychopaths are like two opposite ends of a magnet, attracting each other because of our differences.

Secondly, I’ve always been the type of girl who thinks that with the right amount of love everyone can be ‘fixed’ or ‘healed’ from whatever problems they have, just a note to anyone reading this, there is no helping these types of individuals, their problems and ‘wounds’ aren’t ‘fixable’ because they aren’t actually wounds, they are inadequacies in personality, essence and being. However much you love one of these individuals you can never fix them; it’s a fault in their brain. It’s not Fifty Shades of Grey ladies; he’s not some broken and wounded little boy who will stop being a sadist lunatic if you only give him enough love.

Perhaps another reason I chase the clinically insane is that I enjoy the pain that comes from being in these dysfunctional types of relationships, maybe my choice in men just boils down to the fact I’m complete emotional masochist and like and enjoy turmoil, hurt and pain that comes hand in hand with knowing and dating guys like this.

Maybe, it’s what I’m used to and it’s learned bad habits; I think love should involve drama and excitement and to be honest when I don’t have an element of drama in a relationship I get bored and start to lose interest- I like to be kept on my toes. I enjoy the whole ‘game’ and and ‘dance’. And I’m certainly not alone, there’s a reason why The Joker and Harley Quinn are the new romantic, ‘poster couple’ with young women on Instagram and it’s the same reason Heathcliff and Cathy have been romanticised for centuries.

Perhaps it’s because of the fact they are always going to be emotionally unavailable and this is a way of protecting myself from getting hurt and the heartbreak of real love.

Or maybe when it all boils down to it, I’m simply attracted to massive pricks (not a euphemism, through I’m quite fond of those as well) and there’s no bigger prick than a sociopath or narc.

Anyway, in case any of you aren’t like me and want to actually avoid the narcissists and psychopaths of the world, this next section of this post is my attempt at a guide on how to spot if your current squeeze is a secret Ted Bundy and what to do if he is…

At first the sociopath may not seem too terrible; in fact, it may seem the opposite, almost as if they are perfect, the best person in the world, your dream guy/girl. But don’t be fooled, it’s all a façade, a mask, rouse or spell to trap to try and ensnare you. They will charm you with their words; saying the things you need and want to hear, they’ll come across as the perfect gentleman. They’ll listen carefully to what you have to say; not because they are interested but to store it and use it against you in future. Once, they have you snared that is when the mask starts to slip and their true predatory nature is revealed…

The worst bit of being with one these types is what comes next; they will start to undermine, control and destroy you. Take away your support network from under your feet, make you feel like you’re going mad by telling you that they haven’t said or done the things you know them to have done or said. You may find yourself being made to do things you are not comfortable doing; they will push and test your boundaries and breaking points until they get a reaction. (Often tears or anger from your side) Once said reaction has been achieved, he’ll use this to make you seem as if you’re in the wrong, mad or crazy.

You may find your sense of self slipping away as bit by bit as he separates you from your friends and family. Gradually you’ll see and hear less from them; maybe he doesn’t like your mum or your brother, perhaps your best friend is, ‘too loud/too outspoken’ for him. He may tell you they don’t want the best for you or are leading you astray. The thing is here that you’re easier to control if you’re isolated and without support- you’re weaker. Similarly, to the way the predatory wolf separates the young deer form the herd, you’ll be separated from your support network so he can devour and destroy you.

This type of man will dominate your every thought and fibre of your being. You, however, will not dominate theirs! The only time you will cross their mind is when they are considering how you will benefit their interests or if you have something they want from you (that could be sex, company, money or a host of other things that may benefit him).

As you sit back at your desk in work and think about what to call your children because last night he declared he wanted two boys and a girl. He’ll be sat there on his phone trying to reel in his slutty ex Stacy (and probably of couple of others too) as he’s noticed on Instagram that she seems to be happy and moving forwards with her life. Whilst at the same time is liking millions of pictures of different girls whilst he tries to bait and attract his new ‘target’.

If you find any of these things happening in your relationship, congratulations you may have found yourself a man high on the psychopath scale. It’s time to grab those trainers and run as fast as you can.

Sticking around to change him or even to try to play him at his own game is pointless; it’s a game you will never can win. The only solution to be happy and keep your sanity in check is to move on and say

‘next’…

*So as promised here a brief summary of some of the more interesting narcissists and sociopaths I’ve dated over the last few years. Firstly, I’ve mentioned him before, the Surgeon who was blatantly a megalomaniac with a God complex.

When we went out to restaurants, he’d click his fingers at the wait staff to get their attention, never say, ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ and considered imperatives an appropriate starter for every utterance he ever made… ‘Bring me the bill”, “finish your wine”, “be ready in ten minutes and don’t be late”. This combined with him often telling me ‘how skilful his hands were’ … urgh you just sound creepy and pervy and it’s really putting me off wanting to experience ‘your skilful hands’ thanks.

Secondly, the Investment Banker who repeatedly insisted on telling our poor taxi drivers they were heading the wrong way whilst telling them what he did for a job. One of his favourite lines was, “now I’m a banker and you’re a taxi driver so I’m not telling you how to do your job but this isn’t the right way to …”
Then at the end of the journey he’d get a perverse thrill over trying to haggle £3 off the ride because the driver had, ‘headed the wrong way’.

He was also insistent on telling me his salary over and over again, I mean first of all you’ve just haggled over £3, secondly were you not brought up to realise it’s crass to talk about money and thirdly- mate I’m a bloody schoolteacher; tube drivers and bar staff in London earn more than me. Anything over £50,000 sounds impressive to me these days.

But it seems to be a common theme with these narcissistic/sociopath types that they treat people in less prestigious positions to themselves as inferior. We all feel the need to feel important or superior at some point in our lives (everyone’s ego needs a little boost from time to time) but if your date is doing this at the expense of others you can be pretty sure it wont be long before he’s doing it at the expense of you.

Another narcissist was a personal trainer who would send me innumerable pictures of himself stood in front of the mirror at the gym with his top off, insisted I feel his legs and then rather bizarrely asked me to tell him how strong they felt. Needless to say the ‘relationship’ didn’t last much longer than this. There’s nothing like hearing one’s date utter, ‘tell me how big and strong my legs are’ to male a girl go dry.

Although Personal Trainer Guy was a narcissist opposed to a sociopath I could sense it wouldn’t be long before he headed down the same route as a long term partner of mine who would make me, ‘go on a run’ and then proceed to lock me out the house for an hour before I was allowed to go back home and eat my dinner. After all, he couldn’t be seen, ‘dating a heifer’. My intense hatred of cardio ( and fear of upsetting him) meant I’d sit on a bench in the nearby park four times a week and take selfies and play with the squirrels and ducks opposed to actually pounding it out around the pavements of Durham. ( I actually went the park rather than a coffee shop etc as I was worried he’d come out searching for me. At least if I was in the park, opposed to sat munching cake in Costa, I could say I’d got a stitch and needed a rest) And that’s the problem with people displaying these behaviours; sometimes it’s just easier to go along with their bizarre game(s) than challenge them; they never bore of manipulation and conflict and for many of them it actually excites and invigorates them. The rest of us normal folk are just left feeling drained and empty.

Personal Trainer Guy liked to share the immense number of pictures he took of himself with not only his dates but on his Social media too. Social media is often a good indicator if your man (or woman) is a narcissist…look hundreds of pictures of just themselves and not much else gracing their posts. Narcissists tend to be one dimensional and very much focused upon themselves and have may be overly interested in their physical appearance or accomplishments.

These are only a few of the guys I’ve dated that place pretty high of the Narcissist/ Psychopathic spectrum, there’s have been others much worse which I’m holding back in as I don’t want this blog to turn into my journal or a counselling session. But if you ever encounter one of these individuals, take it from someone who knows and get the hell out of there as fast as you can!