Big News and Bigger Red Buttons

Hello my lovelies.

As I'm sure you've noticed, I'm back from Shanghai.

Really, y'all, stop celebrating. It's embarrassing.

And following my return from the other side of the world, I'm afraid I have been doing little apart from lying my exhausted @rse in bed for the last two days (Jet lag is a weekend-thieving b*tch.), catching up on back issues of The Guardian and drinking copious amounts of tea.

Ahhh, home.

And what with all the aforementioned lazing about, one might surmise that very little life progress has taken place since my return, but oh, contraire, mes chers. There have been many many goings on in both the real and web worlds of Yours Truly...

As you can see, I've gone all official and stuff. http://www.thebarreness.com/ is my new interweb address. ((She polishes her shiny new house number, June Cleever style, and sweeps clear the welcome mat.)) There's no need to re-do blogrolls, etc, unless you fancy it, but having my very own URL strokes my enormous ego, so there we are. I'm a dot com.

In other news, it seems Saturday night's post has scored me a regular gig over at Sex and the 405 - a BRILLIANT, feisty and often hysterical sex blog which, as it turns out, was in need of a London correspondent. (Entre moi.) Come and check me out Thursdays for more Saturday-esque literary nibbles.

Finally, (and this is by far the most Earth-shattering and seriously f*cking unfortunate development of the lot) it would appear that The Spaniard missed me while I was away. (Naturally, I hear you say. But it gets worse.) He's missed me so much so that he has apparently been doing some soul searching (zzzzzz) and, as a result, has begun to press for the unthinkable.

Observe Monday morning's post (and pre, heh) coital convo:

Spaniard: ((Turns on elbow and furrows brow.)) Guapa?

 Okay, I do love it when he calls me guapa.

B: Si?

Spaniard: I've been thinking.

Bad idea, Spaniard. Stick to what you're good at

B: ((nervously lighting cigarette whilst trying to look nonchalant)) Si...?

Spaniard: You and me, we spend a lot of time together. And I think we both have a good time, yes?

Epic, actually, but do go on.

B: Si.

Spaniard: Well, I don't understand why you don't want to be with me.

Barreness to base - we're gonna have a problem here.

B: But I am with you, S. ((she looks around in mock confusion)) Is there someone else here? Did you let them in?? They didn't have a video camera, did they? That sh*t is NOT. classy.

Spaniard: Ei, stop it... Si, you are with me now, pero I mean with me. You know, like, my girlfriend.

((Fuckity fuck fuck, fuck.))

I don't understand why you don't fancy it.

B: Okay, but, S, you do know why. I'm not a relationship person (house cat and personal waxer aside). And I've explained to you (and to the four other members of the Harem) (and to a few others before I narrowed it down to those five members) (and to that Aussie guy from Saturday's post) (and, uh...never mind) several times and at some length the reasons why.

Now I'm just annoyed. Honestly? Did he not think my reasons were good enough the last several times I explained them??

Spaniard: Well tell me again, por que I just don't think they were good reasons.

Hissssss.

B: ((exhaling slowly, stubbing out cigarette and gradually increasing volume levels))

Okay...

The first reason that I don't want to get into a relationship - with you or with anyone else - is that I don't cheat. Not because it isn't fun, because it is. Guilt be damned, that sh*t is naughty and illicit and totally exciting, but because the lying and the covering of trails is exhausting and I simply can't be @rsed. And incidentally, I do not sleep with married/involved men because I don't have to. Also, I think it cowardly and pathetic, but that's not really relevant here, unless you decide to find yourself another girlfriend and plan to delude yourself into thinking that I will continue to sleep with you, Spaniard. Let me save you the trouble - I won't.

((The Spaniard shifts uncomfortably.))

Second, I don't want to be in a relationship because I get bored. Easily. ((though, lets be honest, this one could hold anyone's attention for some time)) And when the inevitable boredom sets in, I'm simply not interested in either the anguish of breaking up or the effort of cheating (see reason number one).

Finally, I'm a 31 yr old ((yes, I said it)) woman who runs her own business during weekdays, a charity on the weekends ((What?? I never said I have no heart. I said I have no scruples.)), and spends nearly every other free hour in the gym, at the dance studio, or at the computer, writing. I have no TIME for a relationship. And I sure as sh*t don't want some jealous schoolboy b*tching about late hours or time spent away from home because I just couldn't give a hairy monkey.

So, unless you plan to morph into a stout German woman with a talent for smoothing the nether-regions of London's Soho district, can afford to buy my business from me so that I can live a life of luxury for the rest of my days, or are perfectly happy with having an open relationship ((Men are never okay with this. They always think they will be, but NEVER are and then get a little freaked out when you're fine with it. V annoying.)) so that reasons one and two are no longer factors, then I suggest you back off the big red relationship button, Spaniard, because I'm simply NOT. Having it..

Spaniard: ((Long silence. ))

Well.

((Has he bought the tough girl act?))

((KILLING me it's so long. This man is AMAZING in bed, y'all. Losing his company would be an epic tragedy.))

Okay then. You're right.

((And the angels sing an aria from Carmen))

Cigarette?

B: Si, gracias.

Immediatey, if not sooner.

And bring me some pinot while you're at it.

I need a drink.