Tag Archives: weight loss

Crticial Man – or Why I Stopped Dating and Blogging


So the reason I haven’t updated lately is because I’ve been sitting on my couch like a blob of mashed potato watching back-to-back episodes of Revenge with a selection of gourmet ice cream tubs (which I’ve been sharing with Irony, but not too much because I don’t want him turning into a Plain Plump Pussy).  Wallowing, I tell you.  I’ve been wallowing.  It’s not an attractive look.

The catalyst for the wallow was a series of uninspiring, awkward and downright depressing dates.  See, before this little experiment I was able to convince myself that what my best mate Kate said was true – that I have all this inner beauty stuff going on that will shine through and enamour unsuspecting dates.  But then I went out with Critical Man.

Maybe I should’ve read between the lines when he said he likes a woman who ‘takes pride in her appearance’ in his profile.  But I figured he’s seen my photos and I do try to make the best of what I have to work with, which is why I put myself through the torture of the dodgy spray tan clinic (it’s still true – brown fat looks better than white fat, proven scientific fact) and do things like shower every day and don’t wear tracky dacks outside of the house.

But anyway, as usual, my Dating Alarm was malfunctioning and so I met Critical Man for a weekend afternoon date at a café.

After the cute young waitress took our order, Critical Man shook his head and said “I don’t know why they let girls with tattoos work in the service industry.  They look so tacky.”  Her tattoo, mind you, was a pretty innocuous little symbol of some sort on her upper arm and didn’t look too offensive to me at all.  I made a little lame “I liked it,” comment and he glared at me and told me in no uncertain terms that tattoos were like a big neon sign that the wearer has no class.

I’d ordered a muffin because I was hungry and I do like me a muffin, once I get over comparing their shape to the lower half of my body.  I’d kind of fooled myself that I was the only one who noticed this phenomenon, but Critical Man looked at the muffin, looked at my tummy area, then back at the muffin.

“Are you sure you want to eat that?”

Well, yeah I was sure – it was white chocolate and raspberry.  Who wouldn’t be sure?  I defiantly took a big bite, but then it stuck in my throat and I began to cough and a little bit of white chocolate catapulted out and hit him.  I think I was more sorry about missing out on that bit of white chocolate than the assault committed on my date though.

Critical Man then proceeded into a diatribe of how losing weight was all about having respect for yourself and calories in vs calories out and if I just had a little discipline I would be able to get myself down to a desirable weight.

Disrespectful, undisciplined me defiantly wolfed down the rest of my muffin, told him I’d rather be a bit on the plump side than a balding, big-nosed, over-critical loser and left.  Not my proudest moment maybe.

So that led to the downloading of the entire first season of Revenge, the propping up of the ice cream industry and the vow to never log on to Big Dating Site again.

But then a girlfriend introduced me to meetup.com and took me along to a couple of drinks events.  Meetup.com isn’t a dating site – it’s just a social site, and so far I’ve had a lovely time.  So maybe that’s another avenue for Plain Plump Patty.  I’ll let you know how it goes.

Thanks so much for the messages of support and for thinking of me when I haven’t been around for so long.  xoxo



Trauma at the spray tanning clinic


Anyway, in a promise to keep updating and because I’m going all softly softly on the whole accepting dates thing, I’ll just slip in an out-of-sequence post about my spray tan experience.

This was before Mr F, so I’m totally feeling pretty hot and desirable despite the disasters because I have a calendar full of dates for the week.  I may have even wagged my finger at some people and called them ‘girlfriend’, but if I did, I would have given that up real quick in response to their reactions.  Yeah, apparently I don’t wear ‘cocky’ too well.  Obviously some deity or other decided I was getting a bit too cocky and sent Mr F to punish me.

Some sort of mega cosmic karma or something also saw one of those group buying deals pop into my inbox to get a night of speed dating for just $29 (normally $89.95).  I went and had a look at the website and it seems to be constantly running events for all different age groups, so I’m looking forward to picking one and testing it out (and reporting back, of course).

Speaking of those group buying deals, I got one for three spray tans for $24 a little while back and decided to use one. Because everyone knows it’s a proven scientific fact that brown fat looks better than white fat.

You know what you probably shouldn’t do in life?  You probably shouldn’t get a bargain basement spray tan.  That’s what you probably shouldn’t do.

So I arrive at this place and despite its very glamorous name, it is a dingy little shopfront that’s not even open yet, so I have to sit outside in my carefully chosen super-loose caftan thingie hoping it doesn’t blow open to reveal I’m not wearing any knickers.

Finally this dodgy looking guy, fag hanging out of his mouth, opens up the place about an hour and a half after the opening times displayed on the door.  He grunts at me over a threateningly hanging ash and beckons me inside.

Muttering something about “should’ve never signed up to this scam” when he sees my coupon, he orders me into a booth, tells me to strip and put on the paper g-string and wait for him.

Um… wait for him?  “Are you going to spray me?” I ask.

“Do you see anyone else here?” he says.  “You can wait for a female tanner, but there’s no opening for a few days and you’ll lose one of your tans.  Read the small print.  24 hours cancellation policy applies.”

For the sake of $8, I probably should have pulled a bit of dignity out of my caftan and hightailed it out of there, but I couldn’t stand the idea of looking like an albino whale for a day longer and decided to go through with it.

Traumatic is the only way to describe the next fifteen minutes or so as I stood there in my badly fitting g-string while a guy with a gun demanded I lift this fold and that fold and stand in all sorts of vaguely pornographic poses so that he could ensure each bit of flesh got its brown on.  At least he got rid of the fag while he did it.

When it was finally finished and I was left alone with the funny blowdryer tube (“don’t forget to lift up and dry under all the folds or it’ll be streaky” he warns me), I must have stayed in there half an hour because I was too embarrassed to face him again.

The end result was that I looked a little less whale-like and the colour was thankfully natural enough (and streak-free, because I dried the HELL out of all my folds) and it was almost worth the trauma.  I even used the other two coupons later on, but I made SURE a female tanner was available!

Patty the Playa!


Ohmygoodness!  I have three dates this week!  Did you read that?  I have three dates this week!

I’m juggling men!  Patty the Plain is Patty the Playa!  I’m a downright tart!

I know this wasn’t worthy of a whole post, but not sure if you saw the first line…  I have three dates this week!  First one after work tonight!

First Date… not quite what I expected


Wow, what a couple of days!  Every time I log on, there’s a couple more messages in my inbox and my head gets just a little bit bigger.  But the majority of them make me wonder what on earth they think we have in common – especially the ones coming from men in their late sixties, whose profiles always state I look and feel much younger.  If I could write a personal message back, it would be something like: So do I, which puts me in my twenties, and that would be just icky.

Anyway, back to the first guy I responded to.  I was out at a festival all day Saturday and didn’t get home until after midnight.  I decided to have a quick peek before bed (it really is strangely addictive) and found a lovely email from him.

In a move that would have Kate pinning me down and repeatedly beating me around the head with a hardcover edition of The Rules, I responded immediately.  I was just about to go to bed (after looking at a few more of the guys in my inbox so I could sleep smugly) when a little ping in my mailbox alerted me that First Guy had responded right away.

I’m going to call First Guy Albert, because that’s not his name.

So Albert and I did that flirty-email thing you do where you’re all lighthearted and witty and decided we’d meet for an afternoon coffee on Sunday.  He left it up to me to choose, so I picked a nearby funky but very reasonably priced café, hoping it would make me seem cool and ‘in’ for knowing such a place.

Anyway, I feel like relating my whole weekend blow-by-blow for the sake of a cohesive chronology, but this blog is just about my dating adventures, so I’ll fast-forward to 3pm Sunday – the date.

As the café in question is practically at my front door, I arrived at 2:59 pm (don’t tell Kate) and found a seat in a cosy corner where I could see new arrivals.  Albert arrived at about 3:02.  I knew it was Albert because it was a little bald guy, about 2 inches shorter and a few years older than the boxes ticked on his profile.  The nice smile I liked was not evident as he scanned the café… twice scanning right by me.  So I decided to screw dignity and stood up and waved to him.

He noticed me and I waited for the lovely grin.  I kept waiting as he came over to the table.  I decided it would come after he ascertained I was the person he’d come to see.

“Patty?” he asked and I nodded eagerly.

“Oh,” he said and looked like he was going to bolt, but then – finally after scoping the location of all possible exits – sat down instead.

It was just like all my paranoid fantasies and nightmares.  I tried to make conversation and he answered monosyllabically while his eyes darted around the buzzy little café.  It was kind of clear he would have preferred to be anywhere but there.  Or with anyone but me.  I’d completely given up on seeing the smile I’d initially been attracted to.  After a few awkward silences, I finally asked him outright:

“Do you want to go?”

“It’s just…” eyes darting all over the place, “I thought you’d be a bigger girl.”

What the F_ _ _?  I didn’t say that, but I sure as hell thought it and it must have shown on my face.  Albert was already standing up and ready to leave.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think this will work,” he said and he was out of the café.  Our orders hadn’t even been taken yet.  So of course the waitress picked that exact time to come up and brightly ask what I wanted.  I’m enough of a regular there that I couldn’t just up and walk out, so I ordered a coffee.  Which took another ten minutes to arrive.  Ten minutes of blazing cheeks, half-hearted waves to those people I don’t really know but ‘know by sight’ and then about twenty seconds to drink it and bolt.

I ran (or jiggled if you’re going to be unkind) home and tried to figure out what the hell happened.  I thought you’d be a bigger girl???  There’s no doubt that’s what he said.

Had I stumbled on a Tubby Lover or a Feeder or something on my very first date?  And I wasn’t tubby enough?  Well, that’s a first.  I had absolutely no idea what to think about it.  All I knew was I will not be suggesting any of my local haunts for first meets again.

I admit, it crossed my mind a hundred times over to give up the whole idea, but after a few hours I decided I could laugh about it.  I never expected that one date would be all it took to find the love of my life.  Chalk it up to experience.

So I decided to respond to a bunch of the messages in my inbox to say yes, I’m interested.  And after Kate’s advice, this experience, and the ‘knowledge’ imparted by people on other forums that, yes, in online dating world ‘slightly overweight’ means mega-porky and ‘average’ means slightly-to-fairly-overweight, I’m seriously considering changing my body type to ‘average’.  I don’t want to be dishonest, but it seems like if “everyone knows” these little truths of online dating, then I’m misrepresenting myself by being honest.  Head spin.  I’ll think about it later.

Thanks again to all who have chosen to comment and follow me. 🙂

Kisses! I got kisses!


Thank you so much to those who’ve commented – it means a lot to me J

I didn’t want to be caught checking Big Dating Site at work, and I went out to dinner later, so it was with some trepidation I logged on when I got home.  I wondered if anyone had contacted me or if I would need to be proactive and hunt down the men I fancied.  Kate would be horrified at the idea of me doing the initial contact, but hey, I’m in no position to sit back and be a princess.

There were fifteen messages in my inbox.  Fifteen!  Fifteen different men wanted to meet me!

I totally strutted as I went to the kitchen to pour myself a wine and may or may not have done a little boogie move on my way back.

Started to go through them and hmmmm…. It soon became clear I have to renegue on my promise to date every man who contacts me.  Some of the profiles are heartbreakingly sad and lonely and I just don’t have it in me to pretend to be interested just for blog fodder.

I am tempted to respond to the guy whose profile says most of the women on here are fakes and just want your money and the others are stuck up bitches so if you think your [sic] too good for me don’t bother to contact me.  Wouldn’t a conversation with someone who deploys such circular logic be fascinating?

Anyway, I settled on one really nice-sounding guy.  He’s 43 and bald as a baby’s bum and lists his height at 5’6” so if Kate’s theory is correct, he’ll be a couple of inches shorter than that.  I can deal with that because he has an awesome smile in his profile pic.  He also has an engaging, witty, properly spelt and punctuated profile.

I replied that I’m interested (no doubt Kate would have something to say about replying at 11:30pm on a Friday night).  Fingers crossed!

Profile Day – for real


So, Kate came over last night and we got stuck into both a bottle of Shiraz and my profile.  It soon became clear that we had ever-so-slightly diverging viewpoints on how to undertake this task.

First, she thought I should put in an age of 39.  “You want to make sure you’re caught when men put in an arbitrary upper age limit of 40” she told me.

“But I’m 41” I pointed out.  She tried to argue with me, but I really can’t stand people who lie about their age, so I stuck to my guns.

Then we got to the “body type” bit.  I had a choice of things to tick and I wavered between “a bit overweight” and “quite overweight”.  Kate was horrified.

“You have to put in ‘Average’!” she said.

“But I’m not average,” I told her.  “I’m plump.  I’m even blogging as Patty the Plain Plump Spinster.”

“Go out and look around outside,” Kate said.  “At least half the people out there are as big or bigger than you.  You are average.”

I know she loves me and it’s probably true in her eyes, but I have an iPhone app that says I’m plump.  So I told Kate about my iPhone app that says I’m plump.

“Look,” I said and I showed her my app that says I’m plump.  “The app is incapable of lying to be nice to me.  It says You have a BMI of 28.5, which means overweight.”

“But everyone expects you to lie a little bit,” she insisted.  “Men add a couple of inches to their height and women downgrade their weight.  If you say you’re slightly overweight, they’ll think you’re huge.  If you say you’re average, they’ll expect you to be slightly overweight.  Everybody does it!”

Frankly I was feeling a little put out that Kate thought I had to lie to attract a man and I stubbornly clicked “slightly overweight”.

This sort of thing went on for hours.  Kate insisted that I shouldn’t put my political or religious beliefs in at all.  “No man wants a woman with strong political beliefs,” she told me.  I sighed and capitulated and put “swinging voter” in, even though that’s a total lie.

We also bickered over what sort of stuff I should put in my description.  I figured that I should write about stuff that I actually like, but Kate thought that would scare men off.  I thought I should upload photos that were recent and showed me doing interesting things, but Kate selected photos that were softly-lit and a couple of years old.

“You can go up to two years old,” she told me.  “Any older than that and it starts getting a bit dishonest.”

Finally, well after midnight, with much compromising from us both, I uploaded my profile, finished the wine and went to bed.  I’d like to say more, but I don’t want my cover blown!

We shall see what ensues.

Profile day – a thwarted attempt


So, this morning I logged on to Big Dating Site, gave myself a username (it is sooo witty and clever, even if I do say so myself) and settled in to the task of creating an amusing, lighthearted profile that would have the fellas deluging me with kisses.  First I decided to take a quick flick through the Top 100 Women in my age group for inspiration.

Wow.  Talk about wanting to gouge your eyes out with your portable USB to make yourself feel better.

Apparently most forty-something women look like models.  I do not look like a model.  I don’t even look like an ex-model.  If I were going to give you a simile for what I look like, it would be somewhere in the realms of a dim sim.

How can these women look like this, with their wrinkle-free skin, svelte figures and shiny white teeth?  Did they not spend their twenties partying?  Did they not spend hours that translated into weeks lying in the sun perfecting their tan?  Did they not smoke?  Everyone of our generation smoked.


My guess is that I’m not going to make the Top 100 any time soon.

My other guess is that I’m going to need a whole lot of help in filling out my profile.  So many questions with nuanced answers, so many areas to fill out that will show the world how worldly, sexy, witty and sophisticated I am.  Apparently it’s also mandatory that I be a down to earth gal who’s just as comfortable camping as at a black tie affair.

It’s not immediately clear where a slightly misanthropic dim sim-shaped cynic fits in here.

Gulp.  I need to bring in my best mate Kate.

Now let me tell you a bit about my best mate Kate.

She is one of those women that have always, ALWAYS had men buzzing around her.  She’s gorgeous and really nice.  She’s also a Rules Girl, though she claims she’s never actually read The Rules.  She’s like a natural Rules Girl.

If you haven’t been under a rock for the last decade or so, you probably know that The Rules is the name of a book that gives you the rules by which you are more or less guaranteed to snag yourself a man.

Although I have to admit they seem to work (yeah I tried them a long time ago) it’s kind of exhausting keeping up the gameplaying.  I also found myself feeling oddly disdainful of the men who so easily fell for them.  So, my advice is, ladies if you are just looking to nab yourself a man, The Rules work, but if you want a man who wants you for who you are, then they are pretty pox unless, like my mate Kate, you are naturally a Rules Girl.

But I digress.

Kate is coming over tonight to assist me with my profile tonight, so it should be ready to go live before tomorrow morning.

I wish me luck (seeing as I haven’t got any readers yet – I really didn’t think through this whole maintaining anonymity thing)