Mum's The Word

I knew as soon as my mum asked the question, where it was leading.  She's been on holiday for the last couple of weeks so it's been a while since we had a catch up.  Usually if I go for more that three days without seeing or speaking to her, she assumes I've either fallen out with her, or I've perished in a tragic domestic accident (drama queen).  I popped round this evening on my way home from work to show her that I was indeed still alive, and was not in fact dead at the bottom of my stairs, half eaten by Alsatians. Mum sometimes forgets that I live with a friend, who, (if she found me like this) would probably contact her to inform her of my unfortunate and untimely demise.  

Now any single thirty-something woman will know when their mother is preparing to ask them about their love life, because their faces give them away, usually three to four sentences before they actually change the subject in that direction.  They think they've managed to assume an air of benign disinterest as they start their "innocent" questioning, but in fact they're about as subtle as Dame Maggie Smith's Dowager Countess in Downton Abbey.

"So, have you been down to The Arms recently...?"
"I was there briefly on Saturday"
"Because there always seem to be so many men in there"
"It's a pub mum...they have an unlimited supply of beer, it's bound to attract men"
"You should go down next weekend..."
"Because there are men there?"
"Yes, lots of them."
"Mum, whilst admittedly important - having a penis is not the only thing on my 'potential future partner' wishlist...do you think we could dream a little bigger for me please?" 

The fact she mentioned this at all though, suggests that she's getting itchy feet about my single status.  Parents like to fix things, and now that I've got my career pointing in the right direction, she clearly feels it's time I sorted out my non existent love life.  This happens every now and then, and to make her feel better (shut her up) I've let her set me up on the odd date.  In all fairness, she's actually got quite good taste in men - she married my dad after all, and despite the fact that I'm insanely fussy about the type of guy I find attractive, the last one she set me up with was actually quite nice...but she hasn't always hit the mark.  

Following a family gathering at my aunt's one year, she tried to point me towards my aunt's cousin.  She spent a lot of time justifying it on the basis that my aunt is adopted, and only related to my mum through marriage, and as my mum is actually my step-mum there was absolutely no blood link between the cousin and I. She was also unfazed by the fact that the poor guy was terminally ill.  Whilst she clearly felt she could potentially be bringing joy and happiness to the chap's final years, I couldn't help but feel we'd hit rock bottom on the set-up front, if she was considering short-term relationships with family members (however tenuous) as viable prospects for her only daughter.

Don't get me wrong, I know I'm a pain in the arse when it comes to men.  I can't even begin to tell you the earache I got from the girls when I ditched a guy after three dates because our priorities were fundamentally misaligned.  (He brought "romantic" blowing bubbles to a picnic but forgot to pack the cheeseboard...clearly that was never going to work!)  I'm attracted to a certain type of man, I'm not at all driven by looks.  I like a guy who's nice, but not "nice".  I like a man who's not afraid to tell me to shut up when I need to pipe down.  A man who is confident enough to stand up for his opinions and enough of a gentleman to accept that I may have a few of my own.  A man observant enough to recognise when I'm trying to manipulate him, but bright enough to let me get away with it seventy percent of the time.  I like these qualities because these kind of men bring out the best in me...It's just that finding one like this, who also likes you back is tricky business.   

Bless my mum though, I love that she's always trying to find me the best guy out there - but if there's one thing I know, it's that I'll only be happy if I find a guy that makes me the best girl...but I don't hold out much hope of finding him down at The Attleborough Arms on a Saturday night!

What Shall We Do With A Drunken Sailor?

Well hello, and welcome to my new and improved blog (I hope you all enjoy the revamped look)... Firstly I'll apologise, as it's been waaaay too long since I last put perfectly manicured nails to keys to let you know what's going on in my life...as always, there's Never A Dull Day in my world!

As many of you are aware, I am thrilled to say, that after spending the last two years slogging my guts out working in customer service at a car dealership, I finally managed to find an in-road into corporate training, and started as a trainee trainer at the national learning centre for a mahoosive automotive group at the beginning of July.  I'm not going to lie to you, the day I got the phone call confirming the job offer, I may have done a teeny little wee in my pants....that's how happy I was.

So what does that mean for me? (I hear you ask)...well essentially at the moment I'm cramming my tiny little brain full of as much information as possible...course content, delivery style, reigning in the none PC overtones that I've become accustomed to through working alongside a workshop full of blokes who think it's okay to ask "are you on your period or something?" any time you disagree with them...and making new friends.

The friends thing is rather important to me.  Working at a dealerships, you find most people are "local". It's not the kind of job you'd commute long distances for, therefore on a Friday after work, everyone heads down to THE local for a few drinks, and you end up getting to know each other pretty well.  In my new job though, people travel in from far and wide.  I live in Nuneaton and I'm now commuting to Milton Keynes (52 miles away), some of the other trainers travel in from London, Leicestershire and even Gloucester!  It stands to reason therefore that no'one really hangs around on a Friday afternoon to go for a social after work, as they all need to get home at a reasonable hour.  (I'm not quite ready to give up "pub-Friday" though, so I've been catching up with my old dealership pals on a Friday after work.)  

It's also quite an isolated job, in as much as you see your colleagues first thing in the office, and at lunch we all sit together for a natter, but the rest of the time, you're training with up to 15 delegates who might be with you for one or two days, but aren't your co-workers. Building lasting relationships with my colleagues is even more important to me though, because at the beginning of next year, I plan to relocate to Milton Keynes (MK) and leave all of my wonderful "home" friends behind.

I've been looking for an excuse to escape this small town (mainly because I've slept with too many of it's occupants, and Nuneaton's gene pool needs a little more chlorine as it is!) and my new career gives me the perfect excuse.  This weekend it struck me though...most people would be intimidated by the idea of making new friends, but I'm not.  Obviously because I'm awesome and anyone who meets me adores me (eh-hem), but also because I have a secret.  The secret is Meet Up.

I've mentioned it before, but I'm going to endorse it again - www.meetup.com is a fantastic way to meet new people in your area, through organised events...anything from book clubs, to pub crawls, and rambles to festivals.  This weekend I spent my Sunday trawling lazily down the canals from Warwick to Leamington, on a narrow boat, for a nautical themed birthday party of a friend I've made through attending meet-ups in the Leamington area.  Happy Birthday Nicki!!  It was a brilliant day, there was sun, fancy dress, food, drink and various steering mishaps which made us rather unpopular with the local narrow boat community, but we had a great time, and that is the point.

I've met this great bunch of people through the Meet Up site here in my local area...so when it comes to moving to MK, I know exactly where to go to form another social circle, and make friends in the area.  It's a fantastic site, and the events are all organised by the members themselves, so if you've just moved to an area, or (if like me) your mates are all boring "smug marrieds" that only go out as (shudder) "couples", give it a go.  I've made a few lovely mates, and I know I'll be making some more come the new year.

Run For Your Life

Well this is it. I'm now running in the evenings. Gone are the 5am get-ups, and the fresh bracing morning air that threatens to strangle me when I'm already struggling to move and breathe at the same time. Now they've been replaced by...public running humiliation.

Running in the mornings has it's drawbacks, but the big positive is that there are few people around to see you do it.  Having spent the last few weeks steadily building from 1.8km to 5.3km three times a week, I have noticed the effect running has on my body. I'll be honest, it's not particularly pretty. As a boobilicious lady I know all too well how important a sports bra is if I want to avoid black eyes, but no'one warned me about my arse. My arse wobbles! And I'm not just talking about a gentle jiggle, I'm talking about my arse cheeks often falling out of rhythm with each other and moving independently with their wobbles, creating a ripple (tidal wave) effect which must be quite a spectacle if you're behind me! Now I haven't looked into it, but I don't think I've ever seen sports knickers for "batty-support" so at the moment I'm contemplating running in my Spanx. My only consolation is that hopefully by running, I'll start to tone up my wobbly bum!

I've also discovered that bizarrely, I don't seem to move my upper body when I run. I only spotted this by running in the light of the street lamps and catching a glance at my shadow. I don't appear to pump my arms like normal runners. I just hold them loosely in front of me, in a manner akin to a 70yr old power walker.

Finally I think I make a squishy face when I run. Like I'm wincing and in pain. I'm not...well obviously I feel like I'm dying but not in a "someone's just trodden on my toe" way...so why do I keep having the physically relax my face? I might not be doing it all the time I suppose (I don't exactly carry a mirror with me to check) and I only discovered it when I jogged past a guy with his kid and they both did a double take and seemed to physically recoil from my pained expression. Nevertheless though, it all stacks up and makes me aware of the fact that I am not a carefree or graceful runner to watch!  For this reason it has always been preferable from a self concious point of view, to jog when no'one else is about.

All this said though, last week I manned up and opted for an evening run, and I'm pleased to say that now I have the focus of just trying to ensure I get all the way round without stopping (keeling over), I'm less inclined to care about what people might think when they see me. It's a real milestone for me, as I've always been concious of how people perceive me and the extra padding I've been carrying. Perhaps, when my efforts start to be rewarded, the woman at the bus stop that I tend to pass on my way round will notice less of a wobble from my arse as I fly past her...and if I'm lucky my face might start to naturally relax and I can stop accidentally scaring small children. I suppose only time will tell.

Going Under

It's not that I don't want my mum to be here...it's just that. It seems like an awful waste of her time waiting with me in the day procedures unit.  I've brought my Kindle with me, and I'm not nervous about my surgery...I'll go in, they'll get me to put on some nasty surgical gown with no back so the world can see my arse (I've worn fabulous knickers for this very reason) and then I'll go for a nap while they perform keyhole surgery on my knee.

The difference between my mum and me is that she doesn't care about the inconvenience to herself, whereas if she were me, she would be counting the seconds until she could escape and carry on with her own life.  I'm quite selfish...my mum isn't.  So here she is, sat with me while I wait to be called in for my pre-op consultation...yes...I did just say "pre-op" (snigger snigger).  The thing is, I was kind of looking forward to carrying on with the book I'm reading, but I don't say this to her, because I know she's here because she loves me, and part of her is probably concerned that I'm going under general anaesthetic for this operation.  Me...well I'm not concerned at all.  I don't think I have any reason to be, it's a straight forward operation, nothing to worry about.

The other women in the waiting area seem more tense than I am.  Their surgeries might be more serious I suppose, or I might just be unnaturally calm about being put under.  Should I be more concerned? I'm pondering this when the anaesthetist calls my name and leads me into a small consultation room.  He's ridiculously handsome, Asian, with dark round chocolate eyes and a soft yet masculine voice...I'm distracted by his jawline which is awkward as he's started asking me questions about allergies.  No I'm not allergic to anything, but the way you're looking at me at the moment might just bring me out in a rash...yes by all means you can look at my teeth to prove that I don't have any caps or loose fillings, but ohmygod please don't put your face that close to mine to check, as I may be forced to lick you!  I'm just about admitting to myself that I'm smitten when he asks my to jutt out my lower jaw...seriously how is a girl supposed to impress a guy when he's asking her to gurn at him?

"You have a very small mouth" he says, "that makes my job more difficult"

What the hell is he planning to shove in my mouth while I'm under? Surely it's more polite to keep a girl awake for those sort of shenanigans?  I realise I don't really care and joke about my friends disagreeing based on the amount of noise my gob emits...he doesn't smile.  He is either very professional or has no sense of humour.  I decide it's the former, because otherwise he'd be evicted from my "ideal man" box and I'm not quite ready to let him go.

After my consultation I'm handed my surgical stocking and backless gown, and do my very best to make it look as attractive as possible, but fail miserably.  I'm walked down to theatre where the team of anaesthetists start sticking heart monitors to me and a cannula in my hand.  I'm not the type of person who is comfortable with serious situations, so I make a suggestion with regards to the surgical stocking that perhaps it could come in a fishnet variety, only the female anaesthetist smiles and comments that I don't seem particularly nervous.  I admit that I'm kind of just looking forward to an afternoon nap as it's an  extravagance I rarely have the opportunity to indulge in.  Finally the others seem to start developing a sense of humour, and they start to joke along with me.

As the first lot of anaesthetic is injected,I'm asked if I'm starting to feel the effects, which I'm not, I suggest they may need more ketamine to tranquillise this thoroughbred and as she dutifully ups the dosage, the last thing I remember saying is "ooooh, my face feels itchy, is that norm...zzzzz". I realise ultimately the joke is on me, as there are few things funnier than watching a person pass out when they're still trying to hold a conversation!

I've never woken up drunk before.  Usually sleep comes after alcohol and its a hangover that I wake up to.  Waking up from anaesthesia is like waking up and being ridiculously drunk.  I woke with a start with a couple of nurses at my bedside and immediately started gabbling.  The benefit of feeling like you're drunk is that when you make a comment about the procedure being so quick, is that you don't feel like a complete eejit when the nurse points out that you were asleep...so it probably felt a lot quicker than it actually was.

The nurses busied around me, occasionally tipping the bed when my blood pressure dropped, which given that my blood pressure is usually on the low side of normal didn't really surprise me.  It's happened before when I was giving blood.  I'd finished giving blood and got off the bed to go and help myself to a cup of tea and a custard cream, when a fellow donor blanched and started pointing at my arm.  The gauze plaster had become soaked in blood and peeled away, leaving the vein I'd just donated from free to literally spurt blood in a comedy fashion.  Out of nowhere two partially retired (teeny tiny) nurses hoisted me off my feet and back onto an upside down bed.  I swear I have no idea where they got their strength from but nevertheless they managed it!

So there I lay, my left knee bandaged up tightly, still talking gibberish at speed...still completely smacked off my t*ts, when my handsome anaesthetist appeared by my bedside. Reassuringly he told me, I'd be back up on my feet and running marathons in no time.

I think he must have liked me...Because bad knees or good knees...

I've clearly never run a marathon in my life!!!

Note to self...get my friend at the hospital to give the hot anaesthetist my number.

Bridesmaids

Now you'd be forgiven for thinking due to the fact my own marriage so spectacularly fell to pieces, that I'd be the last person on the planet to be excited about weddings, however you would be wrong.  I am in fact thrilled that Jonesy, who was a bridesmaid at my wedding, is getting married.  I'm thrilled largely because I now know I won't have to listen to her gin-fuelled, tearful rants about being a spinster for the rest of her life, but also because anyone who knows her can see how happy she has been over the last year, since getting together with her now fiancé,  Mark.

I'm also very excited because for the first time in my adult life, I'm going to be a bridesmaid!  I'm also...bloody terrified.  Jonesy is having three bridesmaids, her cousin, myself, and another friend from high school, Kim.  In the spirit of being a total Bridezilla, she has even charged us with very specific roles.  Given that Jonesy is going for a vintage themed wedding, her cousin Charlie, is being given the responsibility of being her "Vintage Consultant" and will aide Jonesy in sourcing and procuring the most kitsch bunting, and shabby chic table decorations.   Kim has been given the responsibility of alcohol management (i.e. how much gin Jonesy is allowed to drink on the day...for the safety of all her guests!) and will be taking on the role of "Chief Calming Influence" due to her very laid back approach to life, and soft spoken manner.  I have been given the prestigious role of "Mistress of Fun" which sounds rather kinky, but essentially I think this means I'm there for pure comedy value.  Naturally I will take my role very seriously, even if it means spending the day with my dress tucked in my knickers whilst trailing a line of bog roll from my right heel.  If it ensures that on the day Jonesy feels like the most glamorous bride of all time, and has fun whilst she's doing it, then it will be worth my humiliation.

I'm actually pretty sure that I'm destined to be a terrible bridesmaid. I'm bound to cock something up. I know there's a 99.9% chance I'm going to spill wine down my front, or split my dress by eating too much during the wedding breakfast. I'll probably be the one who's heels get stuck in the grass when having the photos taken and end up flat on my face with grass stains down one side of my frock.  I'll basically be the fat one in the film Bridesmaids, but with less grace and decorum!!  I can't help but feel therefore that Jonesy has given me this role for that very reason.  She knows all too well that I'm going to make a spaz out of myself at some point during the day, so at least this way I can do it whilst still fulfilling all of  my duties as a bridesmaid.

Now the other thing about being a bridesmaid is that there's usually a "fat one".  I fear this is me, and whilst I know Jonesy will ensure I have a flattering dress, I hate the thought of being porky on her wedding photos.  If ever I have needed a goal (and a cut off date of a years time) to get myself slimmer, this must surely be it?  For a girl who has no will power and very little resolve when it comes to giving up the things she loves, it's a terrifying prospect that I may not actually achieve it, and I'll let myself down.  With this in mind I am declaring now, to the world, that I am giving up dominoes for a whole year.  Given the amount of dominoes pizza I consume, I would suggest that all of my readers double their monthly consumption of dominoes, if only to safeguard the future of the company so that I can have a massive pizza blow-out once the big day has been and gone!

I'm going to be stepping up the exercise regime over the summer, paying particular attention to the bingo wings, as I don't want to have to choose my dress on the basis of whether or not it covers my "wobbly bits".  I'll keep you all update on my progress (naturally) and who knows, this time next year I might even be writing to say I've achieved my goal weight!  It's funny isn't it...They always say you should lose weight for yourself and no one else, but when the truth is that you don't really like yourself, but you love your best mates, what's wrong with doing it for one of them instead?

Boys Boys Boys

Having spent most of my career working in predominantly female environments, first as a waitress, then as a travel agent, and then working within the lingerie industry, moving to the automotive industry has been...well, let's just say it has been an education!

Men often complain that women are impossible to read, and they can never tell what a woman really wants/means/is saying, but having spent the last nine months working with men in what would typically be classed as a "mans world" I can honestly say I find them just as baffling!

Men greet each other with insults for one. Women would find it quite hideous to be greeted with "Oi oi dickhead!" first thing in the morning, but men take it in their stride, often returning the greeting with something equally as rude. Men also have no problems telling you about your shortcomings to your face regardless of how little you're going to want to hear it. At least women have the common decency to bitch about you behind your back!

Men seem to have a habit of giving you nicknames which aren't always the most complimentary...my current nickname (or at least the one they call me to my face) is "short batty" roughly this translates as "short arse" which whilst accurate isn't exactly a compliment. One of my colleagues has been christened "Labrador Head" or "The Retriever" due to her glossy locks...again not the nicest of nicknames but given as a term of endearment...I think. Funnily enough we take these names and actually embrace them though. They're like a badge of acceptance if you work on the principle that men only give pet names to the people they like...that's what I'm telling myself anyway.

Men also appear to be immovable when it comes to their opinions...even when they can be proved wrong, they just can't accept hearing it from a woman. They would rather argue the toss and make themselves look like arseholes, than say "hmm...yeah you might be right there". Women like being educated and learning things that empower them. Men shy away from it seeing it as either a) demeaning to be corrected by a woman or b) that you're somehow trying to change everything they stand for, and this is a privilege only the women in their personal lives hold.

Men appear to be much better at saying no. As women we shy away from negative responses in the workplace. We try to be accommodating, and we try to flex in order to be everything to all people. You can see it in all the women out there who work full time and also try to be a mother to their children. Rather than say, "I've got a child under five, there's no possible way I can have a full time career as well and do justice to either job" we slog our guts out and break our hearts trying to do both. We manage it, but at what cost?

Equality is something the generations before us fought for, and sometimes we take for granted what some women sacrificed to give us the choice to determine our own paths. Sometimes though I can't help but feel their efforts have backfired, especially when I look at the women who no longer have the choice between a family or a career. For the majority of us the only realistic choice we have is a career...or a family AND a career. So few of us can afford to be a stay and home mum. For those of us that do choose family, we're looked down on and the assumption is made that we could never have been successful in a career. Why is this? Isn't ensuring our children have stable and happy childhoods, where they're nurtured and taught right from wrong one of the most important jobs in the world? No'one looks down their noses at teachers, and they've chosen the same vocation...just with other peoples children!

The one thing I will say about working with men though, is that it makes you act like more of a girl. Having been single for so long now, I'd forgotten what my whiney voice sounded like, and I can't remember the last time I needed to pout in order to get my own way. Here in this line of work, it feels like a daily occurrence (and yes I hate myself a little for it). It does however seem to be the only way to get on in a male dominated environment, as being assertive, forthright and open about your opinions, just gets you labelled as a ball-buster...and let's be honest very few men want their balls busted on a daily basis. Just goes to show, that as a woman, yet again, I'm the one flexing my behaviour in order for guys to feel comfortable around me!

Perhaps the lesson here for me though, is that men don't really change their behaviours between work and their home lives. Perhaps the reason I'm still single is because I haven't yet removed the ball busting side of my personality from my social interactions with men? It's difficult to accept that through being a strong modern woman, I just don't attract the right kind of men...perhaps letting my softer, less controlled and more girlish side show in my private life is the key to meeting the right man for me.

A Room Full Of Strangers

As we walked into the pub in Leamington, we were greeted by a couple of smiling gentlemen.  Both looked slightly awkward, nursing their drinks and making polite conversation.  They seemed pleased when my housemate asked them if they were here for the “Meet Up”, nodding enthusiastically. My housemate has been to one of these things before…I however, haven’t and really didn’t have a clue what to expect.


The point of meet ups (which are all organised on-line) is to get a bunch of strangers in a room to socialise and make new friends.  You may ask why you’d want to go to a pub and chat to a load of strangers, when you could just go out with your own friends.  Well it’s designed for those people who, for whatever reason, aren’t able to regularly socialise with their friends.  For some, it’s because they’ve recently moved to the area for work, and they’re looking to meet new friends to ensure they have a life outside of the office.  For others like me, it’s because most of my friends are all in relationships and have families, so it’s just not that easy to get together regularly for a night out.

It’s quite daunting trying to make conversation with strangers, when you have absolutely no inkling about what kind of a person they may be.  Corinne had already given me the heads up in terms of the people she’d chatted to at her first meet up, and who she thought I’d enjoy chatting to, but nevertheless, striking up conversation wasn’t the easiest thing I’ve ever done.  I had already made the decision not to drink.  I am aware that when I drink, I can become a little…well…overbearing.  When Corinne drinks she becomes incredibly chatty, however when I drink I talk at people and demand to be the centre of attention.  It’s all about me when I’ve had wine, and for people who don’t know me, I suppose it can come across as a bit...obnoxious.  Team that with a desire to show off my vivacious personality and wonderful sense of humour (because obviously then everyone will love me, and be desperate to be my friend), I would have just ended up looking like a bit of a knobhead.  Not really the first impression I would want to give off.  It’s actually flummoxed me for a little while, why some people are wary of me when they first meet me as I know I'm really a rather nice person, but having seen myself drunk on a couple of occasions over the last year, when even I didn’t like me, it’s started to become clear where I’ve been letting myself down.

Usually, when I’m sober in a pub, there’s always some chav with no spatial awareness, who ends up leaning against me. Or there’ll be the fifty year old man who after a few bitter shandy’s, thinks he’s Hugh Heffner and wants to whisper (shout) slurred sweet nothings at me. There are guys who when drunk, think nothing of saying hurtful things about my weight, or lecherous comments about the size of my rack.  Remaining sober while everyone else drinks is usually my idea of hell, but last night, it couldn’t have bothered me less.  The women on the meet up were a mixture of ages, and had fascinating stories to tell.  Some had families, some were divorced, some were career women, some were creative.  They were witty, intelligent women, and the kind of women that I could talk to all night.  The men pretty much all came across as bright, polite, and mature men.  Again the ages of the guys ranged from late twenties to late fifties, but I had no difficulties speaking to any of them, as they were all my kind of people.  I love my friends, and that will never change, but as a single woman, looking to broaden her horizons and network with likeminded people, this was a really positive experience, and I’d recommend it to anyone.

The Meet Up is planning a spring ball in April, and I’ve warned them all that I would definitely be drinking for that one.  Hopefully they’ll still be talking to me the morning after!