This Christmas saw me hosting dinner for nine of my family. It’s always nice to have everyone gathered around, and even nicer when it’s in the comfort of your own home. As my house used to be my grandparents house, it must have been lovely for them to “come home” for Christmas, and despite some slight disasters in the kitchen (only I could remember at 3pm on Christmas Eve that I hadn’t got the turkey out of the freezer! Terrence the turkey, much to the amusement of my friends spent the night in my bath to aid his defrosting!), a Christmas feast was delivered, devoured and enjoyed by all. The one thing that struck me however, was the sheer amount of food that I had in my fridge. It was packed full of vegetables, cheeses, meats and puddings, condiments, creams, custards and beverages. In fact with hindsight it’s a good job I forgot about Terrence because there would have been no room for him in the fridge!!
My fridge always looks kind of similar to Bridget Jones’s. You’ll usually find a carton of milk in there that’s on the turn, a wedge of stilton that would definitely need the edges scraping off before consumption, a jar of Hellman’s Real Mayonnaise (none of that low fat rubbish when it comes to mayo for me – ask anyone who knows me, it’s kind of my “thing”!) and a jar of Branston Pickle. Occasionally if I’m feeling indulgent there’ll be a tub of Greek style olives with feta cheese, and there’ll always be a bag of carrots. The carrots aren’t for me – the pooch adores them, and they’re good for his teeth and breath – a sort of natural doggie toothbrush.
The fact is, that I never have a full fridge because I never see the point in cooking anything when it’s just me.
Gaga is even worse than me. The most I have ever seen in her fridge was two bottles of Rosé, some cat milk and an emergency bar of Galaxy chocolate. Like me, she rarely cooks for herself. She’s a little worse than me however and does predominantly live on take away’s and dinners at her mums. I just tend not to eat in the evenings. If I’m really peckish then I can usually find a packet of prawn cocktail crisps lurking at the back of the larder. Gareth finds it all rather strange. He prepares himself breakfast, lunch and dinner each day, every day. If you look in his fridge, there’s always something green in there (and I don’t mean the kind of green that’s growing on my stilton), there’s fresh milk, some kind of meat, and various other tasty bits and bobs. He’s even got a fruit bowl...and it has fruit in it...rather than unopened post and stray pens that he hasn’t given a home to yet! We have argued that as we’re all singletons, and two out of three of us don’t cook for ourselves, perhaps Gareth is the odd one out. I suppose it’s down to his years in the Army, where the routine of eating three square meals would have been drummed into him from the minute he arrived for his basic training as a spotty gangly teenager.
Gareth can be quite...hmm how can I put it...honest at times, and I think both Gaga and I felt suitably ashamed when he accused us of not looking after ourselves. There’s nothing worse than someone like Gareth audibly tutting and shaking his head at you whilst telling you, “if you won’t look after yourselves why would you expect anyone else to?” to make you feel a little guilty that you’ve essentially been a bit lazy and have neglected yourself. We all know that a healthy attitude to food is important, and that regular healthy and satisfying meals are key to good physical and mental well being. It’s just that it can seem so pointless when it’s only you. The effort it takes to cook and wash up after a meal, when it’s only you who’ll be eating it, always seems a bit OTT for my liking. I don’t mind doing it for nine people at Christmas, but just for me??
Nevertheless, I have started the year as I mean to go on, and have (for the last four days) cooked myself a sensible dinner every evening. Unfortunately my portion estimates are a little generous given that I’ve always been used to cooking for two, however the pooch doesn’t seem to mind, as he’s getting the left overs. Now the only problem I have is that given I started out with nothing in my fridge, after rustling together four meals, you can imagine how little food I have left in my house! Today’s meal of hearty vegetable soup with bread was improvised (it was supposed to be something far grander) as unfortunately it seems that even when frozen, some food, if left for over a year in the freezer, still goes bad! (This disappoints me greatly as it means that the majority of the food I have in the freezer is now inedible – bad times) It looks like a trip to the supermarket is in order to re-stock!
It’s all part of the master plan of course. Healthy eating, regular exercise, less alcohol consumption...my body is a temple (no jokes about the size of the Taj Mahal please). Aren’t new years resolutions great? Well...ask me in February and we’ll see if I’m still sticking to it!!
Wednesday, 5 January 2011
Tuesday, 14 December 2010
Laughter - There's Nothing Sexier!
One guy once told me that he wanted a cook in the kitchen, a lady in the parlour and a whore in the bedroom. He wanted a woman with principles and manners, someone ladylike and presentable, yet sexy and provocative behind closed doors. As women, we’re expected to be alluring and slutty in secret, yet demure and successful in public. Men want to have their cake and eat it, and, it seems - we’re programmed to give them what they want.
I met a guy months ago – from that dating site I was a member of. He gave me his number pretty much straight off, which admittedly unnerved me a little, but I was pacified by the fact that he told me he wasn’t really sure what the “on-line dating etiquette” with regards to number swapping was, but figured if I wanted to chat to him when we were offline, that was the best way to do it... A week or so, and several e-mail conversations later I decided he didn’t appear to be a serial killer, so I dropped him a text, and our conversations continued. He seemed as cute as a button – always knowing the right thing to say to make a girl feel at ease, so it was a no-brainer when we decided to meet up. I really wasn’t expecting much – I’d been on dates with sweet guys, and whilst they were always pleasant, they never really rocked my world. I always worked on the principle though, that the worst thing that could happen was that you could make a new friend.
We arranged to meet at a pub near me (what? – it’s my prerogative as a woman to ask that the date takes place in my territory – a guy who wants you to travel to him clearly doesn’t have a chivalrous bone in his body!) and by sheer fluke we both pulled into the carpark at the same time. When he stepped out of the car I was surprised by how tall he was. Even with a sizeable heel he towered over me – which admittedly sent me a little weak at the knees right from the off. I was instantly attracted to him, but I don’t think it was necessarily his looks that attracted me in the first instance...in fact I know it wasn’t... The first thing he did when he got out of the car was take the piss out of me....and that’s what did it. He laughed at my mardy driving face (in all fairness he did nick the parking space I was attempting to occupy, and at this stage I didn’t know he was in the car!) and told me he'd nearly turned around and driven off! It made me laugh, and ladies and gentlemen...there is nothing sexier than a guy who can make me laugh.
I’m a bit of a joker – my friends and colleagues will testify to this – it’s not something I’m always aware I’m doing - in fact sometimes I make sarky and somewhat distasteful gags in the most inappropriate situations. I very clearly remember the phone call I received from the hospital asking me to gather my brothers together to come and see my Dad after his heart bypass surgery, and the comment I made directly after putting the phone down. I was at work, so had to explain why I was suddenly leaving. I turned to a colleague, knowing that the only reason they’d be calling us in was because he was either already dead or about to die, and said;
“Well it would be just like the melodramatic old git to die on us!”
Appropriate or not, humour acts as a band aid, an ice breaker and a conversational tool for me. I use it to put people at ease and diffuse awkward situations (even if ultimately the situation affects me in the most negative way) and more often than not, I just like people to enjoy themselves when they’re around me. The problem with being the one who’s always cracking the jokes, is that it’s very rare that someone comes along who genuinely tickles me, so when they do, it completely takes me by surprise. This guy got me hook line and sinker, just by being funny...by being brave enough to take the piss out of someone he’d only just met, and having the balls to bare his personality right from the off...oh okay...it kinda helped that he was cute too...but I’d like to think his sense of humour would have kept me interested, even if he’d looked like the elephant man!
Now do guys secretly want the same thing? Someone who can make them giggle? Sure they love the sexy seductress thing (and we kinda love being that for them), but ultimately, if they were given the choice, would they go for someone who looks hot and is a “whore in the bedroom”, or will they go for someone who’s genuine and can make them laugh? I’ve always believed that if you find someone’s soul attractive, the way they look to you will always be sexy...which is why some of us (erm yes...me included) wouldn’t kick Simon Cowell out of bed for farting, and yet others would dry heave at the prospect of having to get close enough to his high waisted trousers to unzip them!
I guess we’re all after different things – some people are driven by looks, others by intelligence and the ability to stimulate them cerebrally. Some people are driven by lust and physical attraction, others by feeling secure and protected. Some of us have had enough hardship in their lives that they just want to laugh. They want to laugh so hard that their sides ache, and they genuinely feel joy again. Whatever the attraction though, I know what I want, and perhaps just knowing your own mind is the most important thing...so what do I want you ask?
I want laughter...and an older man...a much older man with a big bank balance...and a nasty cough!!
I met a guy months ago – from that dating site I was a member of. He gave me his number pretty much straight off, which admittedly unnerved me a little, but I was pacified by the fact that he told me he wasn’t really sure what the “on-line dating etiquette” with regards to number swapping was, but figured if I wanted to chat to him when we were offline, that was the best way to do it... A week or so, and several e-mail conversations later I decided he didn’t appear to be a serial killer, so I dropped him a text, and our conversations continued. He seemed as cute as a button – always knowing the right thing to say to make a girl feel at ease, so it was a no-brainer when we decided to meet up. I really wasn’t expecting much – I’d been on dates with sweet guys, and whilst they were always pleasant, they never really rocked my world. I always worked on the principle though, that the worst thing that could happen was that you could make a new friend.
We arranged to meet at a pub near me (what? – it’s my prerogative as a woman to ask that the date takes place in my territory – a guy who wants you to travel to him clearly doesn’t have a chivalrous bone in his body!) and by sheer fluke we both pulled into the carpark at the same time. When he stepped out of the car I was surprised by how tall he was. Even with a sizeable heel he towered over me – which admittedly sent me a little weak at the knees right from the off. I was instantly attracted to him, but I don’t think it was necessarily his looks that attracted me in the first instance...in fact I know it wasn’t... The first thing he did when he got out of the car was take the piss out of me....and that’s what did it. He laughed at my mardy driving face (in all fairness he did nick the parking space I was attempting to occupy, and at this stage I didn’t know he was in the car!) and told me he'd nearly turned around and driven off! It made me laugh, and ladies and gentlemen...there is nothing sexier than a guy who can make me laugh.
I’m a bit of a joker – my friends and colleagues will testify to this – it’s not something I’m always aware I’m doing - in fact sometimes I make sarky and somewhat distasteful gags in the most inappropriate situations. I very clearly remember the phone call I received from the hospital asking me to gather my brothers together to come and see my Dad after his heart bypass surgery, and the comment I made directly after putting the phone down. I was at work, so had to explain why I was suddenly leaving. I turned to a colleague, knowing that the only reason they’d be calling us in was because he was either already dead or about to die, and said;
“Well it would be just like the melodramatic old git to die on us!”
Appropriate or not, humour acts as a band aid, an ice breaker and a conversational tool for me. I use it to put people at ease and diffuse awkward situations (even if ultimately the situation affects me in the most negative way) and more often than not, I just like people to enjoy themselves when they’re around me. The problem with being the one who’s always cracking the jokes, is that it’s very rare that someone comes along who genuinely tickles me, so when they do, it completely takes me by surprise. This guy got me hook line and sinker, just by being funny...by being brave enough to take the piss out of someone he’d only just met, and having the balls to bare his personality right from the off...oh okay...it kinda helped that he was cute too...but I’d like to think his sense of humour would have kept me interested, even if he’d looked like the elephant man!
Now do guys secretly want the same thing? Someone who can make them giggle? Sure they love the sexy seductress thing (and we kinda love being that for them), but ultimately, if they were given the choice, would they go for someone who looks hot and is a “whore in the bedroom”, or will they go for someone who’s genuine and can make them laugh? I’ve always believed that if you find someone’s soul attractive, the way they look to you will always be sexy...which is why some of us (erm yes...me included) wouldn’t kick Simon Cowell out of bed for farting, and yet others would dry heave at the prospect of having to get close enough to his high waisted trousers to unzip them!
I guess we’re all after different things – some people are driven by looks, others by intelligence and the ability to stimulate them cerebrally. Some people are driven by lust and physical attraction, others by feeling secure and protected. Some of us have had enough hardship in their lives that they just want to laugh. They want to laugh so hard that their sides ache, and they genuinely feel joy again. Whatever the attraction though, I know what I want, and perhaps just knowing your own mind is the most important thing...so what do I want you ask?
I want laughter...and an older man...a much older man with a big bank balance...and a nasty cough!!
Tuesday, 7 December 2010
Can Girls Suffer From "Man-Flu"??
It’s no secret that I’m not very good at being ill. I actually think this is because I don’t get ill very often. It’s normally a once (maybe twice) a year event, and so unfortunately I don’t handle it very well.
If you could all take a moment to visualise me now. I’m sat here up to my ears in used tissues. I am probably single handedly responsible for the destruction of a mile wide section of the rainforest, which has been used to keep me well stocked in mansize Ultrabalm tissues. Over the course of the day, the whole world, has literally fallen out of my nose. Seriously, on one blow I swear to God I evicted a small family of Armenians and a Whirlpool washing machine (circa 1994) from my nasal cavities...I could have been mistaken, obviously...I mean it’s not like I spent ages dissecting the contents in the manner of Gillian McKeith or anything weird like that...it’s just that’s what it looked like!
I have been dosed up on max strength cold and flu capsules, throat sprays, mucus friendly cough mixtures (to aid a productive cough, I’ll have you know!) and lemon flavoured menthol drinks since yesterday. Quite frankly, I’m smacked off my tits on cold remedies and I’m not 100% sure I should be taking them all with the glass of red wine that I’m currently enjoying...but I like to fly by the seat of my pants, so I’m gonna roll with it.
How come some people can handle being poorly better than others? Some people deal with flu like it’s a walk in the park...me...I’m like a man with man-flu. I’m convinced I’m actually about to shuffle off this mortal coil. It’s not just because I’m a drama queen (which I am a little, I’ll admit) but genuinely, because I don’t get ill very often it feels like I’m dying. God only knows what I’d be like with something like child birth. My problem is though, is that I’m not at all gracious about being poorly. I complain mercilessly about it, and I know that I sound like a whiney cow, but if I don’t verbalise how miserable I feel, I’m likely to just curl up in a corner and sob to myself...which on the whole would be far more disconcerting for my work colleagues I’m sure!
The only person (sort of) that seems to want to give me sympathy in my time of need however, is the pooch. Reliable as always he has stationed himself at my side, since this rotten lurgey first set in. He dutifully fusses around me when I’m struggling with a coughing fit...which basically just means when I start coughing he sits up, cocks his head to one side and looks at me in a worried manner, as if to say;
“Ooh ‘eck mum....that doesn’t sound right!”
Understandably everyone else feels I should really just be getting on with it! I get it...I’m a disgrace to my sex, I should be able to handle illness better than this...But the way I see it...hopefully one day, I’ll have kids of my own, who will get poorly and need looking after, and so I won’t be able to be this self indulgent. Until then, I plan to let everyone know when I’m not feeling 100%...and maybe (just maybe), someone might feel inclined to look after me a little....someone other than the pooch that is!
If you could all take a moment to visualise me now. I’m sat here up to my ears in used tissues. I am probably single handedly responsible for the destruction of a mile wide section of the rainforest, which has been used to keep me well stocked in mansize Ultrabalm tissues. Over the course of the day, the whole world, has literally fallen out of my nose. Seriously, on one blow I swear to God I evicted a small family of Armenians and a Whirlpool washing machine (circa 1994) from my nasal cavities...I could have been mistaken, obviously...I mean it’s not like I spent ages dissecting the contents in the manner of Gillian McKeith or anything weird like that...it’s just that’s what it looked like!
I have been dosed up on max strength cold and flu capsules, throat sprays, mucus friendly cough mixtures (to aid a productive cough, I’ll have you know!) and lemon flavoured menthol drinks since yesterday. Quite frankly, I’m smacked off my tits on cold remedies and I’m not 100% sure I should be taking them all with the glass of red wine that I’m currently enjoying...but I like to fly by the seat of my pants, so I’m gonna roll with it.
How come some people can handle being poorly better than others? Some people deal with flu like it’s a walk in the park...me...I’m like a man with man-flu. I’m convinced I’m actually about to shuffle off this mortal coil. It’s not just because I’m a drama queen (which I am a little, I’ll admit) but genuinely, because I don’t get ill very often it feels like I’m dying. God only knows what I’d be like with something like child birth. My problem is though, is that I’m not at all gracious about being poorly. I complain mercilessly about it, and I know that I sound like a whiney cow, but if I don’t verbalise how miserable I feel, I’m likely to just curl up in a corner and sob to myself...which on the whole would be far more disconcerting for my work colleagues I’m sure!
The only person (sort of) that seems to want to give me sympathy in my time of need however, is the pooch. Reliable as always he has stationed himself at my side, since this rotten lurgey first set in. He dutifully fusses around me when I’m struggling with a coughing fit...which basically just means when I start coughing he sits up, cocks his head to one side and looks at me in a worried manner, as if to say;
“Ooh ‘eck mum....that doesn’t sound right!”
Understandably everyone else feels I should really just be getting on with it! I get it...I’m a disgrace to my sex, I should be able to handle illness better than this...But the way I see it...hopefully one day, I’ll have kids of my own, who will get poorly and need looking after, and so I won’t be able to be this self indulgent. Until then, I plan to let everyone know when I’m not feeling 100%...and maybe (just maybe), someone might feel inclined to look after me a little....someone other than the pooch that is!
Saturday, 4 December 2010
One Man and Three Little Ladies
It’s a well known fact (amongst girls) that women behave slightly differently when we’re in the company of other girls, to when we’re in the company of men. When you’re in the company of men, you are generally mindful that your language should be ladylike, that you should maintain a certain level of decorum, and the conversation choice is carefully selected to ensure you don’t bore men to death. When you’re with your girlfriends, it’s entirely acceptable to spend up to an hour talking about shoes, and the perfect heel height. If you’re bitching about other people, you’re not afraid to use coarser language, and (especially after a couple of glasses of vino) the behaviours seen within a gaggle of girls can be raucous, giggly, loud and very often screechy.
So what happens when you find you’ve let a heterosexual red blooded male into your female circle of friends? I was wondering this earlier as Gaga and I sat in our friend Gareth’s flat gossiping like the girls we are. I’m quite certain that Gareth feels he’s gathering a great deal of intel on the enemy by spending so much time with us. He’s in the enviable position of having myself, Gaga and Princess there to learn from, as he observes us in our natural habitat... But I wonder, as a man...what must he think of us??? In all fairness, I was mainly wondering this after announcing that I was;
“wearing a £15 pair of knickers, and had at least £8’s worth stuck up my bum”
I then proceeded to adjust the wedgie situation in one quick (but not-so-elegant) manoeuvre. Sometimes I forget he’s not actually one of the girls, and often end up mortified by my behaviour when I remember he’s there! I’m not the only one to do things like this however. Last week on our usual Saturday trip to the coffee house - our very own Central Perk, Princess, (who to be fair to her, was suffering from the mother of all hangovers) forgot whose company she was in and announced;
“Shit... I completely forgot to put a bra on today”
It was hilarious to watch poor Gareth’s face as that mental image flashed up in his head, and he battled with the urge to say something blokey and smutty. The thing is he’s integrated so fully into our little gang that he hears everything, and has an “access all areas” pass to the daft, neurotic, inane and ridiculous world of my female group of friends. He sits and listens while we discuss our dating disasters, he humours us by not complaining when we talk about shoes/make-up/clothes etc, and always tuts in a suitably “don’t be ridiculous” manner when we complain about our weight, the size of our ankles/arse etc. He also does a really good job of controlling his gag reflex when we talk about our period pains or our preferred methods of birth control, and doesn’t appear to judge us when we say absolutely awful things about people we don’t like. But what I’m wondering is...what does he do with all this information? Is he sharing it with his guy friends? He’s gone out with his guy mates this evening, and all I can imagine him doing is taking them to one side and saying;
“Geez guys, trust me, these chicks are NUTS!...Did you know that it only takes an average of seven minutes after sending a text before they start complaining about the fact they haven’t had a reply?!”
Or maybe he’s storing up all this insider information, so that when he meets Miss Right in the future, he better understands the female mind, and can therefore be a better Mr Right for her? (I’d like to think it’s the latter, but I suspect it’s probably the former!)
Much to the incredulity of his male friends, Gareth has developed his own little harem, who unquestioningly entertain him with silliness on nights out, cook for him, pick up his dry cleaning and give him lifts whenever he needs them...in fact all the things we’d automatically do for our girly mates - courtesies that aren’t usually extended to members of the opposite sex...and why do we do this? Well to be fair, it’s because men are simple creatures, and as a result they simplify things for you. If you’ve been wronged by a friend and bitch about them, girls will intensify the witch hunt by goading the bitchfest....a guy will become confused and point out;
“but didn’t you do something similar to so’n’so the other week?”
thus highlighting your double standards, bringing you back to reality with a bump. Likewise if a guy doesn’t text you for a day, and you complain to a girlfriend, between the two of you, you can blow everything out of proportion, and before you know it, you’ve got visions that the reason behind the delayed reply is because he’s secretly got a wife and kids tucked away somewhere, and can only text when they’re not around. If you complain to a guy friend like Gareth, you get a non-committal shrug of the shoulders and a simple;
“He was probably busy when you texted him, and now he’s forgotten to reply”
Guy friends take the drama out of every situation, which truth be told makes life refreshingly easy sometimes. Of course, we’re girls so we enjoy a bit of drama, but every now and then it’s nice to be brought back down to earth and reminded that life doesn’t have to be crazy to be fun. Besides, it’s nice to have someone to mother a little... we haven’t got kids of our own yet, and as Gareth has the mental age of a six year old, it’s kind of like having a child!
So what happens when you find you’ve let a heterosexual red blooded male into your female circle of friends? I was wondering this earlier as Gaga and I sat in our friend Gareth’s flat gossiping like the girls we are. I’m quite certain that Gareth feels he’s gathering a great deal of intel on the enemy by spending so much time with us. He’s in the enviable position of having myself, Gaga and Princess there to learn from, as he observes us in our natural habitat... But I wonder, as a man...what must he think of us??? In all fairness, I was mainly wondering this after announcing that I was;
“wearing a £15 pair of knickers, and had at least £8’s worth stuck up my bum”
I then proceeded to adjust the wedgie situation in one quick (but not-so-elegant) manoeuvre. Sometimes I forget he’s not actually one of the girls, and often end up mortified by my behaviour when I remember he’s there! I’m not the only one to do things like this however. Last week on our usual Saturday trip to the coffee house - our very own Central Perk, Princess, (who to be fair to her, was suffering from the mother of all hangovers) forgot whose company she was in and announced;
“Shit... I completely forgot to put a bra on today”
It was hilarious to watch poor Gareth’s face as that mental image flashed up in his head, and he battled with the urge to say something blokey and smutty. The thing is he’s integrated so fully into our little gang that he hears everything, and has an “access all areas” pass to the daft, neurotic, inane and ridiculous world of my female group of friends. He sits and listens while we discuss our dating disasters, he humours us by not complaining when we talk about shoes/make-up/clothes etc, and always tuts in a suitably “don’t be ridiculous” manner when we complain about our weight, the size of our ankles/arse etc. He also does a really good job of controlling his gag reflex when we talk about our period pains or our preferred methods of birth control, and doesn’t appear to judge us when we say absolutely awful things about people we don’t like. But what I’m wondering is...what does he do with all this information? Is he sharing it with his guy friends? He’s gone out with his guy mates this evening, and all I can imagine him doing is taking them to one side and saying;
“Geez guys, trust me, these chicks are NUTS!...Did you know that it only takes an average of seven minutes after sending a text before they start complaining about the fact they haven’t had a reply?!”
Or maybe he’s storing up all this insider information, so that when he meets Miss Right in the future, he better understands the female mind, and can therefore be a better Mr Right for her? (I’d like to think it’s the latter, but I suspect it’s probably the former!)
Much to the incredulity of his male friends, Gareth has developed his own little harem, who unquestioningly entertain him with silliness on nights out, cook for him, pick up his dry cleaning and give him lifts whenever he needs them...in fact all the things we’d automatically do for our girly mates - courtesies that aren’t usually extended to members of the opposite sex...and why do we do this? Well to be fair, it’s because men are simple creatures, and as a result they simplify things for you. If you’ve been wronged by a friend and bitch about them, girls will intensify the witch hunt by goading the bitchfest....a guy will become confused and point out;
“but didn’t you do something similar to so’n’so the other week?”
thus highlighting your double standards, bringing you back to reality with a bump. Likewise if a guy doesn’t text you for a day, and you complain to a girlfriend, between the two of you, you can blow everything out of proportion, and before you know it, you’ve got visions that the reason behind the delayed reply is because he’s secretly got a wife and kids tucked away somewhere, and can only text when they’re not around. If you complain to a guy friend like Gareth, you get a non-committal shrug of the shoulders and a simple;
“He was probably busy when you texted him, and now he’s forgotten to reply”
Guy friends take the drama out of every situation, which truth be told makes life refreshingly easy sometimes. Of course, we’re girls so we enjoy a bit of drama, but every now and then it’s nice to be brought back down to earth and reminded that life doesn’t have to be crazy to be fun. Besides, it’s nice to have someone to mother a little... we haven’t got kids of our own yet, and as Gareth has the mental age of a six year old, it’s kind of like having a child!
Saturday, 20 November 2010
Tears Of A Clown
She’s the joker in deck of cards, the first to take the piss,
And the opportunity to mock herself, she’ll never ever miss,
She seems so strong and forthright,
Quick of tongue and mind,
In fact a more jovial individual,
Would be difficult to find,
But behind that tough exterior, lies a sensitive soul,
Her confidence in tatters and her heart no longer whole,
She hides the ache in her chest from everyone she knows,
But the pain is catching up with her,
And every day it grows,
She’ll do all she can to shield you,
From the hurt she holds inside,
She’s fearful that one day the pain she carries,
Will be impossible to hide,
She’s terrified you’ll see her for the woman she really is,
Weak, broken and empty,
Unable to forgive,
So for now she dons her make-up, and paints her jester face,
And she’ll play the role of the joker for you,
As she knows, that it’s her place.
And the opportunity to mock herself, she’ll never ever miss,
She seems so strong and forthright,
Quick of tongue and mind,
In fact a more jovial individual,
Would be difficult to find,
But behind that tough exterior, lies a sensitive soul,
Her confidence in tatters and her heart no longer whole,
She hides the ache in her chest from everyone she knows,
But the pain is catching up with her,
And every day it grows,
She’ll do all she can to shield you,
From the hurt she holds inside,
She’s fearful that one day the pain she carries,
Will be impossible to hide,
She’s terrified you’ll see her for the woman she really is,
Weak, broken and empty,
Unable to forgive,
So for now she dons her make-up, and paints her jester face,
And she’ll play the role of the joker for you,
As she knows, that it’s her place.
Monday, 15 November 2010
He's My Type
Most of us profess that we don’t have a “type”. None of us would like to think we’re so shallow that we’d only be attracted to someone who looks a certain way. Some of us however are acutely aware of the fact that we are attracted to the same people time after time.
Gaga, for instance is drawn to “pretty” boys. She’s naturally attracted to guys who look like they belong in a boy band, or a Calvin Klein advert. This probably shows how much more confident she is in herself than most other women, as the majority of us would shy away from such Adonis-esque males, mainly because they make a normal feminine woman feel ever so slightly butch....plus there’s something a little annoying about a man who takes longer to get ready for a night out than you do. Gaga is definitely safe in this area, because no’one takes longer to get ready for an evening out than she does!
Princess is attracted to a “protector”, someone who when times are tough can make her feel safe and secure. She’s not especially attracted to a certain look – they’re usually always attractive guys, but it’s not a specific look – as long as they have those protective qualities she’ll be attracted to them. It’s certainly not because she needs protecting, however she’s just slightly traditional, and likes her men to play a caveman “guardian” role in a relationship.
Me, well I’m attracted to man’s men. By that I mean I like a rugged man. I can appreciate a pretty boy, of course I can, but I like a man to look like he’s done a little hard work over the years. I like them to be broad, because it helps me feel daintier, and I am a sucker for a hairy man. I think this is just a natural reaction to wanting the absolute opposite of what you’ve grown up with. My poor Pops had one measly chest hair that was quickly tweezed by my Ma whenever it made an appearance, because from her perspective, she couldn’t see the point of having “just one” (I kind of see her point to be fair).
My brothers likewise are not furry...in fact I’m pretty certain that if I went for a week without shaving my legs I’d have more to show than my three brothers combined. Hilariously though they can all seem to grow fairly impressive beards (Dad could as well). I’m quite convinced Mother Nature creates men in batches...Fuzzies, Non Fuzzies, Pretty Boys, Not So Pretty Boys. It’s like she accidentally mixed a non pretty/non fuzzy batch. I can almost hear her now when she realised her error with the men in my family:
“Oh crap! Right – who mixed the non fuzzies with the uglies?? Come on...who was it? Shit, well it’s too late now, they’re cooked. Right well just give them a bit of fuzz in the facial department so they can at least cover their faces, else they’ll never get girlfriends!”
I’m joking of course. I’m proud to say that all of my bro’s are fairly pretty, and my Pops was ever such a handsome chap. Don’t tell them I said so though, or I’ll never hear the end of it.
That has left me however, ridiculously attracted to hairy “Manly” men. I know it completely grosses some women out, but for me it’s a very real display of a man’s masculinity. They’re supposed to have it! I’m not freaked out by chest, back and butt hair – the more the better as far as I’m concerned. Okay, every now and then I’ll come across a guy and be a bit “Woah”, but it would only because he’s taken hairy to new levels for me. I don’t think I could ever find it unattractive though, as I genuinely find there’s nothing nicer than lazing in bed on a Sunday morning snuggled up to a warm fuzzy chest. For me though it’s definitely the masculinity side of things that I find attractive. Deep voice, powerful commanding presence etc. A man who straightened his hair would actually make me want to be a little bit sick in my mouth. Yuk.
But what are the drawbacks of having a “type”? Well...
Pretty boys usually know they’re pretty. Men are driven by female attention as much as we’re driven by a man with charm and charisma. They know they can make a woman feel great just by giving them the time of day, so between the ages of Seventeen and Forty they tend to be players. I know this is a bit of a generalisation and I apologise to all the pretty boys out there that aren’t players, but the truth is, a lot of the time they’re heartbreakers. Even if it’s unintentional they are, and being snubbed by a pretty boy can make you feel ten times worse about yourself than being snubbed by a regular guy.
Protectors, well they’re great...but then every now and then, they get overprotective. Protectors can forget that you’re capable of making your own decisions, and reminding them (when you’re usually asking them to act as an emotional bodyguard for you), can cause problems, as you essentially strip them of their role in a relationship.
Manly men, well these are tricky. If you’re a particularly girly girl, and you’re attracted to manly men, then you’ll probably be fine. But if you’re strong, forthright and independent, then it can cause problems. Manly men get confused because they don’t know where they sit in the relationship. If you can re-wire a plug, hang a picture and do your own tiling they can easily become emasculated. It’s silly I know but men like to feel needed. Something I learned the hard way!
Knowing the above doesn’t stop us being attracted to our “types”. We’re all attracted to different looks and personalities for a reason. The world would be a very dull place if we all had the same ideas with regards to attraction. But perhaps, knowing what we know, we can try to adapt our own personalities to suit those we’re attracted to.
If we like the pretty boys, we can empower ourselves to not stand for any crap when their ego’s get too big for their boots, and we can ensure they realise a good thing when they’ve got it...if we like the protectors, perhaps we can show them how it’s their nature that gives us the strength to be strong when we need to, that it doesn’t take anything away from them, because at the end of the day we can be strong knowing that they’ll catch us if we fall...and if it’s the manly men...well whilst as a single woman, you have to be able to handle everything on your own, you have to be strong, independent, domesticated, to able to run and maintain a home and your life in general... if you’re in a relationship, maybe we can let them teach us that we don’t have to do it all by ourselves. That it’s okay to let someone else ease the burden, every now and then. Perhaps being aware of all this can help us forge stronger and more meaningful relationships with our “types”.
Or maybe not. Either way there’s nothing worse than listening to a man whinge, and as they’re incapable of changing, clearly one way or the other, it’s up to use to make the compromise!! ;-D
Gaga, for instance is drawn to “pretty” boys. She’s naturally attracted to guys who look like they belong in a boy band, or a Calvin Klein advert. This probably shows how much more confident she is in herself than most other women, as the majority of us would shy away from such Adonis-esque males, mainly because they make a normal feminine woman feel ever so slightly butch....plus there’s something a little annoying about a man who takes longer to get ready for a night out than you do. Gaga is definitely safe in this area, because no’one takes longer to get ready for an evening out than she does!
Princess is attracted to a “protector”, someone who when times are tough can make her feel safe and secure. She’s not especially attracted to a certain look – they’re usually always attractive guys, but it’s not a specific look – as long as they have those protective qualities she’ll be attracted to them. It’s certainly not because she needs protecting, however she’s just slightly traditional, and likes her men to play a caveman “guardian” role in a relationship.
Me, well I’m attracted to man’s men. By that I mean I like a rugged man. I can appreciate a pretty boy, of course I can, but I like a man to look like he’s done a little hard work over the years. I like them to be broad, because it helps me feel daintier, and I am a sucker for a hairy man. I think this is just a natural reaction to wanting the absolute opposite of what you’ve grown up with. My poor Pops had one measly chest hair that was quickly tweezed by my Ma whenever it made an appearance, because from her perspective, she couldn’t see the point of having “just one” (I kind of see her point to be fair).
My brothers likewise are not furry...in fact I’m pretty certain that if I went for a week without shaving my legs I’d have more to show than my three brothers combined. Hilariously though they can all seem to grow fairly impressive beards (Dad could as well). I’m quite convinced Mother Nature creates men in batches...Fuzzies, Non Fuzzies, Pretty Boys, Not So Pretty Boys. It’s like she accidentally mixed a non pretty/non fuzzy batch. I can almost hear her now when she realised her error with the men in my family:
“Oh crap! Right – who mixed the non fuzzies with the uglies?? Come on...who was it? Shit, well it’s too late now, they’re cooked. Right well just give them a bit of fuzz in the facial department so they can at least cover their faces, else they’ll never get girlfriends!”
I’m joking of course. I’m proud to say that all of my bro’s are fairly pretty, and my Pops was ever such a handsome chap. Don’t tell them I said so though, or I’ll never hear the end of it.
That has left me however, ridiculously attracted to hairy “Manly” men. I know it completely grosses some women out, but for me it’s a very real display of a man’s masculinity. They’re supposed to have it! I’m not freaked out by chest, back and butt hair – the more the better as far as I’m concerned. Okay, every now and then I’ll come across a guy and be a bit “Woah”, but it would only because he’s taken hairy to new levels for me. I don’t think I could ever find it unattractive though, as I genuinely find there’s nothing nicer than lazing in bed on a Sunday morning snuggled up to a warm fuzzy chest. For me though it’s definitely the masculinity side of things that I find attractive. Deep voice, powerful commanding presence etc. A man who straightened his hair would actually make me want to be a little bit sick in my mouth. Yuk.
But what are the drawbacks of having a “type”? Well...
Pretty boys usually know they’re pretty. Men are driven by female attention as much as we’re driven by a man with charm and charisma. They know they can make a woman feel great just by giving them the time of day, so between the ages of Seventeen and Forty they tend to be players. I know this is a bit of a generalisation and I apologise to all the pretty boys out there that aren’t players, but the truth is, a lot of the time they’re heartbreakers. Even if it’s unintentional they are, and being snubbed by a pretty boy can make you feel ten times worse about yourself than being snubbed by a regular guy.
Protectors, well they’re great...but then every now and then, they get overprotective. Protectors can forget that you’re capable of making your own decisions, and reminding them (when you’re usually asking them to act as an emotional bodyguard for you), can cause problems, as you essentially strip them of their role in a relationship.
Manly men, well these are tricky. If you’re a particularly girly girl, and you’re attracted to manly men, then you’ll probably be fine. But if you’re strong, forthright and independent, then it can cause problems. Manly men get confused because they don’t know where they sit in the relationship. If you can re-wire a plug, hang a picture and do your own tiling they can easily become emasculated. It’s silly I know but men like to feel needed. Something I learned the hard way!
Knowing the above doesn’t stop us being attracted to our “types”. We’re all attracted to different looks and personalities for a reason. The world would be a very dull place if we all had the same ideas with regards to attraction. But perhaps, knowing what we know, we can try to adapt our own personalities to suit those we’re attracted to.
If we like the pretty boys, we can empower ourselves to not stand for any crap when their ego’s get too big for their boots, and we can ensure they realise a good thing when they’ve got it...if we like the protectors, perhaps we can show them how it’s their nature that gives us the strength to be strong when we need to, that it doesn’t take anything away from them, because at the end of the day we can be strong knowing that they’ll catch us if we fall...and if it’s the manly men...well whilst as a single woman, you have to be able to handle everything on your own, you have to be strong, independent, domesticated, to able to run and maintain a home and your life in general... if you’re in a relationship, maybe we can let them teach us that we don’t have to do it all by ourselves. That it’s okay to let someone else ease the burden, every now and then. Perhaps being aware of all this can help us forge stronger and more meaningful relationships with our “types”.
Or maybe not. Either way there’s nothing worse than listening to a man whinge, and as they’re incapable of changing, clearly one way or the other, it’s up to use to make the compromise!! ;-D
Sunday, 7 November 2010
Loving The Gaga
I swear to God if it wasn’t for Beck-lar I would spend most of my time sat indoors on Facebook. Beck-lar as you’ll know her from previous blog entries is actually known by a number of nicknames, but probably the most apt name we have for her is “Gaga”. The nickname comes from the fact that she bears an uncanny resemblance to Lady Gaga, but it also suits her personality perfectly, because quite frankly, she’s as mad as a box of frogs.
I’ve never known anyone else as prone to spontaneous outbursts of crazy like Gaga. When she decides to do something, it’s never by halves. For example, after leaving university, she took the gap year that so many people never have the balls to take, and went to live and work in New Zealand for a year. She’s the type of person who despite never running in her life, when she decided to do a fun run, ignored the beginners 5km race and entered herself straight into the 10km race. Likewise when she decided she wanted to do a charity bike ride, she shunned the idea of a 10km ride, and opted to mountain bike across the Isle of White instead. When an idea pops into her head that she likes the sound of, she just goes with it. She flies by the seat of her pants, and I’ll regularly get a text asking me to join her for some random unplanned night out, or day trip to somewhere obscure, just because she’s bored or wants a bit of company. I’ll be honest, I’m quite happy to hang in for the ride, because I just wouldn’t do these things by myself.
On Thursday I got a text, which simply read “A bit random, but do you fancy coming to Birmingham to watch a gig with me tomorrow?” Now Brum is only a about 30 miles from our home town so it wasn’t exactly a crazy idea, but this is the thing with Gaga...something that shouldn’t be crazy always ends up as a daft night with her. I work about 45 minutes from my home town, and don’t usually get home until just after 6pm, and the train to Brum left at 6:45pm, leaving me with just enough time to thrown on a clean pair of clothes and walk to the station. Typically it was peeing it down, and in an effort to have less to carry, I’d shunned the idea of a coat opting instead for a compact brolly to keep me dry on my walk to the station. Of course my cheap fold away brolly is quite possibly the most useless example of an umbrella in the history of the world. If you were to burp fiercely enough in its direction it would blow itself inside out, so naturally I arrived at the train station looking like I’d been swimming.
I’m not a huge fan of public transport (call me a snob if you want) and only ever use it for work commitments. I think it’s because I have an uncanny ability to attract all the weirdo’s, drunks, sex pests and perverts. Plus, call me picky but I’m always uncomfortable with the lack of personal space these loons leave me. I mean why do they practically have to sit on your lap? Seriously – back off buddy! To be fair though as we sat there...posing...camera at arm’s length, pointing back at us for our “on the train” shot of the evening, (looking like day release kids who’d never been on a bloody train before!), it occurred to me that for once I didn’t mind having to use public transport. Sure I still had a lunatic leaning all over me and invading my personal space...but at least this time the weirdo was one of my best friends!
It only occurred to me to ask where the gig was, and how far it was from New Street station, once the train was in motion. With hindsight I probably should have checked this earlier, as it turned out Gaga had no clue where we had to go once we arrived in Birmingham! So armed with only the knowledge that to get to the gig’s venue The 02 Academy, we needed to turn right out of the station’s main doors, off we plodded, rubbish brollie’s in hand in the direction of the city’s bright lights. Gaga, had half listened to some directions given by a friend, and the only thing she was really able to recall was that we needed to use the subway when we came to a big roundabout. This actually later caused a little confusion when it became apparent that at the big roundabout , there was actually a Subway sandwich bar, and unfortunately Gaga wasn’t entirely sure as to whether we should be looking for a subway, or just somewhere to grab a snack. Putting my sensible head on I called into a hotel reception for directions and found that amazingly, Gaga had managed to get us pretty close to the venue...although more through luck than judgement I feel.
I hadn’t a clue who we were going to watch, but Gaga filled me in, telling me we were watching “Chromeo” who are an electronic pop duo. She’d been randomly perusing The Academy’s gig list, Googled them and decided she liked the sound of them, so thought why the hell not? Now I love all sorts of music, but this gig was completely up my street. Chromeo have a really contemporary feel to their music, with a very distinctive 80’s pop vibe, which I absolutely loved. So much so I downloaded their album Business Casual from Itunes as soon as I got home, and I’ve been listening to it non-stop ever since. You should check them out on You Tube – If you like feel good music I doubt you’ll be disappointed.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ppNC0uAaCv0
By the time we arrived I looked even more drenched and bedraggled, which was a little irksome. I had anticipated the place being full of grungy students so had opted for a fairly casual look (which with the rain now looked more like trampy) however it turned out that the place was full of very cool people, all looking very stylish, without a hair out of place...compared to them I looked like a chubby version of that scary girl from The Grudge... Make up down my face, hair looking like a rained on birds nest, but what the heck – I rolled with it. I danced all night, literally from the second the music started until we left the gig, and I didn’t care who saw me – which is pretty major for me, as anyone who knows me, knows that I have no natural coordination, and whilst I try really hard to shake my booty like Beyonce, the fact of the matter is I usually end up looking like I’m doing a less elegant version of the truffle shuffle. Bad times.
After the gig had finished we walked back to the station, chatting loudly, stopping to take pictures of Gaga hanging off a street post a la Singing In The Rain, and trying to avoid getting mowed down by taxis and bendy buses. We caught the last train home, and I have to say it was a fantastic night. Sometimes I wish my brain worked like Gaga’s. When I get home I sit down put my feet up and veg out. If someone texts to say, do you fancy doing x y z...then I’m usually up for it, but I’m rarely the one to initiate that text. I just don’t think that way. Maybe it’s because whilst I enjoy a bit of excitement, and not being stuck in a rut, I don’t crave it like Gaga does. My needs are fairly simple, whereas Gaga has to be stimulated and entertained. In her day job as a radiographer, she has to be able to cope with the harsh reality of dealing with, and treating cancer every day. It makes sense that in her home life, she feels compelled to just “do stuff”...grab the bull by the horns and live her life...Have fun, and make every day count. With Gaga, her crazy persona isn’t scary, or weird. It’s actually quite inspiring. So, whilst I might laugh at the absurdness of some of her loony ideas, I know only too well that by letting me share her crazy adventures, however unplanned and random they may be, she’s enriching my life a little. Thank you for sharing Gaga, Beck-lar, B’Go, Nurse Becky...or whatever your name is!
I’ve never known anyone else as prone to spontaneous outbursts of crazy like Gaga. When she decides to do something, it’s never by halves. For example, after leaving university, she took the gap year that so many people never have the balls to take, and went to live and work in New Zealand for a year. She’s the type of person who despite never running in her life, when she decided to do a fun run, ignored the beginners 5km race and entered herself straight into the 10km race. Likewise when she decided she wanted to do a charity bike ride, she shunned the idea of a 10km ride, and opted to mountain bike across the Isle of White instead. When an idea pops into her head that she likes the sound of, she just goes with it. She flies by the seat of her pants, and I’ll regularly get a text asking me to join her for some random unplanned night out, or day trip to somewhere obscure, just because she’s bored or wants a bit of company. I’ll be honest, I’m quite happy to hang in for the ride, because I just wouldn’t do these things by myself.
On Thursday I got a text, which simply read “A bit random, but do you fancy coming to Birmingham to watch a gig with me tomorrow?” Now Brum is only a about 30 miles from our home town so it wasn’t exactly a crazy idea, but this is the thing with Gaga...something that shouldn’t be crazy always ends up as a daft night with her. I work about 45 minutes from my home town, and don’t usually get home until just after 6pm, and the train to Brum left at 6:45pm, leaving me with just enough time to thrown on a clean pair of clothes and walk to the station. Typically it was peeing it down, and in an effort to have less to carry, I’d shunned the idea of a coat opting instead for a compact brolly to keep me dry on my walk to the station. Of course my cheap fold away brolly is quite possibly the most useless example of an umbrella in the history of the world. If you were to burp fiercely enough in its direction it would blow itself inside out, so naturally I arrived at the train station looking like I’d been swimming.
I’m not a huge fan of public transport (call me a snob if you want) and only ever use it for work commitments. I think it’s because I have an uncanny ability to attract all the weirdo’s, drunks, sex pests and perverts. Plus, call me picky but I’m always uncomfortable with the lack of personal space these loons leave me. I mean why do they practically have to sit on your lap? Seriously – back off buddy! To be fair though as we sat there...posing...camera at arm’s length, pointing back at us for our “on the train” shot of the evening, (looking like day release kids who’d never been on a bloody train before!), it occurred to me that for once I didn’t mind having to use public transport. Sure I still had a lunatic leaning all over me and invading my personal space...but at least this time the weirdo was one of my best friends!
It only occurred to me to ask where the gig was, and how far it was from New Street station, once the train was in motion. With hindsight I probably should have checked this earlier, as it turned out Gaga had no clue where we had to go once we arrived in Birmingham! So armed with only the knowledge that to get to the gig’s venue The 02 Academy, we needed to turn right out of the station’s main doors, off we plodded, rubbish brollie’s in hand in the direction of the city’s bright lights. Gaga, had half listened to some directions given by a friend, and the only thing she was really able to recall was that we needed to use the subway when we came to a big roundabout. This actually later caused a little confusion when it became apparent that at the big roundabout , there was actually a Subway sandwich bar, and unfortunately Gaga wasn’t entirely sure as to whether we should be looking for a subway, or just somewhere to grab a snack. Putting my sensible head on I called into a hotel reception for directions and found that amazingly, Gaga had managed to get us pretty close to the venue...although more through luck than judgement I feel.
I hadn’t a clue who we were going to watch, but Gaga filled me in, telling me we were watching “Chromeo” who are an electronic pop duo. She’d been randomly perusing The Academy’s gig list, Googled them and decided she liked the sound of them, so thought why the hell not? Now I love all sorts of music, but this gig was completely up my street. Chromeo have a really contemporary feel to their music, with a very distinctive 80’s pop vibe, which I absolutely loved. So much so I downloaded their album Business Casual from Itunes as soon as I got home, and I’ve been listening to it non-stop ever since. You should check them out on You Tube – If you like feel good music I doubt you’ll be disappointed.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ppNC0uAaCv0
By the time we arrived I looked even more drenched and bedraggled, which was a little irksome. I had anticipated the place being full of grungy students so had opted for a fairly casual look (which with the rain now looked more like trampy) however it turned out that the place was full of very cool people, all looking very stylish, without a hair out of place...compared to them I looked like a chubby version of that scary girl from The Grudge... Make up down my face, hair looking like a rained on birds nest, but what the heck – I rolled with it. I danced all night, literally from the second the music started until we left the gig, and I didn’t care who saw me – which is pretty major for me, as anyone who knows me, knows that I have no natural coordination, and whilst I try really hard to shake my booty like Beyonce, the fact of the matter is I usually end up looking like I’m doing a less elegant version of the truffle shuffle. Bad times.
After the gig had finished we walked back to the station, chatting loudly, stopping to take pictures of Gaga hanging off a street post a la Singing In The Rain, and trying to avoid getting mowed down by taxis and bendy buses. We caught the last train home, and I have to say it was a fantastic night. Sometimes I wish my brain worked like Gaga’s. When I get home I sit down put my feet up and veg out. If someone texts to say, do you fancy doing x y z...then I’m usually up for it, but I’m rarely the one to initiate that text. I just don’t think that way. Maybe it’s because whilst I enjoy a bit of excitement, and not being stuck in a rut, I don’t crave it like Gaga does. My needs are fairly simple, whereas Gaga has to be stimulated and entertained. In her day job as a radiographer, she has to be able to cope with the harsh reality of dealing with, and treating cancer every day. It makes sense that in her home life, she feels compelled to just “do stuff”...grab the bull by the horns and live her life...Have fun, and make every day count. With Gaga, her crazy persona isn’t scary, or weird. It’s actually quite inspiring. So, whilst I might laugh at the absurdness of some of her loony ideas, I know only too well that by letting me share her crazy adventures, however unplanned and random they may be, she’s enriching my life a little. Thank you for sharing Gaga, Beck-lar, B’Go, Nurse Becky...or whatever your name is!
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