Now we have got Christmas out of the way I am making preparations for the most serious celebration and one of my favourite times of the year. Yes, it's New Year.
After some extensive research (well talking to various friends over drinks), it appears that I am alone in my love of New Year. The general consensus seems to be that it's over-rated and expensive, whereas for me it is something to be celebrated.
It's not that I particularly love New Years Eve (although I adore any excuse to get together with friends, drink one too many glasses of wine and kiss inappropriate men). No, what I love is the hope that New Years Eve brings. Being an eternal optimist new year fills me with excitement, even writing this I am getting butterflies about what 2011 might hold for me.
The joy for me with new year is that it feels like a fresh start. It's a great time to wipe the slate clean and start all over again. With a new year comes hope and optimism, all the crap from the previous year can be put to one side and a whole new adventure can begin. I also relish the prospect of the unknown.
Will 2011 be the year that I finally stick to a diet, go to the gym 5 days a week, manage to get some savings in the bank? Will it be the year that I meet the man of my dreams, could it be the year that footballers learn to keep it in their pants, and people realise Cheryl Cole's new hairstyle isn't actual news? Who knows?, but that's the brilliant thing about being on the brink of a new year the feeling that anything could happen.
I also love the fact that for about a week we live in a world full of good intentions. A typical conversation from the 1st till 7th January “Happy new year, have you made any resolutions?” “Yes I'm going to give up my job and do missionary work in Africa, funded by selling my shoe collection and the money saved from giving up smoking.” By the 31st January “How's the Africa planning going?” “Oh I gave up on that I realised I loved my shoes and fags too much and that nobody likes a quitter, so decided not to give anything up.”
There were loads of surprises for me in 2010, many of which I never saw coming but all worked out for the best in the end. I met some lovely people, made some new friends for life, had some great dates, learnt who my true friends are, discovered that I am a lot tougher and resilient than I ever realised. Gained more confidence and self belief in myself, stopped suffering fools, did some voluntary work which I loved, discovered a passion for blogging, started building a few bridges and cut a few ties, plus much more. Now if all that can happen in just 12 months it's impossible for me not to be excited about 2011.
New year is also a great time to say everything you wanted to say, so that the year starts on a good note. So, before the clock strikes midnight don't worry too much about the resolutions but see it as a time to make any apologies that need to be made, clear the air and tell people you love them (yes I know these will all be drunken calls and text, but it's the thought that counts).
As Big Ben chimes let's all raise a glass and make just one resolution; to make 2011 our happiest, healthiest and most successful year to date. I'll drink to that.
Wednesday, 29 December 2010
Thursday, 9 December 2010
My Instructions For Life
In my flat I have a book called Life’s Little Instruction Book, which the author wrote for his son before he went to university. It is full of things you should do to make your life better, easier and happier. Whilst flicking through it the other day I got to thinking about what my instructions for life would be, so here they are, in no order of preference.
1. When it comes to romance if you like each other always give it a go. Don’t worry what other people think, don’t think about where it will lead and whether you’ll end up married with 2.4 children, don’t be worried by the superficial (are they hot enough, funny enough, clever enough etc). If you get on, fancy each other and enjoy spending time together, sod everybody else and go with the flow and see what happens. Who knows it could be the start of something beautiful and if not you’ll hopefully have fun and maybe they’ll have fit mates.
2. Nobody cares when you’re ill. Unless you are seriously ill nobody really gives a toss that you have a cold. When people ask how you are they don’t want a run down of all your symptoms and most of all if you’re that ill don’t be a martyr and turn up at work as nobody wants to hear it and most of all nobody wants to catch it.
3. A quick drink is rarely a quick drink. When invited for a ‘quick drink’ you should always be aware that this will more than likely result in a minimum of two drinks. It could ultimately end up as a night of carnage involving drinking, clubbing, kissing of inappropriate people, curry and maybe throwing up. The one thing it will rarely be is a ‘quick drink’
4. If you think you’re going to get screwed over, you probably are. As the saying goes ‘if it seems too good to be true it probably is.’ For example if a Nigerian Prince emails you asking for your bank details so he can deposit half a million pounds in there for safe keeping, chances are you’re going to end up stony broke, that is unless, you know a Nigerian Prince. Ok that’s pretty obvious, but you get the gist.
5. The only way to lose weight is too eat less and do more. I’m not really sure why so many people don’t understand this one. You can try all the miracle diets in the world but the sad truth is as much as most of us would love thinner thighs just by eating chocolate and sitting down, it ain’t gonna happen. I am not a great follower of eating less and doing more, but at least I know that’s what I need to do when I can be bothered to try and lose weight.
6. Only lend what you can afford to lose. My dad hasn’t given me much advice in life, but he did tell me this and boy was he right. Whether it’s money, clothes, your car, whatever if you can’t afford to lose it don’t lend it to anybody, because you don’t always get back what you lend to people, fact.
7. What you want and what you need are often two different things. I have a few examples of this I want enough spare money to buy a pair of Jimmy Choos, if/when I acquire the money what I need to do is pay a plumber to come in and sort out my bathroom. Example two, I want a man just like Jude Law, what I need is a man who will balance me a bit and not sleep with randoms behind my back (this unfortunately is not going to come in the form of Jude Law)
8. Know who your friends are. This one is important, but unfortunately it can take something bad to happen before you find out who they are. When the shit hits the fan (lose your job, somebody dies, big break up) take a look around and see who’s there helping you sort through the carnage and who scurries off into the background only to return when the mess is cleared up. Trust me most people will find acquaintances a plenty, but you can count your true (I mean the ones you can call at 3am on a Sunday morning) on one hand.
9. Give second chances, but not a third, fourth and fifth. Whether it’s a relationship or a friendship, always give people a second chance. We all mess up from time to time, we all say things we don’t mean and we all occasionally behave in ways we’re not proud of, so ultimately we all sometimes need a second chance. If somebody is brave enough to apologise and admit they were wrong, what’s not to forgive (well other than violence). The second chance could be the start of something great and a chance to clear the air. If things don’t change, don’t give a third chance, nobody respects a mug.
10. Tell the people you care about you love them. For me this is the most important one, as people don’t say it enough. There’s nothing worse than realising that somebody you cared about didn’t know it either because they have died or you have just lost touch. Even if the love isn’t returned nobody ever minds been told they’re loved (well unless it’s by a stalker type). So go out there people and spread the love.
So there you have it my instructions for life. What are yours?
1. When it comes to romance if you like each other always give it a go. Don’t worry what other people think, don’t think about where it will lead and whether you’ll end up married with 2.4 children, don’t be worried by the superficial (are they hot enough, funny enough, clever enough etc). If you get on, fancy each other and enjoy spending time together, sod everybody else and go with the flow and see what happens. Who knows it could be the start of something beautiful and if not you’ll hopefully have fun and maybe they’ll have fit mates.
2. Nobody cares when you’re ill. Unless you are seriously ill nobody really gives a toss that you have a cold. When people ask how you are they don’t want a run down of all your symptoms and most of all if you’re that ill don’t be a martyr and turn up at work as nobody wants to hear it and most of all nobody wants to catch it.
3. A quick drink is rarely a quick drink. When invited for a ‘quick drink’ you should always be aware that this will more than likely result in a minimum of two drinks. It could ultimately end up as a night of carnage involving drinking, clubbing, kissing of inappropriate people, curry and maybe throwing up. The one thing it will rarely be is a ‘quick drink’
4. If you think you’re going to get screwed over, you probably are. As the saying goes ‘if it seems too good to be true it probably is.’ For example if a Nigerian Prince emails you asking for your bank details so he can deposit half a million pounds in there for safe keeping, chances are you’re going to end up stony broke, that is unless, you know a Nigerian Prince. Ok that’s pretty obvious, but you get the gist.
5. The only way to lose weight is too eat less and do more. I’m not really sure why so many people don’t understand this one. You can try all the miracle diets in the world but the sad truth is as much as most of us would love thinner thighs just by eating chocolate and sitting down, it ain’t gonna happen. I am not a great follower of eating less and doing more, but at least I know that’s what I need to do when I can be bothered to try and lose weight.
6. Only lend what you can afford to lose. My dad hasn’t given me much advice in life, but he did tell me this and boy was he right. Whether it’s money, clothes, your car, whatever if you can’t afford to lose it don’t lend it to anybody, because you don’t always get back what you lend to people, fact.
7. What you want and what you need are often two different things. I have a few examples of this I want enough spare money to buy a pair of Jimmy Choos, if/when I acquire the money what I need to do is pay a plumber to come in and sort out my bathroom. Example two, I want a man just like Jude Law, what I need is a man who will balance me a bit and not sleep with randoms behind my back (this unfortunately is not going to come in the form of Jude Law)
8. Know who your friends are. This one is important, but unfortunately it can take something bad to happen before you find out who they are. When the shit hits the fan (lose your job, somebody dies, big break up) take a look around and see who’s there helping you sort through the carnage and who scurries off into the background only to return when the mess is cleared up. Trust me most people will find acquaintances a plenty, but you can count your true (I mean the ones you can call at 3am on a Sunday morning) on one hand.
9. Give second chances, but not a third, fourth and fifth. Whether it’s a relationship or a friendship, always give people a second chance. We all mess up from time to time, we all say things we don’t mean and we all occasionally behave in ways we’re not proud of, so ultimately we all sometimes need a second chance. If somebody is brave enough to apologise and admit they were wrong, what’s not to forgive (well other than violence). The second chance could be the start of something great and a chance to clear the air. If things don’t change, don’t give a third chance, nobody respects a mug.
10. Tell the people you care about you love them. For me this is the most important one, as people don’t say it enough. There’s nothing worse than realising that somebody you cared about didn’t know it either because they have died or you have just lost touch. Even if the love isn’t returned nobody ever minds been told they’re loved (well unless it’s by a stalker type). So go out there people and spread the love.
So there you have it my instructions for life. What are yours?
Tuesday, 30 November 2010
Help I’m confused
I’m a relatively bright spark (although some may beg to differ), but even so there are some things in life that will always confuse me, things that no matter how hard I try I can never quite get my head round. So here I am sharing with you some of the things that leave me baffled in the hope that you’ll be able to shed some light on these situations for me.
Smelly People
Yuk, yuk, yuk I don't understand smelly people. Unless you have just taken part in a gruelling exercise regime there is no reason to smell, soap is cheap. Summer on the tube in London will lead to encountering numerous smelly guilty parties, as will festivals and some times sweaty nightclubs. One of the many things I dislike about smelly people is that they always make me suspect that it might be me that smells, leading me to do the surreptitious armpit sniff to ensure that my deodorant is working. Also I am not sure what the rules are with smelly people, can they smell themselves? Are you allowed to mention it? Can you give them soap as a gift?
Falling out of love
I'm sure we've all fallen out of love at some point but I don't understand how it happens. How one minute you can't stand to be apart, everything the other person says is amusing, they're the hottest thing ever, sex is amazing then at some point the doom descends and before you know it Mr/Mrs Right has become Mr/Mrs Annoying Pain in the arse.
One man I was once in love with led me to a £300 phone bill, both of us crying (lots) at a train station as he had to go and work in Scotland for two weeks (which seems a massive amount of time when even going to work seems painful as it interrupts your time together) and a 24 hour flight alone to Australia
Fast forward to four years later and the sound of him breathing in his sleep was enough to make me want to inflict physical pain on him and he decided that I was “a heartless bitch who had ruined his life”. We're both over it now and on speaking terms but I will never understand how we once couldn't stand to be apart and now are happy to live on other sides of the world. Explain?
Facial tattoos
I am more than partial to a man with tattoos, but I will never understand facial tattoos. What is the point? What makes somebody wake up on a morning and decide that the best way to express themselves that day is to get something permanently etched on their face? Do they do it to purposely look menacing? If so do they not realise that if a life of crime is the route they're planning to take then a facial tattoo might be a big give-away in a line up? Or is it simply the fact that they wake up one day, don't like what they see (I know this happens to me on many a Sunday morning) and decide that rather than deal with it they'll just cover it?
Mixed Messages from the opposite sex
The reason I don't understand mixed messages is because when it comes to dating and romance I either like you or I don't. If we get past date one (trust me many have failed), then I like you, if I reject you before date one or say no to date two this means I'm not interested. Simples.
Many people don't live by these rules which is where mixed messages come in. When it comes to mixed messages women are as bad as men. One male friend went out a few times with a girl he really liked, she then called it a day only to get back in touch a few months later claiming she wanted to be friends. Upon him meeting her again her behaviour was a little over friendly, a little glance here a little stroke of the leg there, a goodnight kiss that lingered a bit too long to be considered a friends kiss. He was left dazed and confused and she continued this charade until he got bored. What was her game, was she confused? Liked her ego massaging, what?
Or you go on a few dates, all the signs are good the compliments are flowing, you've been told you're amazing, gorgeous funny etc., then suddenly nothing or “I don't want to get involved” followed by staying in touch and been generally lovely, complimentary and funny but without any of the bedroom action. Hello what's that all about?
So there is my run down of things I will never understand. So if you're a smelly person, have facial tattoos, have fallen out of love and can explain why it happens or have deciphered the world of mixed messages do get in touch and put me out of my misery.
Smelly People
Yuk, yuk, yuk I don't understand smelly people. Unless you have just taken part in a gruelling exercise regime there is no reason to smell, soap is cheap. Summer on the tube in London will lead to encountering numerous smelly guilty parties, as will festivals and some times sweaty nightclubs. One of the many things I dislike about smelly people is that they always make me suspect that it might be me that smells, leading me to do the surreptitious armpit sniff to ensure that my deodorant is working. Also I am not sure what the rules are with smelly people, can they smell themselves? Are you allowed to mention it? Can you give them soap as a gift?
Falling out of love
I'm sure we've all fallen out of love at some point but I don't understand how it happens. How one minute you can't stand to be apart, everything the other person says is amusing, they're the hottest thing ever, sex is amazing then at some point the doom descends and before you know it Mr/Mrs Right has become Mr/Mrs Annoying Pain in the arse.
One man I was once in love with led me to a £300 phone bill, both of us crying (lots) at a train station as he had to go and work in Scotland for two weeks (which seems a massive amount of time when even going to work seems painful as it interrupts your time together) and a 24 hour flight alone to Australia
Fast forward to four years later and the sound of him breathing in his sleep was enough to make me want to inflict physical pain on him and he decided that I was “a heartless bitch who had ruined his life”. We're both over it now and on speaking terms but I will never understand how we once couldn't stand to be apart and now are happy to live on other sides of the world. Explain?
Facial tattoos
I am more than partial to a man with tattoos, but I will never understand facial tattoos. What is the point? What makes somebody wake up on a morning and decide that the best way to express themselves that day is to get something permanently etched on their face? Do they do it to purposely look menacing? If so do they not realise that if a life of crime is the route they're planning to take then a facial tattoo might be a big give-away in a line up? Or is it simply the fact that they wake up one day, don't like what they see (I know this happens to me on many a Sunday morning) and decide that rather than deal with it they'll just cover it?
Mixed Messages from the opposite sex
The reason I don't understand mixed messages is because when it comes to dating and romance I either like you or I don't. If we get past date one (trust me many have failed), then I like you, if I reject you before date one or say no to date two this means I'm not interested. Simples.
Many people don't live by these rules which is where mixed messages come in. When it comes to mixed messages women are as bad as men. One male friend went out a few times with a girl he really liked, she then called it a day only to get back in touch a few months later claiming she wanted to be friends. Upon him meeting her again her behaviour was a little over friendly, a little glance here a little stroke of the leg there, a goodnight kiss that lingered a bit too long to be considered a friends kiss. He was left dazed and confused and she continued this charade until he got bored. What was her game, was she confused? Liked her ego massaging, what?
Or you go on a few dates, all the signs are good the compliments are flowing, you've been told you're amazing, gorgeous funny etc., then suddenly nothing or “I don't want to get involved” followed by staying in touch and been generally lovely, complimentary and funny but without any of the bedroom action. Hello what's that all about?
So there is my run down of things I will never understand. So if you're a smelly person, have facial tattoos, have fallen out of love and can explain why it happens or have deciphered the world of mixed messages do get in touch and put me out of my misery.
Saturday, 13 November 2010
There was an old woman……
I've always claimed I don’t mind getting older (I think this may have been because people always think I am in my 20’s not 30’s). In recent weeks though, after discovering not one, not two but three grey hairs my stance on age has changed as I am horrified that this sudden sign of ageing is upon me. I feel that after all the years of Oil of Olay, eye creams and drinking 8 glasses of water a day the hairs on my head have betrayed me (which horrifies me after all the hours I have invested in washing them, brushing them, getting them cut and generally making them look nice-traitors).
Whilst contemplating what brand of hair dye to buy ( I am a dye virgin, so suggestions welcome) to cover the Judases of the hair world I began to ponder on the other signs I have noticed that I am getting old. To date these include:
Text Speak or Txt Spk
Can somebody explain this to me please, are we on Countdown and have to buy vowels nowadays because they appear to be in short supply and when people do use vowels they seem to decide to give up a few consonance, for example cud u pop 2 the shop ? Thx m8 gr8. What the hell is that all about? It infuriates me have people really forgotten how to spell or have they become so lazy that they can’t even be bothered to spell whole words or are we meant to believe they are so busy that they just don’t have time to type all the letters. If not understanding this is a sign of getting old then so be it I like my words full and complete.
I can’t drink
Ok the heading here is misleading, I can still drink and I can still drink as much as I did at 18 maybe even more, the difference is I now take about two days to recover. Gone are the days of drinking excessively and jumping out of bed fresh faced and perky ready for a 9am lecture followed by another session.
Now it is more a case of wake up on a Sunday morning, question when something died and crawled in my mouth and why somebody is tap dancing inside my head, roll over go back to sleep (or if I feel good take the duvet to the sofa). I then proceed to lie around all day contemplating whether I need to be sick, before finally being able to eat at around 8pm. Then it’s time for an early night and a Monday spent still not feeling 100 per cent with it.
This is definitely not something I suffered with when I was younger, I think it’s the body’s way of saying “Beck you’re too old for this hedonistic lifestyle, you need to slow down, buy some slippers and stay in watching TV on a Saturday night”. Unfortunately for my liver I have never been one to do as I am told.
Baggy Jeans
Personally I don’t put this one down to age but more a matter of having taste and style, but I will let you be the judge. I cannot stand baggy jeans, men walking around with the crotch of their jeans down to their knees showing off their pants. I don’t care if your pants are Armani or from down the market I don’t want to see them. I can’t understand why anybody would want their jeans that low and baggy (especially as they seem to spend all their time pulling them up as they have to stop them literally falling to their ankles). Like I say I think this is a style rather than age thing, that combined with the fact I like a man with a nice bum and if anything stops you been able to check out a bum then it’s baggy jeans.
Music on Public Transport
This one ignites a silent internal rage, there I am sitting on the train when suddenly my ears are filled with Eminem/Wu-Tang-Clan/Katy Perry/Coldplay or any other manner of music you can think of, as somebody decides that they would like to be the trains own personal DJ. “ Hello, I don’t want to listen to your music thank you very much I am reading my book and I know full well that that phone e with headphones so please plug them in and have a private party for your ears only.” Obviously I never say this for fear that I might get a mouthful of abuse or worse, but I have been known to administer the death stare a few times (scary stuff).
Swearing
I am not sure where this one comes from as I have been known to utter the odd expletive in my time and I believe that sometimes the odd swear word is needed so that people understand the full extent of the rage/what happened/or exactly what was said. I think it must be excessive or loud swearing that I have a problem with, people who swear every other word or seem to use the F word (or worse) quite loudly in public places or when children are around. I don’t remember always being so sensitive to swearing but now it makes me cringe so I can only put it down to age.
So there you have it the proof that no matter how much you spend on creams or the gym. No matter how much water you drink, no matter how many times you stay out partying until the early hours of the morning not only will your hair eventually betray you and reveal your true age so will your mind. It will turn on you and make you start thinking old people thoughts like the ones above. Although saying that if getting older means still spelling words in full and not wearing jeans that show my pants maybe I don’t mind getting older after all.
Whilst contemplating what brand of hair dye to buy ( I am a dye virgin, so suggestions welcome) to cover the Judases of the hair world I began to ponder on the other signs I have noticed that I am getting old. To date these include:
Text Speak or Txt Spk
Can somebody explain this to me please, are we on Countdown and have to buy vowels nowadays because they appear to be in short supply and when people do use vowels they seem to decide to give up a few consonance, for example cud u pop 2 the shop ? Thx m8 gr8. What the hell is that all about? It infuriates me have people really forgotten how to spell or have they become so lazy that they can’t even be bothered to spell whole words or are we meant to believe they are so busy that they just don’t have time to type all the letters. If not understanding this is a sign of getting old then so be it I like my words full and complete.
I can’t drink
Ok the heading here is misleading, I can still drink and I can still drink as much as I did at 18 maybe even more, the difference is I now take about two days to recover. Gone are the days of drinking excessively and jumping out of bed fresh faced and perky ready for a 9am lecture followed by another session.
Now it is more a case of wake up on a Sunday morning, question when something died and crawled in my mouth and why somebody is tap dancing inside my head, roll over go back to sleep (or if I feel good take the duvet to the sofa). I then proceed to lie around all day contemplating whether I need to be sick, before finally being able to eat at around 8pm. Then it’s time for an early night and a Monday spent still not feeling 100 per cent with it.
This is definitely not something I suffered with when I was younger, I think it’s the body’s way of saying “Beck you’re too old for this hedonistic lifestyle, you need to slow down, buy some slippers and stay in watching TV on a Saturday night”. Unfortunately for my liver I have never been one to do as I am told.
Baggy Jeans
Personally I don’t put this one down to age but more a matter of having taste and style, but I will let you be the judge. I cannot stand baggy jeans, men walking around with the crotch of their jeans down to their knees showing off their pants. I don’t care if your pants are Armani or from down the market I don’t want to see them. I can’t understand why anybody would want their jeans that low and baggy (especially as they seem to spend all their time pulling them up as they have to stop them literally falling to their ankles). Like I say I think this is a style rather than age thing, that combined with the fact I like a man with a nice bum and if anything stops you been able to check out a bum then it’s baggy jeans.
Music on Public Transport
This one ignites a silent internal rage, there I am sitting on the train when suddenly my ears are filled with Eminem/Wu-Tang-Clan/Katy Perry/Coldplay or any other manner of music you can think of, as somebody decides that they would like to be the trains own personal DJ. “ Hello, I don’t want to listen to your music thank you very much I am reading my book and I know full well that that phone e with headphones so please plug them in and have a private party for your ears only.” Obviously I never say this for fear that I might get a mouthful of abuse or worse, but I have been known to administer the death stare a few times (scary stuff).
Swearing
I am not sure where this one comes from as I have been known to utter the odd expletive in my time and I believe that sometimes the odd swear word is needed so that people understand the full extent of the rage/what happened/or exactly what was said. I think it must be excessive or loud swearing that I have a problem with, people who swear every other word or seem to use the F word (or worse) quite loudly in public places or when children are around. I don’t remember always being so sensitive to swearing but now it makes me cringe so I can only put it down to age.
So there you have it the proof that no matter how much you spend on creams or the gym. No matter how much water you drink, no matter how many times you stay out partying until the early hours of the morning not only will your hair eventually betray you and reveal your true age so will your mind. It will turn on you and make you start thinking old people thoughts like the ones above. Although saying that if getting older means still spelling words in full and not wearing jeans that show my pants maybe I don’t mind getting older after all.
Sunday, 19 September 2010
Friends Like These
When it comes to friends I have to say that I have always been blessed with plenty. Some people collect stamps, coins, key rings, fridge magnets etc., but I have been told that I collect people. I have friends from primary school, secondary school, college, uni, people I have met whilst abroad; friends I have met through work, random people I have met through other friends, ex-boyfriends who are now friends and I even have a really good friend that I met at a bus stop about 11 years ago.
I am not sure what makes me such a collector of friends I think is because I have a natural interest in people, love getting to know everything about somebody and until proved otherwise I see the good in everybody and never give up on people I care about, even if I don’t see them for ages (if I like you on instinct I’ll probably like you forever) also I am a hoarder of everything and I now realise this includes people.
I have noticed over time that although no person is ever just one thing that there are mates you call on for different things (I have not included names to protect the identities of those with respectable jobs, good husbands etc.), but friends seem to fall into categories such as:
The Wild One
This is the friend you call on when the shit has really hit the fan, you’re fed up of analysing, you’re fed up of crying you just want to go and get well and truly lashed. This friend knows all the hot spots, all the key people, what’s going on about town and most of all she knows how to have fun. When this friend gets in touch and says she wants to plan a night out you can almost hear your liver scream before you’ve even had a sniff of a glass of rose. This friend is all about fun and hedonism and will probably be the cause of the biggest hangovers, crazy situations and general bad behaviour ever, but damn it’s good to be bad.
The Sensible One
On the flip side of the wild one is the sensible one. This friend is always on hand with good advice (even when you don’t want to hear it). She knows best, never drinks too much and can be prone to looking and sounding astounded by tales of your life. If you want a sophisticated, sedate evening the sensible friend is the one you go with, fine food, good wine (in moderation) and ensuring things don’t get out of hand are all her forte. You can always rely on the sensible friend in times of crisis to be there with a shoulder to cry on, wise words and to tell you all the good things about you. She may not be as crazy as some but she’s definitely one in a million.
The Male Friend
This one is quite a new thing for me as I have never really had any proper male friends, but in the past year I have acquired quite a few and I love them. Male friends are quite simple compared to women and that’s why I like them. You can tell them anything and they don’t appear to judge, they make great drinking partners and they are great at giving advice on men without all the analysis, example “boo hoo why hasn’t he called me?” “He’s obviously not that interested Beck, do you want another drink?” I love it.
The Rebound Friend
On paper this friend doesn’t sound too great, but once you accept that this is just how she is and it’s no reflection on you then they can be great fun. This friend comes and goes and it always seems to coincide with what’s going on with their love life. This is the friend that once there is a man on the scene you don’t see or hear from them (you can actually begin to wonder whether they’re even still alive), when you do hear from them the text (as there are no more phone conversations) always say things like “we must meet up soon” as long as you are aware this probably isn’t going to happen it’s fine. The next time you hear from them there will have been a break up or a relationship problem, and that’s when the fun begins, you may have been neglected but when they come back on the scene you are reminded of everything you love about them, but do be aware all nights out are only vehicles for meeting the next “the one”.
The All Rounder
The all-rounders are usually your best friends, the ones you call in times of trouble. All your other friends like them; they know what to say and when to say it. They can offer great advice (usually because they know you better than you know yourself) and they’re fun to be around. The all-rounder is the friend that whatever happens babies, marriages, break-ups, bereavements they're always there. They make you laugh, wipe away your tears, get you ridiculously drunk on school nights. You know with this one that no matter where you are (holidaying in the Caribbean or staying in together on a Saturday night) a good time will be had by all. The all-rounder in my opinion is also the only person who can say “get a grip Beck” and not insight the rage. You can see them every weekend for a few months and then not get to see each other for months, but when you do nothing has changed.
As I said at the start no person is any one thing. To some people I or you might be the wild one, to others the sensible one and so on and our roles flex and change due to time and circumstance. The friend you spent every day with when you’re 15 may become somebody you see twice a year, but the importance of that friendship doesn’t change. The one thing I can say is that whatever the role, each friend is unique, has played a significant part in my life and no matter how many new friends I collect along the way all my friends will be people that I treasure forever.
I am not sure what makes me such a collector of friends I think is because I have a natural interest in people, love getting to know everything about somebody and until proved otherwise I see the good in everybody and never give up on people I care about, even if I don’t see them for ages (if I like you on instinct I’ll probably like you forever) also I am a hoarder of everything and I now realise this includes people.
I have noticed over time that although no person is ever just one thing that there are mates you call on for different things (I have not included names to protect the identities of those with respectable jobs, good husbands etc.), but friends seem to fall into categories such as:
The Wild One
This is the friend you call on when the shit has really hit the fan, you’re fed up of analysing, you’re fed up of crying you just want to go and get well and truly lashed. This friend knows all the hot spots, all the key people, what’s going on about town and most of all she knows how to have fun. When this friend gets in touch and says she wants to plan a night out you can almost hear your liver scream before you’ve even had a sniff of a glass of rose. This friend is all about fun and hedonism and will probably be the cause of the biggest hangovers, crazy situations and general bad behaviour ever, but damn it’s good to be bad.
The Sensible One
On the flip side of the wild one is the sensible one. This friend is always on hand with good advice (even when you don’t want to hear it). She knows best, never drinks too much and can be prone to looking and sounding astounded by tales of your life. If you want a sophisticated, sedate evening the sensible friend is the one you go with, fine food, good wine (in moderation) and ensuring things don’t get out of hand are all her forte. You can always rely on the sensible friend in times of crisis to be there with a shoulder to cry on, wise words and to tell you all the good things about you. She may not be as crazy as some but she’s definitely one in a million.
The Male Friend
This one is quite a new thing for me as I have never really had any proper male friends, but in the past year I have acquired quite a few and I love them. Male friends are quite simple compared to women and that’s why I like them. You can tell them anything and they don’t appear to judge, they make great drinking partners and they are great at giving advice on men without all the analysis, example “boo hoo why hasn’t he called me?” “He’s obviously not that interested Beck, do you want another drink?” I love it.
The Rebound Friend
On paper this friend doesn’t sound too great, but once you accept that this is just how she is and it’s no reflection on you then they can be great fun. This friend comes and goes and it always seems to coincide with what’s going on with their love life. This is the friend that once there is a man on the scene you don’t see or hear from them (you can actually begin to wonder whether they’re even still alive), when you do hear from them the text (as there are no more phone conversations) always say things like “we must meet up soon” as long as you are aware this probably isn’t going to happen it’s fine. The next time you hear from them there will have been a break up or a relationship problem, and that’s when the fun begins, you may have been neglected but when they come back on the scene you are reminded of everything you love about them, but do be aware all nights out are only vehicles for meeting the next “the one”.
The All Rounder
The all-rounders are usually your best friends, the ones you call in times of trouble. All your other friends like them; they know what to say and when to say it. They can offer great advice (usually because they know you better than you know yourself) and they’re fun to be around. The all-rounder is the friend that whatever happens babies, marriages, break-ups, bereavements they're always there. They make you laugh, wipe away your tears, get you ridiculously drunk on school nights. You know with this one that no matter where you are (holidaying in the Caribbean or staying in together on a Saturday night) a good time will be had by all. The all-rounder in my opinion is also the only person who can say “get a grip Beck” and not insight the rage. You can see them every weekend for a few months and then not get to see each other for months, but when you do nothing has changed.
As I said at the start no person is any one thing. To some people I or you might be the wild one, to others the sensible one and so on and our roles flex and change due to time and circumstance. The friend you spent every day with when you’re 15 may become somebody you see twice a year, but the importance of that friendship doesn’t change. The one thing I can say is that whatever the role, each friend is unique, has played a significant part in my life and no matter how many new friends I collect along the way all my friends will be people that I treasure forever.
Wednesday, 1 September 2010
No More Drama....Oh go on then
I have finally realised why I haven’t been totally lucky in love and what it is I am looking for. It turns out the blame lies solely with my love of literature, Sex and the City, rom coms and dramas.
You may be puzzled and wonder how this can be the case, but, it only dawned on me whilst watching the last episode of Mistresses that I just love my romantic life to be a drama. I loved it when Siobhan and Dom finally got together, what I loved more was that it hadn’t been easy. They had an affair (much of which appeared to take place in a stationary cupboard) whilst she was married, she got pregnant with Doms child, her husband left, Dom married somebody else and then finally, finally when I could barely take anymore they realised they should be together. Now that to me is how a romance should be, heady, dramatic, and fraught.
Look at all the great loves. For example, Cinderella, no just meeting at a party and getting together for her and Prince Charming, no there had to be a ball, a lost shoe and the ugly sisters to contend with. Romeo and Juliet, fair enough it’s a bit extreme that you have to end up dead for love, but a great romance never the less. One of my all time favourite romantic pairings Cathy and Heathcliffe (again she died), but the bit I think is great about the story is that Heathcliffe is so traumatised by this he never gets over it. Again, I’m not saying that when I meet the one that if I die I want him to dig my body up, but it’s the passion and all consuming love that I like the idea of.
It was whilst reflecting on this that I realised that for all my protesting that I’m not a romantic, I obviously am. All the great romances in my life have never run smoothly and as much as I sometimes think I want a quiet life, a simple romance, meet, get on great, fall in love, live happily ever after. The end. In reality when I meet people who fit that bill I start wondering why there isn’t any drama and to my shame, and very often to my detriment then cause some drama.
I think my point is proven that to date the most all consuming love of my life has been with a man who was emotionally unstable, had a temper that would compete with Gordon Ramsey’s and felt that regularly screaming at each other was a normal way to resolve things. Now I won’t say that this relationship was easy, and I’ll admit I spent a lot of it upset, but as exhausting as it was it was far more exciting than spending every night sitting on the sofa watching Eastenders.
Since those days I have calmed down a bit and don’t think I could cope with a relationship of such bi-polar highs and lows, but I have also come to accept the fact that I like drama, a man with a little fire in his belly (even if it does sometimes result in arguments of proportions not seen since the days of Angie and Den Watts in Eastenders).
So, now I have accepted my love of drama and passion. I am going to stop trying to date stable men and keep waiting for the man who gives me butterflies in my belly, the one who makes me say (and I quote The Wedding Date) “I’d rather fight with you, than make love with anybody else” and accept that as Carrie Bradshaw (she of possibly the most turbulent on/off romantic tale of modern times) says “Maybe some women aren't meant to be tamed. Maybe they need to run free until they find someone just as wild to run with." See I am a romantic really.
You may be puzzled and wonder how this can be the case, but, it only dawned on me whilst watching the last episode of Mistresses that I just love my romantic life to be a drama. I loved it when Siobhan and Dom finally got together, what I loved more was that it hadn’t been easy. They had an affair (much of which appeared to take place in a stationary cupboard) whilst she was married, she got pregnant with Doms child, her husband left, Dom married somebody else and then finally, finally when I could barely take anymore they realised they should be together. Now that to me is how a romance should be, heady, dramatic, and fraught.
Look at all the great loves. For example, Cinderella, no just meeting at a party and getting together for her and Prince Charming, no there had to be a ball, a lost shoe and the ugly sisters to contend with. Romeo and Juliet, fair enough it’s a bit extreme that you have to end up dead for love, but a great romance never the less. One of my all time favourite romantic pairings Cathy and Heathcliffe (again she died), but the bit I think is great about the story is that Heathcliffe is so traumatised by this he never gets over it. Again, I’m not saying that when I meet the one that if I die I want him to dig my body up, but it’s the passion and all consuming love that I like the idea of.
It was whilst reflecting on this that I realised that for all my protesting that I’m not a romantic, I obviously am. All the great romances in my life have never run smoothly and as much as I sometimes think I want a quiet life, a simple romance, meet, get on great, fall in love, live happily ever after. The end. In reality when I meet people who fit that bill I start wondering why there isn’t any drama and to my shame, and very often to my detriment then cause some drama.
I think my point is proven that to date the most all consuming love of my life has been with a man who was emotionally unstable, had a temper that would compete with Gordon Ramsey’s and felt that regularly screaming at each other was a normal way to resolve things. Now I won’t say that this relationship was easy, and I’ll admit I spent a lot of it upset, but as exhausting as it was it was far more exciting than spending every night sitting on the sofa watching Eastenders.
Since those days I have calmed down a bit and don’t think I could cope with a relationship of such bi-polar highs and lows, but I have also come to accept the fact that I like drama, a man with a little fire in his belly (even if it does sometimes result in arguments of proportions not seen since the days of Angie and Den Watts in Eastenders).
So, now I have accepted my love of drama and passion. I am going to stop trying to date stable men and keep waiting for the man who gives me butterflies in my belly, the one who makes me say (and I quote The Wedding Date) “I’d rather fight with you, than make love with anybody else” and accept that as Carrie Bradshaw (she of possibly the most turbulent on/off romantic tale of modern times) says “Maybe some women aren't meant to be tamed. Maybe they need to run free until they find someone just as wild to run with." See I am a romantic really.
Thursday, 19 August 2010
Just eat it
Over the summer months I have found eating out a chore. I never thought I would say this as I love my food, but it really has been tough. The main reason for this is people on diets.
What used to be an enjoyable experience has turned into a bit of a nightmare. Enjoyable, sociable evenings that should be spent talking about men, shoes, work and whether it’s wrong to fancy any of McFly (for the record I have a soft spot for Dougie) are spent weighing up the pros and cons of drinking vodka instead of wine with dinner and whether to have dessert.
Just reading this explains exactly why I am never going to be a size six and do you know what I don’t care. If I am out for dinner then dinner is what I want. I don’t want to pay somebody £15 for some lettuce leaves that I could throw together at home for a fraction of the price. The whole joy of eating out apart from the company is having something you might not normally have and being indulgent, oh and the fact that you don’t have to wash up.
The joy is taken from this when whilst in the restaurant the people you are dining with stop conversation to asses the menu with their weight watchers points’ tracker in hand or to count slimming world sins, where’s the fun in that?
Now I am not anti-dieting, most of us could do with losing a couple of pounds and normally I eat very balanced diets and am an avid calorie counter. I say balanced diet the other day myself and my colleague ate about four cakes each (to be fair they were only small), I balanced this out by only having a slice of toast and a glass of wine for dinner, see balanced.
To compensate for some of my female friends craziness (as admittedly some of them are still firmly with me on this) I have found the only way round it is to eat out more with my male friends. Men eat properly, they eat what they want and don’t look horrified when I order a massive pizza and a pint (erm another reason I will never be a size six).
I am hoping that once winter arrives this fad will die down and people will return to their usual decadent selves, otherwise it will be a return of the summer of 2003 or was it 2004? When I stopped going for dinner with any of my friends doing the Atkins Diet. The reason I stopped was because it was all they talked about and also nothing can compare with the torture of trying to negotiate an Italian restaurant with somebody who has decided that carbohydrates (an essential food group I might add) are akin to the devil.
So, as much as much as summer is my favourite season of the year when it comes to dining out I say roll on winter. Only the die hard dieters seem to be fanatical in winter. Come October I will hopefully have my none point counting, pizza eating, lager drinking friends back.
What used to be an enjoyable experience has turned into a bit of a nightmare. Enjoyable, sociable evenings that should be spent talking about men, shoes, work and whether it’s wrong to fancy any of McFly (for the record I have a soft spot for Dougie) are spent weighing up the pros and cons of drinking vodka instead of wine with dinner and whether to have dessert.
Just reading this explains exactly why I am never going to be a size six and do you know what I don’t care. If I am out for dinner then dinner is what I want. I don’t want to pay somebody £15 for some lettuce leaves that I could throw together at home for a fraction of the price. The whole joy of eating out apart from the company is having something you might not normally have and being indulgent, oh and the fact that you don’t have to wash up.
The joy is taken from this when whilst in the restaurant the people you are dining with stop conversation to asses the menu with their weight watchers points’ tracker in hand or to count slimming world sins, where’s the fun in that?
Now I am not anti-dieting, most of us could do with losing a couple of pounds and normally I eat very balanced diets and am an avid calorie counter. I say balanced diet the other day myself and my colleague ate about four cakes each (to be fair they were only small), I balanced this out by only having a slice of toast and a glass of wine for dinner, see balanced.
To compensate for some of my female friends craziness (as admittedly some of them are still firmly with me on this) I have found the only way round it is to eat out more with my male friends. Men eat properly, they eat what they want and don’t look horrified when I order a massive pizza and a pint (erm another reason I will never be a size six).
I am hoping that once winter arrives this fad will die down and people will return to their usual decadent selves, otherwise it will be a return of the summer of 2003 or was it 2004? When I stopped going for dinner with any of my friends doing the Atkins Diet. The reason I stopped was because it was all they talked about and also nothing can compare with the torture of trying to negotiate an Italian restaurant with somebody who has decided that carbohydrates (an essential food group I might add) are akin to the devil.
So, as much as much as summer is my favourite season of the year when it comes to dining out I say roll on winter. Only the die hard dieters seem to be fanatical in winter. Come October I will hopefully have my none point counting, pizza eating, lager drinking friends back.
Monday, 9 August 2010
Guilty Pleasures
Guilty pleasures. We all have them. Whether it’s something we do for fun, comfort or because we’re a bit sad, we all have things that make us feel a little happy inside, a bit naughty or just habits we can’t break and nor do we want to. With this in mind and in a bid to make everybody feel a bit better about their guilty pleasures I have decided to reveal my top 10 personal guilty pleasures (in no particular order).
Peanut butter and jam sandwiches
I think this goes back to spending time in America when I was a kid, and been introduced to peanut butter and jelly (their word) sandwiches. I don’t eat them often but when I do it’s like having a little bit of heaven in my mouth. It’s the sweetness and the saltiness combined, there is nothing like it when you fancy a sweet treat. I urge everybody to have a go
Getting into bed really early
Sometimes there is nothing better than getting into bed really, really early. I mean literally getting in from work and getting into bed with a dvd and just staying there until the next morning. Bed at 8pm isn’t very rock n roll but sometimes it’s what’s needed.
Having a fag when I have a drink
This one is nothing to be proud of, but it is probably my most guilty pleasure. Many years ago I gave up smoking, but even now sometimes when I have a drink I enjoy smoking. There I said it, I sometimes enjoy smoking. It’s not every time I have a drink (thank God as drinking sometimes features highly in my week), but when I am with other smokers I love it. I am not sure why, I know it is bad for my health, I know it smells and I know I am not an addict so the only thing that I can put my enjoyment down to is that it’s wrong and sometimes it just feels really good to be bad.
Fish fingers for dinner
When I have had a bad day, salad just won’t cut it, the only meal that will do is fish fingers. I bloody love fish fingers. One hundred per cent comfort food. Argument with a bloke? Fish fingers. Got a cold? Fish fingers. Bad day at work? Fish fingers. I swear they make me feel better every time.
Dancing round the living room in my underwear
Not sure why I am confessing to this one, but sometimes I enjoy nothing better than turning the music up and dancing round my flat in my underwear. Maybe it’s a freedom thing, I’m not sure all I do know is nothing beats dancing in your pants like a loon. Which leads me on nicely to number 6.
Baccara-I Can boogie
I love, love, love this song. I know it’s cheesy, I know I shouldn’t but when she sings “yes sir I can boogie, but I need a certain song….” I’m away, dancing my little heart out. Again I am not sure where this pleasure came from as I wasn’t even born in 1977 when this beauty was released, but it is one of many of my guilty pleasure songs and if you are anywhere in the vicinity when this comes on beware the dance floor won’t know what’s hit it.
Dragons Den repeats (repeatedly)
I am a little obsessed with Dragon’s Den. I’m not sure whether it’s Duncan’s smug face, Deborah’s withering looks or the way Peter can destroy somebody’s confidence in one sentence, but I can’t stop watching it. My addiction is so bad that I even watch repeats of it. I have seen the one with Levi Roots about five times (I wish I was exaggerating but I’m not). Maybe this pleasure comes from the fact that deep down one day I would like to appear in front of the Dragon’s and in my mind Theo has already made me an offer.
Wearing my stepdads jumper when I am sad
My stepdad died 10 years ago and I still have one of his jumpers. Whenever I feel down I put the jumper on. For some reason it always makes me feel better. I don’t know whether it’s just because it’s his or whether in my mind it’s like having a hug off him. It may be a bit sad or some might think it’s weird but combine the jumper with some fish fingers and you’ve found the ultimate way to cheer me up.
White bread
To some people this is probably nothing, but I am a convert to wholemeal bread. Wholemeal and granary all the way, but when I want comfort food it’s got to be white bread, smothered in butter. I can eat it with chips, with crisps, with jam, or just on it’s own. The only problem with white bread is, if it’s in the house I can probably demolish the whole loaf in two days.
Sniffing pillows
Now I don’t mean I just generally sniff pillows or that you need to start hiding your bed linen when I come round your house, but I am guilty of pillow sniffing. It only happens on that rare occasion that I have a boyfriend. If my bloke has stayed the night I love nothing better than the next night getting into bed and been able to smell him on the pillow, I think it’s the smell of aftershave or the memories (let’s not go there), but whatever it is I am out and proud as a pillow sniffer.
So there you go I have outted myself as a bit of a freak, the only thing that makes me feel better is the fact that although I know some of you are sitting there going “what she sniffs pillows?” or “Oh dear smoking is bad” I also know that everyone of you that is doing that probably has a list of guilty pleasures of your own, but are you brave enough to confess to them.
Peanut butter and jam sandwiches
I think this goes back to spending time in America when I was a kid, and been introduced to peanut butter and jelly (their word) sandwiches. I don’t eat them often but when I do it’s like having a little bit of heaven in my mouth. It’s the sweetness and the saltiness combined, there is nothing like it when you fancy a sweet treat. I urge everybody to have a go
Getting into bed really early
Sometimes there is nothing better than getting into bed really, really early. I mean literally getting in from work and getting into bed with a dvd and just staying there until the next morning. Bed at 8pm isn’t very rock n roll but sometimes it’s what’s needed.
Having a fag when I have a drink
This one is nothing to be proud of, but it is probably my most guilty pleasure. Many years ago I gave up smoking, but even now sometimes when I have a drink I enjoy smoking. There I said it, I sometimes enjoy smoking. It’s not every time I have a drink (thank God as drinking sometimes features highly in my week), but when I am with other smokers I love it. I am not sure why, I know it is bad for my health, I know it smells and I know I am not an addict so the only thing that I can put my enjoyment down to is that it’s wrong and sometimes it just feels really good to be bad.
Fish fingers for dinner
When I have had a bad day, salad just won’t cut it, the only meal that will do is fish fingers. I bloody love fish fingers. One hundred per cent comfort food. Argument with a bloke? Fish fingers. Got a cold? Fish fingers. Bad day at work? Fish fingers. I swear they make me feel better every time.
Dancing round the living room in my underwear
Not sure why I am confessing to this one, but sometimes I enjoy nothing better than turning the music up and dancing round my flat in my underwear. Maybe it’s a freedom thing, I’m not sure all I do know is nothing beats dancing in your pants like a loon. Which leads me on nicely to number 6.
Baccara-I Can boogie
I love, love, love this song. I know it’s cheesy, I know I shouldn’t but when she sings “yes sir I can boogie, but I need a certain song….” I’m away, dancing my little heart out. Again I am not sure where this pleasure came from as I wasn’t even born in 1977 when this beauty was released, but it is one of many of my guilty pleasure songs and if you are anywhere in the vicinity when this comes on beware the dance floor won’t know what’s hit it.
Dragons Den repeats (repeatedly)
I am a little obsessed with Dragon’s Den. I’m not sure whether it’s Duncan’s smug face, Deborah’s withering looks or the way Peter can destroy somebody’s confidence in one sentence, but I can’t stop watching it. My addiction is so bad that I even watch repeats of it. I have seen the one with Levi Roots about five times (I wish I was exaggerating but I’m not). Maybe this pleasure comes from the fact that deep down one day I would like to appear in front of the Dragon’s and in my mind Theo has already made me an offer.
Wearing my stepdads jumper when I am sad
My stepdad died 10 years ago and I still have one of his jumpers. Whenever I feel down I put the jumper on. For some reason it always makes me feel better. I don’t know whether it’s just because it’s his or whether in my mind it’s like having a hug off him. It may be a bit sad or some might think it’s weird but combine the jumper with some fish fingers and you’ve found the ultimate way to cheer me up.
White bread
To some people this is probably nothing, but I am a convert to wholemeal bread. Wholemeal and granary all the way, but when I want comfort food it’s got to be white bread, smothered in butter. I can eat it with chips, with crisps, with jam, or just on it’s own. The only problem with white bread is, if it’s in the house I can probably demolish the whole loaf in two days.
Sniffing pillows
Now I don’t mean I just generally sniff pillows or that you need to start hiding your bed linen when I come round your house, but I am guilty of pillow sniffing. It only happens on that rare occasion that I have a boyfriend. If my bloke has stayed the night I love nothing better than the next night getting into bed and been able to smell him on the pillow, I think it’s the smell of aftershave or the memories (let’s not go there), but whatever it is I am out and proud as a pillow sniffer.
So there you go I have outted myself as a bit of a freak, the only thing that makes me feel better is the fact that although I know some of you are sitting there going “what she sniffs pillows?” or “Oh dear smoking is bad” I also know that everyone of you that is doing that probably has a list of guilty pleasures of your own, but are you brave enough to confess to them.
Wednesday, 14 July 2010
It's a boycott
I am boycotting foreign men. Don’t get me wrong this is definitely not a race thing as I love a lithe olive skinned hottie as much as the next woman. What I can’t cope with is the passion and I am not referring to in the bedroom so get your minds out of the gutter.
It’s the constant ups and downs and the intensity I can’t cope with. It reminds me of when Carrie in Sex and the City is dating the Russian, he writes her a song and then wants to dance in the street her response is something of the lines of “Can you calm it down a bit, I’m American?” Well I am not American but I understand her sentiment.
My friend and I were talking about this only the other week. I was saying how I love the idea of grand gestures, unannounced arrivals in the middle of the night (because they miss me, not because they’re drunk), surprise flowers, fiery arguments followed by even more fiery making up, declarations of undying love and singing under my window (alright that’s going a bit far). My friend then pointed out to me that in fact when any of these things have happened I hadn’t liked it at all.
I think I only like the idea of these things. In my head I am the heroine waiting to be swept off her feet by some dark, brooding, tanned Johnny Depp lookalike, but, with an Italian/Spanish/French (delete as applicable), who within hours of meeting me declares undying love, which I at first ignore but he eventually wins me over with his persistence. In reality I am not overly romantic and if I’ve said no, I generally mean no so there isn’t any amount of perusal would change my mind.
So, to enlighten you as to why I am an expert on such matters here are just some of my encounters with the passionate Portuguese, Italian stallions and beguiling Bulgarians to name a few.
A few years ago whilst on holiday in Spain I met a Portuguese man called Ramiro. He was a handsome man, but after only one kiss he was texting every day and even told me he loved me. The texting went on for about six months. On my return to Spain I had to hide from him for fear he might produce an engagement ring. I may be a good kisser, but not even I believe that I am so good that this behaviour was warranted. I just put it down to mental instability, but now I’m not sure.
There was the French man who after only meeting and chatting once, seemed to appear everywhere I went telling me how much he liked me and wanting me to visit him in Bordeaux.
More recently there has been the incident of the crazy Italian (anybody who knows me well, will know about this one). The long and short of it was we met, went on two dates and he vanished for three months. Only to reappear by putting an apologetic note through my door followed by text messages for the next month to try and persuade me to meet him, accompanied by stroppiness, begging and even a mention of a short break away, eventually he went away.
On a recent trip to Bulgaria I spoke to a man about going into his bar. The following night when I arrive the response was immense “Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re here, oh my God this is great.” Again I am not sure my entrance warranted this response. To be fair though the way he acted was amusing and I am sure I could live with it if all men decided to act like that when I entered a room.
To be honest I find all this behaviour quite unnerving and although amusing I think that on the whole although at the time of the declaration of love they may genuinely think they mean it, I also suspect they may feel like that about a whole array of other women.
This is why from now on I am saying that British is best. There may be no scaling balconies, serenading (well other than drunk karaoke), turning up unannounced with flowers, chocolates, notes through the door or offers of marriage after a week of knowing each other, but at least you know when the L word is said it is genuine. After all these Latino lovelies need to “calm it down a bit. I’m British”.
It’s the constant ups and downs and the intensity I can’t cope with. It reminds me of when Carrie in Sex and the City is dating the Russian, he writes her a song and then wants to dance in the street her response is something of the lines of “Can you calm it down a bit, I’m American?” Well I am not American but I understand her sentiment.
My friend and I were talking about this only the other week. I was saying how I love the idea of grand gestures, unannounced arrivals in the middle of the night (because they miss me, not because they’re drunk), surprise flowers, fiery arguments followed by even more fiery making up, declarations of undying love and singing under my window (alright that’s going a bit far). My friend then pointed out to me that in fact when any of these things have happened I hadn’t liked it at all.
I think I only like the idea of these things. In my head I am the heroine waiting to be swept off her feet by some dark, brooding, tanned Johnny Depp lookalike, but, with an Italian/Spanish/French (delete as applicable), who within hours of meeting me declares undying love, which I at first ignore but he eventually wins me over with his persistence. In reality I am not overly romantic and if I’ve said no, I generally mean no so there isn’t any amount of perusal would change my mind.
So, to enlighten you as to why I am an expert on such matters here are just some of my encounters with the passionate Portuguese, Italian stallions and beguiling Bulgarians to name a few.
A few years ago whilst on holiday in Spain I met a Portuguese man called Ramiro. He was a handsome man, but after only one kiss he was texting every day and even told me he loved me. The texting went on for about six months. On my return to Spain I had to hide from him for fear he might produce an engagement ring. I may be a good kisser, but not even I believe that I am so good that this behaviour was warranted. I just put it down to mental instability, but now I’m not sure.
There was the French man who after only meeting and chatting once, seemed to appear everywhere I went telling me how much he liked me and wanting me to visit him in Bordeaux.
More recently there has been the incident of the crazy Italian (anybody who knows me well, will know about this one). The long and short of it was we met, went on two dates and he vanished for three months. Only to reappear by putting an apologetic note through my door followed by text messages for the next month to try and persuade me to meet him, accompanied by stroppiness, begging and even a mention of a short break away, eventually he went away.
On a recent trip to Bulgaria I spoke to a man about going into his bar. The following night when I arrive the response was immense “Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re here, oh my God this is great.” Again I am not sure my entrance warranted this response. To be fair though the way he acted was amusing and I am sure I could live with it if all men decided to act like that when I entered a room.
To be honest I find all this behaviour quite unnerving and although amusing I think that on the whole although at the time of the declaration of love they may genuinely think they mean it, I also suspect they may feel like that about a whole array of other women.
This is why from now on I am saying that British is best. There may be no scaling balconies, serenading (well other than drunk karaoke), turning up unannounced with flowers, chocolates, notes through the door or offers of marriage after a week of knowing each other, but at least you know when the L word is said it is genuine. After all these Latino lovelies need to “calm it down a bit. I’m British”.
Monday, 5 July 2010
Here they come the beautiful ones
Some people claim that when it comes to the opposite sex that they don't have a type, I cannot say the same, for I love pretty men. It all started quite early on in my life, as I recall I was about four years old and my crush was on Adam Ant. Now you don't get much prettier than that, the man wore a face full of make-up for goodness sake. Fair enough his not much of a looker now, but back in the day and in my four year old mind he was beautiful.
By the age of eight I had moved on to John Taylor from Duran Duran. Since then there have been numerous beautiful celebrities that have captured my heart and mind, the Goss brothers (from Bros), Jordan Knight from New Kids on the Block, Johnny Depp, River Phoniex, the list is endless. Current favourites and have been for a while are David Beckham, Henry the Eigth himself (well Jonathan Rhys Myers) and my love of many years standing Jude Law.
Now this all sounds harmless but in my every day life I have a passion for pretty men as well. Give me a man with cheekbones, great teeth, a chisled jaw and usually way too much time to spend on his hair and I am putty.
I have dated many pretty men, but the problem that I encounter is I like to believe they are naturally beautiful and don't need any help, which unfortunately is never the case. Having waited outside a tanning parlour whilst a boyfriend went on a sunbed I know that all beauty comes at a cost (to be honest a little bit of love died that day). There have also been traumas in shops over what shirt best suits skin tone, discoveries of eyebrow plucking, hair tinting and realising that some of them take longer to get dressed than me, yet still I can't resist.
The main problem with this is that I am still single, which tells me that dating pretty boys isn't working out for me. I don't think that the two are connected but I think it's time to take heed of the saying that "a change is as good as a rest". I did try this a couple of years ago on a project I labelled 'dating outside my type', there were rugby players, skinny men with glasses, and all other types. I had some great dates and met some lovely men but none of them clicked.
I think part of the reason that none of them worked was because my heart wasn't in it, but I am about to embark on a new project called 'not pretty boys'. A male friend once told me (and I paraphrase) that I needed to "start spending more time with men who preferred sport and meat to fancy hair dos and clothes", so that is what I am going to do.
So far I have encountered two problems with this plan problem one two none pretty boys that I like don't seem to be interested in me and problem two is that if I manage to get myself a man who thinks I am prettier than he is I can't guarantee that my head won't be turned if Jude Laws better looking brother turns up at my door.
I'll keep you posted.
Friday, 25 June 2010
Where are All the Single Men?
Again I find myself with yet another problem. There appears to be a shortage of single men. This may sound like I am been dramatic and maybe I am, maybe there are single men all over the place but if so I am totally oblivious. I’m not desperate for a man, but admittedly there has been a bit of a drought on the dating front and it’s dull, dull, dull.
Every time I spot a hottie I then also see a glimpse of that shimmering white gold (nobody seems to have yellow gold anymore) band. It’s now got so bad that the minute I spot a fit man rather than looking at his eyes or smile (my two favourite features on a man), my eyes are drawn to his left hand.
The other problem I have encountered is where do hell do people meet single men? Bars are out as most of the single men in bars are out for one thing (and it’s not necessarily dating) or they are so drunk that their approach my be a bit off, trust me leering and slurring “nice tits love” or “you’re fit” with beer breathe doesn’t do it for me.
I work in a mainly female company so the work place is definitely a no-go, and in a previous life having had a few work based flirtations (which we won’t dwell on) I think it’s best to steer clear, arguing at work and tears in the boardroom are not great for anyone’s career especially his.
Other suggestions I’ve had are getting friends to fix you up. This I think is a massive myth. All of my friends who are loved up claim that their boyfriends’/husbands either a) have no single friends or b) no single friends that I would like. This leaves me with a bit of a complex that either I am so awful (translation a bit of a minger) that my friends think there are no men that could possibly find me attractive or the other option is that I am so mean and a heartbreaker that they don’t want to be around for the aftermath if things don’t work out (to be fair I have been guilty of this, but in my youth, I’m much kinder now, honest). I like to hope that neither of these things are true but I have my suspicions’.
Dating sites aren’t my cup of tea either. I’ve had a look but after a while all the men blur into one. Also I have never been a fan of enforced fun and that’s what dating sites feel like to me, sort of in the same way that fancy dress is meant to be fun but really I spend my time just feeling like an idiot in fancy dress. Dating sites to me are exactly the same and what if nobody on there wanted to date me, confidence crushing or what?
I also know that some of the problem is mine. For example there is a man I find attractive but I only see him walking through the park on my way to work, we’ve gone from smiling to hello, but how do you progress from hello in the two seconds it takes to pass each other on a morning. It’s becoming exhausting thinking about what to wear everyday in case I bump into him.
The other issue I have is when I fancy somebody I am rendered mute. For people who know me well I am sure there have been plenty of times they wish I had been rendered mute, they just didn’t know that the key was putting me in front of a man I fancy. Most of the time I like to think I am quite witty, friendly and good fun (oh and modest), but put a hot man in the room and I become silent and come across as rude, cold and distant, not attractive.
So if anybody knows any hot entertaining men with nice eyes, great smile and without a white gold band, who are looking for somebody who can be witty, friendly and good fun but will instead be silent then let me know. Form an orderly queue boys.
Every time I spot a hottie I then also see a glimpse of that shimmering white gold (nobody seems to have yellow gold anymore) band. It’s now got so bad that the minute I spot a fit man rather than looking at his eyes or smile (my two favourite features on a man), my eyes are drawn to his left hand.
The other problem I have encountered is where do hell do people meet single men? Bars are out as most of the single men in bars are out for one thing (and it’s not necessarily dating) or they are so drunk that their approach my be a bit off, trust me leering and slurring “nice tits love” or “you’re fit” with beer breathe doesn’t do it for me.
I work in a mainly female company so the work place is definitely a no-go, and in a previous life having had a few work based flirtations (which we won’t dwell on) I think it’s best to steer clear, arguing at work and tears in the boardroom are not great for anyone’s career especially his.
Other suggestions I’ve had are getting friends to fix you up. This I think is a massive myth. All of my friends who are loved up claim that their boyfriends’/husbands either a) have no single friends or b) no single friends that I would like. This leaves me with a bit of a complex that either I am so awful (translation a bit of a minger) that my friends think there are no men that could possibly find me attractive or the other option is that I am so mean and a heartbreaker that they don’t want to be around for the aftermath if things don’t work out (to be fair I have been guilty of this, but in my youth, I’m much kinder now, honest). I like to hope that neither of these things are true but I have my suspicions’.
Dating sites aren’t my cup of tea either. I’ve had a look but after a while all the men blur into one. Also I have never been a fan of enforced fun and that’s what dating sites feel like to me, sort of in the same way that fancy dress is meant to be fun but really I spend my time just feeling like an idiot in fancy dress. Dating sites to me are exactly the same and what if nobody on there wanted to date me, confidence crushing or what?
I also know that some of the problem is mine. For example there is a man I find attractive but I only see him walking through the park on my way to work, we’ve gone from smiling to hello, but how do you progress from hello in the two seconds it takes to pass each other on a morning. It’s becoming exhausting thinking about what to wear everyday in case I bump into him.
The other issue I have is when I fancy somebody I am rendered mute. For people who know me well I am sure there have been plenty of times they wish I had been rendered mute, they just didn’t know that the key was putting me in front of a man I fancy. Most of the time I like to think I am quite witty, friendly and good fun (oh and modest), but put a hot man in the room and I become silent and come across as rude, cold and distant, not attractive.
So if anybody knows any hot entertaining men with nice eyes, great smile and without a white gold band, who are looking for somebody who can be witty, friendly and good fun but will instead be silent then let me know. Form an orderly queue boys.
Sunday, 13 June 2010
Will I ever learn?
Admittedly the question asked in the title is rhetorical as if my behaviour after 32 years on this earth is anything to go by then I know that the answer is a big fat no.
The main thing I have learnt are there are a few things I never learn about. The first of these is excessive alcohol consumption, no matter how bad the head, how painful the bruises, how shameful the photographs and memories, no matter how many times I wake up and proclaim that my body is a temple and alcohol shall never pass my lips again I have never learnt when enough is enough.
This is a problem. I have never been one of those people who knows when to stop. You know the type of girl who after the third glass of wine switches to soft drinks as she can feel herself getting tipsy. No sir that’s not me, I fall (sometimes quite literally) into the camp of people who believe they are sober right up until the point that all memory and dignity has gone.
There have been incidents crawling through windows, stealing what we (no names mentioned) thought was a Christmas tree only to discover it was a Rosemary bush, losing my keys and having to wake my mate up at 3am (thanks Lisa), falling off a stage, and my favourite, upon been approached in a nightclub and asked to dance by an attractive man stating “no he doesn’t fancy me, I think he is gay. I think he just wants to dance with me because he is the best male dancer in here and I am the best girl dancer here”. Really, the greatest dancer, I don’t think so.
I have never learnt that texting when drunk is a no no, actually, using the phone at all can be a no no. To date I have called a potential date from a toilet cubicle to tell him all about my new shoes, for about 25 minutes, miraculously he still took me out the next day. I have had crazy text arguments that I have no recollection of , one of which resulted in my waking up to a message from somebody I had been seeing saying “well if that’s the way you feel, I agree we probably shouldn’t see each other anymore” oops. These are to name but a few.
I have also never learnt that I can’t just have one piece of chocolate. I know people that can keep a bar of chocolate in the fridge for a week and limit themselves to a square a day. I have tried this and the whole time the chocolate is in the fridge I can hear it calling me “Becky come and eat me”, the outcome is always the same a mouth full of chocolate, feelings of remorse and vows to not eat anymore so called ‘bad’ foods for a week.
Finally what I have never learnt (or never remember, despite the massive window) is that my neighbours can see straight into my flat. This has led to interesting events including indecent exposure (it was only exposure of a bra), them been able to see when I am been nosey and finally them also been able to witness me practising the moves that make me “the best girl dancer” in any club.
The main thing I have learnt are there are a few things I never learn about. The first of these is excessive alcohol consumption, no matter how bad the head, how painful the bruises, how shameful the photographs and memories, no matter how many times I wake up and proclaim that my body is a temple and alcohol shall never pass my lips again I have never learnt when enough is enough.
This is a problem. I have never been one of those people who knows when to stop. You know the type of girl who after the third glass of wine switches to soft drinks as she can feel herself getting tipsy. No sir that’s not me, I fall (sometimes quite literally) into the camp of people who believe they are sober right up until the point that all memory and dignity has gone.
There have been incidents crawling through windows, stealing what we (no names mentioned) thought was a Christmas tree only to discover it was a Rosemary bush, losing my keys and having to wake my mate up at 3am (thanks Lisa), falling off a stage, and my favourite, upon been approached in a nightclub and asked to dance by an attractive man stating “no he doesn’t fancy me, I think he is gay. I think he just wants to dance with me because he is the best male dancer in here and I am the best girl dancer here”. Really, the greatest dancer, I don’t think so.
I have never learnt that texting when drunk is a no no, actually, using the phone at all can be a no no. To date I have called a potential date from a toilet cubicle to tell him all about my new shoes, for about 25 minutes, miraculously he still took me out the next day. I have had crazy text arguments that I have no recollection of , one of which resulted in my waking up to a message from somebody I had been seeing saying “well if that’s the way you feel, I agree we probably shouldn’t see each other anymore” oops. These are to name but a few.
I have also never learnt that I can’t just have one piece of chocolate. I know people that can keep a bar of chocolate in the fridge for a week and limit themselves to a square a day. I have tried this and the whole time the chocolate is in the fridge I can hear it calling me “Becky come and eat me”, the outcome is always the same a mouth full of chocolate, feelings of remorse and vows to not eat anymore so called ‘bad’ foods for a week.
Finally what I have never learnt (or never remember, despite the massive window) is that my neighbours can see straight into my flat. This has led to interesting events including indecent exposure (it was only exposure of a bra), them been able to see when I am been nosey and finally them also been able to witness me practising the moves that make me “the best girl dancer” in any club.
Saturday, 29 May 2010
Holiday...Celebrate (well starve)
Uh oh next Friday I go on holiday, now I know you are wondering why I am saying uh oh to the prospect of a week of doing nothing other than lying by the pool, basking in the sun with no bigger concern other than what cocktail to have next, so I shall explain.
The reason I say uh oh to the prospect of my holiday is because I know that the next few days are going to be hell. There are two reasons for this, firstly, whenever you are looking forward to something time goes ridiculously slowly. So what should be a few days at work will feel like weeks, maybe months. Secondly, and this is my main reason because the next few days are going to be a nightmare. Pure hell, a constant battle not to eat chocolate, to avoid so called bad food and to make my body a temple in a bid to look Kim Kardashian (my own personal body idol) in a bikini.
Why do I do this? The holiday was booked in February which is plenty of time to lose the last half a stone (it’s always half a stone), but no, rather than doing slow and steady every year I go into panic mode. To be fair I am wise enough to know that unless I starve myself (this will never happen) I am not going to lose half a stone by Friday. I also know that as Kim Kardashians’ body looks like it may have had a little help from somebody other than God, that unless I stumble across a few spare grand and a surgeon in the next few days my body won’t look like that. Even though I know this I still know that for the next week I will have salad for lunch every day and go to the gym excessively.
In addition to this I will suddenly start exfoliating (something I rarely do) moisturising all over and introduce the new ritual of checking my cellulite at regular intervals. I am always aware that I have cellulite, but I tend to ignore it on the basis of if I can’t see it it doesn’t exist. It is only when faced with the prospect of spending a week in a bikini (which let’s face it ladies is just like going out in your pants and bra, but deemed socially acceptable) do I decide to check on it and trust me it’s not pretty.
In addition to regular cellulite checks I will also spend time in front of the mirror breathing in to see if I can make my stomach look flatter and how long I can stay like that before I have to give up and breathe out. On top of all this between the not eating, gyming, cellulite checking and breathing in I also have to find time to pack, it’s a hard life. The irony is that even if by some miracle I lose half a stone in a week, I can pretty much guarantee that by the time I get back home with all the food and drink I will have put nearly all of it back on anyway.
I know I am not the only one to be neurotic around holiday time but the stupid thing about it is that after one day in my bikini it will feel totally normal to be walking around half naked, thoughts of cellulite will be forgotten and I will once again be able to go back to concentrating on the important things in life like what cocktail to have next.
Happy holidays
The reason I say uh oh to the prospect of my holiday is because I know that the next few days are going to be hell. There are two reasons for this, firstly, whenever you are looking forward to something time goes ridiculously slowly. So what should be a few days at work will feel like weeks, maybe months. Secondly, and this is my main reason because the next few days are going to be a nightmare. Pure hell, a constant battle not to eat chocolate, to avoid so called bad food and to make my body a temple in a bid to look Kim Kardashian (my own personal body idol) in a bikini.
Why do I do this? The holiday was booked in February which is plenty of time to lose the last half a stone (it’s always half a stone), but no, rather than doing slow and steady every year I go into panic mode. To be fair I am wise enough to know that unless I starve myself (this will never happen) I am not going to lose half a stone by Friday. I also know that as Kim Kardashians’ body looks like it may have had a little help from somebody other than God, that unless I stumble across a few spare grand and a surgeon in the next few days my body won’t look like that. Even though I know this I still know that for the next week I will have salad for lunch every day and go to the gym excessively.
In addition to this I will suddenly start exfoliating (something I rarely do) moisturising all over and introduce the new ritual of checking my cellulite at regular intervals. I am always aware that I have cellulite, but I tend to ignore it on the basis of if I can’t see it it doesn’t exist. It is only when faced with the prospect of spending a week in a bikini (which let’s face it ladies is just like going out in your pants and bra, but deemed socially acceptable) do I decide to check on it and trust me it’s not pretty.
In addition to regular cellulite checks I will also spend time in front of the mirror breathing in to see if I can make my stomach look flatter and how long I can stay like that before I have to give up and breathe out. On top of all this between the not eating, gyming, cellulite checking and breathing in I also have to find time to pack, it’s a hard life. The irony is that even if by some miracle I lose half a stone in a week, I can pretty much guarantee that by the time I get back home with all the food and drink I will have put nearly all of it back on anyway.
I know I am not the only one to be neurotic around holiday time but the stupid thing about it is that after one day in my bikini it will feel totally normal to be walking around half naked, thoughts of cellulite will be forgotten and I will once again be able to go back to concentrating on the important things in life like what cocktail to have next.
Happy holidays
Friday, 21 May 2010
Bring me sunshine...
This week I am at a loss as to what to write about, so in true British style when in doubt about what to talk about I am going to talk about the weather.
Unlike most people I am not going to moan about the weather as although I hate rain, snow and cold I do accept that until I can escape to sunnier climes (for good) that this is my lot. No my gripe is that after only 5 days of decent weather people are moaning. “It’s too hot” they whine, “I’m going to burn” they moan (factor 15 people, factor 15). I say to these people “for the love of Mike stop with your moaning”.
Admittedly even though I am a hardcore sun worshipper there are some downsides to the temperature rising, these include smelly people. Smelly people always exist but it does get worse when the sun is out, if you have to ever get the tube in the sun the smell of BO can be nauseating. Another downside is the sun always comes unexpectedly, meaning that even though I know it is due I somehow never manage to shift that extra half a stone before it arrives. The final negative of a bit of sun is the fact that men with big beer guts always feel the need to remove their tops at the first sign. You can guarantee it’s never the hotties with the rippling six packs ripping their shirts off as soon as there is a glimmer of sun.
Saying that I will take all the downsides that come with sun because seriously, we get on average a total of about 5 minutes of sunshine a year (or that’s how it feels) compared to a winter that feels like it lasts for about 11 months.
I don’t understand how people can’t like sun. With sun comes suntans (admittedly I don’t need one, but I feel better when I get one) which make people look sexier, people are more flirty when it’s sunny and the best thing about summer.... beer gardens. Oh how I love a good beer garden, Sunday afternoons with friends soaking up the rays whilst drinking beer or cider or wine or Pimms, hell, all of them if it’s a bank holiday the next day. What’s not to love?
So come on people embrace the sunshine. Get your legs out (not guts), slap on some sun cream, pop on a hat and head to a beer garden and if you really hate the sun and heat then at least do me a favour stopping moaning about it, and let me enjoy my few limited (no doubt) days in the sun in peace.
Unlike most people I am not going to moan about the weather as although I hate rain, snow and cold I do accept that until I can escape to sunnier climes (for good) that this is my lot. No my gripe is that after only 5 days of decent weather people are moaning. “It’s too hot” they whine, “I’m going to burn” they moan (factor 15 people, factor 15). I say to these people “for the love of Mike stop with your moaning”.
Admittedly even though I am a hardcore sun worshipper there are some downsides to the temperature rising, these include smelly people. Smelly people always exist but it does get worse when the sun is out, if you have to ever get the tube in the sun the smell of BO can be nauseating. Another downside is the sun always comes unexpectedly, meaning that even though I know it is due I somehow never manage to shift that extra half a stone before it arrives. The final negative of a bit of sun is the fact that men with big beer guts always feel the need to remove their tops at the first sign. You can guarantee it’s never the hotties with the rippling six packs ripping their shirts off as soon as there is a glimmer of sun.
Saying that I will take all the downsides that come with sun because seriously, we get on average a total of about 5 minutes of sunshine a year (or that’s how it feels) compared to a winter that feels like it lasts for about 11 months.
I don’t understand how people can’t like sun. With sun comes suntans (admittedly I don’t need one, but I feel better when I get one) which make people look sexier, people are more flirty when it’s sunny and the best thing about summer.... beer gardens. Oh how I love a good beer garden, Sunday afternoons with friends soaking up the rays whilst drinking beer or cider or wine or Pimms, hell, all of them if it’s a bank holiday the next day. What’s not to love?
So come on people embrace the sunshine. Get your legs out (not guts), slap on some sun cream, pop on a hat and head to a beer garden and if you really hate the sun and heat then at least do me a favour stopping moaning about it, and let me enjoy my few limited (no doubt) days in the sun in peace.
Friday, 14 May 2010
What if?
In my living room I have a plaque that I purchased in New Zealand that says,” life is precious, make it count.” Now, this is something that I try to live by, which is why after 32 years on this earth I am still surprised by the amount of people around who live their life’s as what if people. You know the type, what if this, what if that etc? Focusing on what they think could have been instead of living in the here and now and making things happen.
Personally I am more of a doer, more of an if you don’t like it change it type. A person who believes that you get out of life what you put in and that yeah sometimes shit things happen that we can’t explain but it’s how you deal with it that counts. So although I am not a what if person the realisation that so many people are got me thinking about some of my life’s possible what ifs?
For example what if I had carried on dancing instead of stopping at 13 when I realised I would rather spend Saturdays with boys, make-up and friends (not much has changed there) than in a dance studio? Would I now be a successful dancer? Ok realistically with these boobs and this bum once puberty hit there was little chance of that happening, so the answer there is no.
Alright then, so what if, when I was 24 and went to Australia to see the then love of my life I had decided to stay out there. Would I be happily married to him, living there now, surrounded by lots of bambinos with Australian accents? Realistically, given that I called him the then love of my life I think we can all establish that no, I wouldn’t be. In fact in reality the chances are one of us would be dead (it was that kind of relationship, I think then I called it passionate, in hindsight I think it would be considered dysfunctional at best).
What if last Friday when I was talking to the man that I liked, if I hadn’t been drunk (see last week’s blog) would we now have been on a date? This one is a maybe, given that he had seemed keen up until the point of drunkenness it is a possibility, but, my view is it probably wouldn’t have worked out, due to the fact that in reality I sometimes get drunk and if he couldn’t handle me a bit tipsy he definitely wouldn’t be able to handle full on drunk Becky. So as the saying goes take me as I am or watch me as I walk away (or maybe stagger in this case).
Finally what if when I was younger I had worked harder at school and university would I be better off than I am now? Would I be running some big national corporation? I doubt it. Plus I think success comes in many forms, I have a job I love, a brilliant family, my health and amazing friends I wouldn’t swap any of that for all the national corporations, husbands in Australia and dancing stardom in the world.
So this week I challenge you that every time you want to think what if, try and think instead about what you do have and if the what if is so big that it keeps niggling away consider doing something that makes it into a ‘remember the day I did’ instead of a what if?
Sunday, 9 May 2010
Oh the Shame
Does anybody else have moments when they feel like somebody else has taken over their mind, body or mouth? I know that this makes me sound a bit strange, I am not talking about voices in my head or seeing dead people. I am talking about doing things out of charecter, saying inappropriate things or just generally behaving in a way that you can’t explain? This is something that is happening to me more and more frequently and I feel it is getting out of control.
In the past few weeks alone there have been several ocassions where I have done, said or thought things that make me cringe. The ones I am prepared to share include, flashing my underwear to the neighbours, admittedly I work for a lingerie company so my underwear is always good, but I don’t think the people over the road needed a full view of me in my bra on a Sunday morning.
Another one, which I do quite frequently is remembering things that have happened in the past and laughing out loud in public. I am aware that this makes me look slightly unhinged, but it happens without me having any control over it.
Last Friday night whilst out, I got an attack of the giggles just because somebody told be his name was Nicholas:
1. That isn’t a funny name
2. The way he said it wasn’t funny
3. I don’t usually make a habit of laughing in people’s face
For some reason on this ocassion the laughter got so out of control that I had to excuse myself and go to the toilet and calm down. This left me not only worried that poor old Nicholas would think I was a total bitch, but also concerned for my sanity how could somebody saying a name get me that hysterical?
This weekend I managed to shame myself by speaking to a man I like in a nightclub and being so drunk that I don’t actually know what I said to him. I remember laughing, but whatever I said I don’t think it’s good as the silence has been noticeable ever since. On this ocassion I will blame not only whatever has recently possessed me but also the copious wine and shots of sambucca.
My mind has also recently been overtaken with inappropriate thoughts, for example whilst in my body pump class wondering whether men’s gym faces are also their sex faces. Is this normal or am I a sicko? Should I even be confessing to such thoughts in public?
Finally the most cringe worthy event of the week was pulling a face at a man on the train that looked like I was offering him a sexual favour. I won’t go into too much detail and I don’t even know how it happened, all I do know is that the man smiled like I had made his day and I had never been more grateful to get off a train in my life.
Please people tell me that I am not alone and that you too are sometimes possessed. If not maybe it’s time that somebody makes a call to the men in the white coats before this gets out of control.
In the past few weeks alone there have been several ocassions where I have done, said or thought things that make me cringe. The ones I am prepared to share include, flashing my underwear to the neighbours, admittedly I work for a lingerie company so my underwear is always good, but I don’t think the people over the road needed a full view of me in my bra on a Sunday morning.
Another one, which I do quite frequently is remembering things that have happened in the past and laughing out loud in public. I am aware that this makes me look slightly unhinged, but it happens without me having any control over it.
Last Friday night whilst out, I got an attack of the giggles just because somebody told be his name was Nicholas:
1. That isn’t a funny name
2. The way he said it wasn’t funny
3. I don’t usually make a habit of laughing in people’s face
For some reason on this ocassion the laughter got so out of control that I had to excuse myself and go to the toilet and calm down. This left me not only worried that poor old Nicholas would think I was a total bitch, but also concerned for my sanity how could somebody saying a name get me that hysterical?
This weekend I managed to shame myself by speaking to a man I like in a nightclub and being so drunk that I don’t actually know what I said to him. I remember laughing, but whatever I said I don’t think it’s good as the silence has been noticeable ever since. On this ocassion I will blame not only whatever has recently possessed me but also the copious wine and shots of sambucca.
My mind has also recently been overtaken with inappropriate thoughts, for example whilst in my body pump class wondering whether men’s gym faces are also their sex faces. Is this normal or am I a sicko? Should I even be confessing to such thoughts in public?
Finally the most cringe worthy event of the week was pulling a face at a man on the train that looked like I was offering him a sexual favour. I won’t go into too much detail and I don’t even know how it happened, all I do know is that the man smiled like I had made his day and I had never been more grateful to get off a train in my life.
Please people tell me that I am not alone and that you too are sometimes possessed. If not maybe it’s time that somebody makes a call to the men in the white coats before this gets out of control.
Friday, 30 April 2010
Emotional Carnage
I’ll admit it people I am a crier, a big girlie crier. This might come as a bit of a shock to some people as sometimes I can seem a bit hard, fallen out with somebody not a tear, things ended with a bloke normally my eyes are bone dry but put me at a wedding or face me with saying goodbye to somebody and I am crying like a baby.
Twice this week I have been subjected to public crying. On Saturday a friend got married. Her now husband made a beautiful speech about how much he adored her and a lump rose in my throat and a tear came to my eye. The second occasion was today; my wonderful friend Kelly is leaving work, before her manager even started the leaving speech I was in tears, big tears rolling down my cheeks.
I don’t have a problem with public crying, I have a problem with MY public crying. Unfortunately I am not one of these women who looks beautiful through her tears, I get a red nose, make –up runs and my skin goes blotchy and don’t even get me started on the running nose. If I was trying to get a man not to leave me I can assure you crying wouldn’t be the way I would do it as the sight of my snotty, blotchy face would have him running for the hills.
Another downside of my public crying is that like most things in life I find it really difficult to do it quietly. In public places where it is light and people can see me I can usually manage to just keep it to sniffs, but put me in a darken room e.g. the cinema and they become proper sobs. Once my mate Jodie told me to be quiet whilst watching Brokeback Mountain as I think I was embarrassing her.
It’s bad enough when it’s with friends but it’s worse on dates. On a third date I went to see Seven Pounds starring Will Smith, I think my date was horrified that such sobs could come from somebody so small.
I think crying can be very therapeutic but as it makes me look and sound really unattractive and I have yet to find a make-up product heavy duty enough to disguise the blotches and red nose I have decided that from now on if I want a cry I am going to just watch The Notebook in the safety of my own home.
If anybody has any tips for crying and not looking like something from a horror film please feel free to share.
Twice this week I have been subjected to public crying. On Saturday a friend got married. Her now husband made a beautiful speech about how much he adored her and a lump rose in my throat and a tear came to my eye. The second occasion was today; my wonderful friend Kelly is leaving work, before her manager even started the leaving speech I was in tears, big tears rolling down my cheeks.
I don’t have a problem with public crying, I have a problem with MY public crying. Unfortunately I am not one of these women who looks beautiful through her tears, I get a red nose, make –up runs and my skin goes blotchy and don’t even get me started on the running nose. If I was trying to get a man not to leave me I can assure you crying wouldn’t be the way I would do it as the sight of my snotty, blotchy face would have him running for the hills.
Another downside of my public crying is that like most things in life I find it really difficult to do it quietly. In public places where it is light and people can see me I can usually manage to just keep it to sniffs, but put me in a darken room e.g. the cinema and they become proper sobs. Once my mate Jodie told me to be quiet whilst watching Brokeback Mountain as I think I was embarrassing her.
It’s bad enough when it’s with friends but it’s worse on dates. On a third date I went to see Seven Pounds starring Will Smith, I think my date was horrified that such sobs could come from somebody so small.
I think crying can be very therapeutic but as it makes me look and sound really unattractive and I have yet to find a make-up product heavy duty enough to disguise the blotches and red nose I have decided that from now on if I want a cry I am going to just watch The Notebook in the safety of my own home.
If anybody has any tips for crying and not looking like something from a horror film please feel free to share.
Friday, 23 April 2010
I am not Bridget Jones
I have a problem that I want to share with you. Why do the media insist on stereotyping single women? I am not married, I don’t have children. In turn this does not make me:
a) A crazy cat woman (I don’t like cats)
b) Desperate to don a white dress and say ‘I do’
c) Have a womb that is screaming out to be impregnated.
Now don’t get me wrong, I know there are women like that who spends days dreaming of a big white wedding and spawning lots of angelic looking children. Each to their own but, it just infuriates me that we are all clumped together as some sad Bridget Jones type that spends her evenings crying into a glass of wine about men.
I can honestly say the only think Bridget Jones and I have in common is that we both continuously strive to lose a few extra pounds and have a love of wine.
I just find it odd that in this day and age where women are supposedly becoming equal it is still seen as weird to be past a certain age and single especially as if, heaven forbid you say settling down isn’t high on your agenda.
Now if I was a man it would be a totally different story, I would be getting pats on the back for escaping the ‘shackles’ of marriage, hell I would even be envied for my bachelor lifestyle.
As a single woman the response is totally different, pitying looks, being told repeatedly how I will change my mind about children (funny how people I barely know assume they know more about my choices and how I feel than I do) and my all time favourite to get me into a rage “you’re too picky”. Excuse me, but how the hell can you be too picky about finding somebody you might potentially spend the rest of your life with? Surely this is one area where we should all aim to be picky. I am picky about my shoes surely it’s important to be picky about somebody that I could end up looking at for the next 50 years.
I think the media and people in general need to accept that all women are different some are happily married, some unhappily married, some seemingly happily married whilst having a fling with Steve in accounts. Some are single and desperate to settle down, some are single and hopeful, some are single with sex lives that give Samantha from Sex and the City a run for her money (said with envy) and some are like me, single and with a mindset of yes it’d be nice to meet somebody special but, it’s not the be all and end all of my life, I am happy, healthy, have great friends and what will be will be. Plus if I don’t meet somebody I can find a love of cats and become a mad cat lady
a) A crazy cat woman (I don’t like cats)
b) Desperate to don a white dress and say ‘I do’
c) Have a womb that is screaming out to be impregnated.
Now don’t get me wrong, I know there are women like that who spends days dreaming of a big white wedding and spawning lots of angelic looking children. Each to their own but, it just infuriates me that we are all clumped together as some sad Bridget Jones type that spends her evenings crying into a glass of wine about men.
I can honestly say the only think Bridget Jones and I have in common is that we both continuously strive to lose a few extra pounds and have a love of wine.
I just find it odd that in this day and age where women are supposedly becoming equal it is still seen as weird to be past a certain age and single especially as if, heaven forbid you say settling down isn’t high on your agenda.
Now if I was a man it would be a totally different story, I would be getting pats on the back for escaping the ‘shackles’ of marriage, hell I would even be envied for my bachelor lifestyle.
As a single woman the response is totally different, pitying looks, being told repeatedly how I will change my mind about children (funny how people I barely know assume they know more about my choices and how I feel than I do) and my all time favourite to get me into a rage “you’re too picky”. Excuse me, but how the hell can you be too picky about finding somebody you might potentially spend the rest of your life with? Surely this is one area where we should all aim to be picky. I am picky about my shoes surely it’s important to be picky about somebody that I could end up looking at for the next 50 years.
I think the media and people in general need to accept that all women are different some are happily married, some unhappily married, some seemingly happily married whilst having a fling with Steve in accounts. Some are single and desperate to settle down, some are single and hopeful, some are single with sex lives that give Samantha from Sex and the City a run for her money (said with envy) and some are like me, single and with a mindset of yes it’d be nice to meet somebody special but, it’s not the be all and end all of my life, I am happy, healthy, have great friends and what will be will be. Plus if I don’t meet somebody I can find a love of cats and become a mad cat lady
Thursday, 15 April 2010
MAN UP
Before I even start I must state if you are easily offended, very PC or an ardent feminist then please read no further.
This week my plea is to the men of the nation. Can you please man up? Yes you heard me, man up. I am fed up with meeting men who want to talk about how they feel, how they’ve been hurt in the past, if I say the slightest thing wrong they get upset. We’ve all got issues but I talk about them with my mates not with somebody I am on a second date with.
Seriously when did this epidemic for men going a bit soft start? I know I am not alone in feeling like this I have many girlfriends who have told me tales of men crying because they won’t be getting a third date. What’s that all about? 1.why are you crying about it? 2. If you are going to cry about it why are you letting somebody you fancy know about it?
Another friend was subjected to months of pleading crying phone calls after a break up. I can assure you gentlemen that this sort of behaviour is not attractive.
At present I have been told that I have had the silent treatment because somebody was upset that he wasn’t getting his own way, and no he’s not five years old he’s a grown man.
I am well aware that women do sometimes show signs of this behaviour (admit it ladies we’ve all been guilty of some undignified behaviour in pursuit of love) and maybe that is why I find it so unattractive in a man.
Now I am not saying that men shouldn’t show their emotions (it’s perfectly acceptable to cry when you’re hurt, somebody dies, etc. I’ll even let the odd tear over football slide) and I don’t want to go back to the days of a ‘woman’s place being in the home’, but, for me personally there is nothing more unattractive than a man sulking because he’s not getting his own way, crying during an argument or not taking rejection very well. I’m trying to sleep with you not counsel you for goodness sake!
So to end I will quote the Snickers ad “Get some nuts”
By the way of you were offended by this don’t say you weren’t warned.
This week my plea is to the men of the nation. Can you please man up? Yes you heard me, man up. I am fed up with meeting men who want to talk about how they feel, how they’ve been hurt in the past, if I say the slightest thing wrong they get upset. We’ve all got issues but I talk about them with my mates not with somebody I am on a second date with.
Seriously when did this epidemic for men going a bit soft start? I know I am not alone in feeling like this I have many girlfriends who have told me tales of men crying because they won’t be getting a third date. What’s that all about? 1.why are you crying about it? 2. If you are going to cry about it why are you letting somebody you fancy know about it?
Another friend was subjected to months of pleading crying phone calls after a break up. I can assure you gentlemen that this sort of behaviour is not attractive.
At present I have been told that I have had the silent treatment because somebody was upset that he wasn’t getting his own way, and no he’s not five years old he’s a grown man.
I am well aware that women do sometimes show signs of this behaviour (admit it ladies we’ve all been guilty of some undignified behaviour in pursuit of love) and maybe that is why I find it so unattractive in a man.
Now I am not saying that men shouldn’t show their emotions (it’s perfectly acceptable to cry when you’re hurt, somebody dies, etc. I’ll even let the odd tear over football slide) and I don’t want to go back to the days of a ‘woman’s place being in the home’, but, for me personally there is nothing more unattractive than a man sulking because he’s not getting his own way, crying during an argument or not taking rejection very well. I’m trying to sleep with you not counsel you for goodness sake!
So to end I will quote the Snickers ad “Get some nuts”
By the way of you were offended by this don’t say you weren’t warned.
Thursday, 8 April 2010
Love Letters
A few weeks ago I was having a look for something in what is commonly known as the junk cupboard and came across a bag. I peered inside that bag and what I found kept me seated on my sofa for hours, for the bag was full of old letters.
Letters from my friend Helen from when she used to get sent to Scotland for the summer when we were at primary school, letters from people declaring love, letters from people saying why they were annoyed with me, letters from people who had missed me, letters from people telling me about their summer holiday in other parts of the world, a whole array of letters that spanned various times in my life.
This bag of letters was filled with tales of my past, from people I hadn't seen or heard from in years. What all these letters had in common is that they all cease not long after I left university in 1999. I wracked my brains as to why this could be, I still had friends who had travelled, I still had people who since this time had declared love for me, been annoyed with me and been travelling for extended periods. Then it dawned on me that the reason the letters had stopped was we all had email, mobile phones to text from and now Facebook and Twitter with which to communicate. The thought that the art of letter writing was dead left me feeling quite sad. I don't keep all my emails and can't imagine ever rediscovering them and feeling the way I did about finding old letters.
With a sense of sorrow about this lost art I decided to do something about it and yesterday for the first time in years I wrote a letter to a friend. A letter that as we speak is on it's way to that persons doormat. The friend I chose to write to doesn't live that far away and we communicate quite a lot and see each other, but I know they will appreciate the gesture.
I found the whole process very theraputic and quite personal, far more so than a status update on Facebook or a comment on somebody's wall. I also love the feeling that tomorrow morning that when picking up the post and going through the bills and junk mail a smile will come to my friends face as she realises that there is a letter especially for her, not wanting anything (except perhaps a reply). If the response is positive I may continue this practise and see how many replies I get and I encourage you to do the same.
Happy letter writing folks.
Letters from my friend Helen from when she used to get sent to Scotland for the summer when we were at primary school, letters from people declaring love, letters from people saying why they were annoyed with me, letters from people who had missed me, letters from people telling me about their summer holiday in other parts of the world, a whole array of letters that spanned various times in my life.
This bag of letters was filled with tales of my past, from people I hadn't seen or heard from in years. What all these letters had in common is that they all cease not long after I left university in 1999. I wracked my brains as to why this could be, I still had friends who had travelled, I still had people who since this time had declared love for me, been annoyed with me and been travelling for extended periods. Then it dawned on me that the reason the letters had stopped was we all had email, mobile phones to text from and now Facebook and Twitter with which to communicate. The thought that the art of letter writing was dead left me feeling quite sad. I don't keep all my emails and can't imagine ever rediscovering them and feeling the way I did about finding old letters.
With a sense of sorrow about this lost art I decided to do something about it and yesterday for the first time in years I wrote a letter to a friend. A letter that as we speak is on it's way to that persons doormat. The friend I chose to write to doesn't live that far away and we communicate quite a lot and see each other, but I know they will appreciate the gesture.
I found the whole process very theraputic and quite personal, far more so than a status update on Facebook or a comment on somebody's wall. I also love the feeling that tomorrow morning that when picking up the post and going through the bills and junk mail a smile will come to my friends face as she realises that there is a letter especially for her, not wanting anything (except perhaps a reply). If the response is positive I may continue this practise and see how many replies I get and I encourage you to do the same.
Happy letter writing folks.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
