Tag Archives: men

“Close Your Eyes And Clone Yourself, Make Your Heart An Army”

22 Oct

This is a story about a man and a girl, from different sides of the world, a decade separating them in birth, and three and a half thousand miles. Never the twos paths did collide, until her 22nd birthday, when a friend handed her a carefully wrapped box. When she opened it there were three CDs inside, of a man she had never heard of, and she was assured that if she listened to all three of the CDs in their entirety, something fantastic would happen.


That girl was me, and as you know, I don’t like change. I liked all my old music, so why would I spend a chunk of my night listening to (yet another) guy who thinks he is good at the guitar, and giving it a go? I also am completely stubborn, so the idea of introducing a new CD that I hadn’t chosen myself was an alien one. I’ll have to admit, it was a brave present choice for a girl with a stubborn streak a mile wide.

I lay on my bed, with the light off, and I listened. I followed the album order and playlist, and duly switched CDs when they came to an end. All the while I was sitting patiently, something was happening. My friend had been right.

I fell in love with a sound, a voice and a soul, and now John Mayer would be my desert island disc. I’m pretty sure that if I was stranded on an island, I could get through life if I had his albums stored safely somewhere, ready to call upon when I wanted to feel happy, or sad, or calm, or to relax.

This weekend, our paths finally crossed and I got to see what all the fuss was about for myself, when I went to see him live. I had missed out on the last time he visited London as I had an early flight to catch the next morning, but this time I was lightning quick when it came to booking tickets, and had almost forgotten, until I saw the box in my diary (I’m a pen and paper kinda girl) to warn me of my plans for the following weekend. I have never really appreciated live music, failing to understand why people enjoy it so much, but suddenly I got it. My sister laughed at me as I sat forward, perched on the end of my seat in sheer excitement, and stomped and sang through all my favourites. I was even captivated through the songs I didn’t know, listening to the sound of the guitar and feeling like I finally got it.

You know what? I don’t care if he isn’t your taste. We were all created differently for a reason, but we all share one thing. A passion for something, or someone. Everyone has a song; a band or a classical piece that transports them somewhere, and for me John Mayer ticks that box. I loved every minute of it, and when I got home I was too wired to sleep, singing in the shower and planning my next time to see him. I know people judge him on his lifestyle rather than the music he makes, but I have no interest in that at all. As long as I can sing along, it makes me happy!

What band or song gives you this feeling? Share your passions!


20 Nov

Emma and I were musing the other day at how we are getting to an age where all our friends are getting married off. It was sparked by a comment on a friends Facebook status (who is married off) about her baby, and another girl from school (who is also married off) had commented. At first I didn’t know who it was. I mumbled the name a few times to familiarise my brain with it while Emma looked on with confusion, as if she has caught me sleep talking, until I finally proclaimed “Jenny Jones got married!!” (This is not her actual name, in case you know a Jenny Jones and I create an accidental rumour).  Emma was surprised and went off into some rant about how everyone we knew was pregnant, married, engaged or all a variety of the above. We are, I might add, both single. We merrily co habit in our lovely little flat, cooking soup, feeding stray that come by and planning what we are going to watch on the TV. I might even take up knitting. We are bringing old lady back into fashion!

And it made me think about brides, bridesmaids, mother of the brides, bridezillas and general crazy people. I know it must be dreadfully exciting to have all that organising to do; lists to make, food to taste, dresses to try…. But something about having a ring on your finger seems to make women go, well, insane.

A few people I know are in the process of getting married, and I have to say that an early observation is that it makes at least one member of the bridal party completely mental. Let’s call it wedding fever, and if you haven’t seen the film Bridesmaids then I would. Its brilliant and I can assure you that the majority of it is completely true.

One bride to be that I am friends with is very sane, yet commented to me about the mental-ness of her loved ones. One bridesmaid tried on her dress, threw a strop about the fatness of her arms and went home, refusing to do any more. Another’s mother has taken it on herself to feel like she is in control of the entire wedding and when the bride to be commented about not wanting wedding favours (who ACTUALLY EATS sugared almonds anyway?) she was told “oh but love you have to, its tradition!”.

Emma’s sister is getting married in the summer, and recently Emma joined her at a wedding fayre up in London, packed full of dresses and shoes and flowers and all the other things that brides waste an enormous amount of their dad’s money on for one day. I got a text message at about eleven simply saying:

“This is hell. It’s like being a battery chicken. They are ALL. MENTAL” the next one requested that when one of us got married we forgo the wedding fayre, choosing to go to a pub and sit in a beer garden drinking cider. Sounds right up my street really. Another friend of mine attended the same show so I thought I would ask her about it from a bridal point of view. Her response was pretty similar. She said it was ridiculously hot and at one point a woman came up to her asking if she was going to buy the dress she had in her hand, adopting a rabid look and taking it from her when the answer was no.

The truth is, all us girls love a good bridal programme. If you read Vix’s latest post on Don’t Tell the Bride, you will know that it’s a bit of a craze here in the UK. Throw in a bit of Four Weddings (a soul destroying yet addictive show where brides score other brides weddings to win a honeymoon) and a recent one I found on one of our new channels (after balancing the aerial on the clothes horse to get signal for the TV, we eventually got a boy round who fiddled with it and we now have eight channels. Result!) called Bridezilla, we are saturated with it. My last find was so mental that for a good deal of time I perched on the end of the sofa repeating “I just don’t know what they are saying!” they were deep American and really het up about something, but all I could make out was restraining order, body con dress, and “Aooohw noe she did-dunt!”

It seems there is only one cure for this, menfolk. If you are going to propose, make sure that there is very little time between this and the actual wedding date, so that your fiancées mad fever cannot take over. Or alternatively, take yourself down the pub and wait till it is over.



I Should Take My Own Advice

17 Nov

I am great at giving advice. I know this sounds like one of those sweeping statements, but I am particularly good at listening to all the points of view and then giving a measured answer (if I don’t say so myself!) I think I missed my calling in life, as a judge. My word would be final. But honestly though, I am a bit of a messiah for the afflicted, and I regularly find myself with a housemate on the end of my bed, pondering the great mysteries of what to do about this or how to go about that.

If only I could take my own advice. If I could, I would be a much better and more rounded individual. It applies to every corner of my life, and annoys me at how easy it would be just to listen to my own sage advice, rather that knowing that what I am about to do is wrong, yet doing it anyway. I don’t even plunge in without any warning, I’m one of those sorts of girls whose angel on her shoulder is screaming “DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!! THIS WILL END BADLY!!!”, so she just brushes it into her knicker drawer, slams it closed and proceeds anyway.

Example number one: Work.

If there is something that happens with my friends at work that they are concerned about or feel that they aren’t getting help with, I give good advice. I instruct them to be calm and explain rationally what is the issue and how they feel it could be resolved, being constructive and not getting upset.

My reality: I know this all to be true, yet I keep quiet over certain things for too long. Then when I get so annoyed about something that I just have to bring it up, it makes me look like I am having a massive rant over something really small, rather than adding to something that people are already aware of. I’m aware this makes me come across as abrupt and a bit difficult, and it’s funny because that’s not what I’m like at all.

Example number two: Men.

The age old story, I can give my advice but I cannot take it. Man messing my sister around? Just don’t answer the phone any more. Boy giving my housemate grief? Maintain your distance. You are better than that. Toughen up.

My reality: I used to be fairly easy going, until recently. Said individual and I stopped seeing each other on the basis that he was too busy with work and lives a bit away which made the whole thing a bit fraught and more stressful than it should be. The issue is, we still talk to each other. And I don’t think this is healthy for me. He calls, I miss it. I call him back, he misses it. We carry on playing answerphone leapfrog till one of us messages the standard sorry love, missed you, try again tomorrow, hope you’re well…. text. I went through a stage where I thought I would not answer the calls any more, it would get easier and life would resume as normal. Oh no. What really happens is that I miss the call, find myself feeling all smug that I have resisted the urge to pick it up and babble inanely about my week, but then end up either messaging apologising for missing the call, or calling back the next day, and the answerphone leapfrog continues.

Example number three: (this is a silly one) Car Maintenance.

If my friend breaks down because she played the petrol lottery, I wisely instruct her that maybe in future she should fill up more often (I’m conscious that I’m sounding a little patronising!) and do the whole oh well you’ll know for next time won’t you? line.

Yet should my car flick onto the fuel light on the way home I do a petrol bargain with myself. I think that I can get home on the fuel light, and I will have a cup of tea and then head out later to fill up my tank. I get up the next morning, having forgotten to go back out, and the fuel light twinkles at me all the way to work. No matter, I think, ill head out at lunchtime so that I don’t have the same trouble as yesterday with not wanting to head out again. But then I eat some lunch, forget and do the mad dash from the office to the petrol station while the fuel light flashes manically at me, my car threatens to die and runs just on the petrol fumes.

There are some things I will just never learn!

What advice of your own should you take?

Do Opposites Attract?

29 Oct

I have noticed in my time that people seem to identify with some of the stupid conversations I had with my ex-boyfriend. The one I used to live with (I feel I need to narrow this down). It seems that when you live with someone you have all sorts of silly conversations, and I swear, they started before we moved in. They say men are from Mars and women are from Venus, and me and this one totally were from different planets.

One night, after I had been at work all day and he had been a student all day (still not entirely sure on this one. He didn’t actually go to uni any more yet still claimed to be a student, so what he did is still a mystery) I came home. We shared a room at the time, it being just before we moved into our lovely cottage in the country with a rose bush and a garden (which in reality turned into a cold house in the middle of nowhere that was creepy and wild) and I was exhausted. Trying to let houses when people were doing their Christmas shopping was hard. I makeup removed, put my headband on, slathered myself with face mask, and hopped into my pjs. He played the Xbox (sense a theme?) and then I heard it. The dulcet tones of his Welsh friend. I froze.

“Where can I hear him from?” I asked.

“The Xbox!” he replied, as if I was insane and should know this already. I had tried to play the Xbox when we first got together in a nice girlfriendly fashion (not something I am familiar with) but I had got unceremoniously banned for making the players run round in circles and annoying everyone. My bad.

“Can he hear me?” I asked.

“Sure” was the reply I got.

I sat, pondering for a second and suddenly a thought crossed my mind.

“Can he SEE me?!” I asked.

“Uhhhhh, yep”.


Him “I really do not see what the fuss is about.”

Me “I have just got changed from my work dress to my pjs. And he has seen my boobs and knickers in their full glory. How can you not?”

Him, after turning the sound back up so his mate was once again in radio contact “dude, next time she gets changed, just close your eyes. It’s just not cricket.”


A few weeks later we went to look around a house. As a lettings agent I got the pick of seeing everything as they went on the market, and I found a perfect one. First floor, large flat. Big spaces, a small second bedroom for junk (the usual, ironing board, gym kit etc) and well in our price range so I could save up. Nope. He didn’t like it. Because the, and I quote ‘acoustics were all wrong”’for music production, and there wasn’t enough space. For the two of us. And we couldn’t get a pet. And it was in the city and he was a country bumpkin and he ‘couldn’t handle the noise’.

In a very un-me like fashion, I relented. We found a cottage in the country. There was no phone signal. There were no street lights. The bus went through sporadically when the bus driver could be bothered to get up. It cost a bomb. And the second large room for music production was used a grand total of five occasions. Twice when he went out and came home so late that he slept in the spare room as not to wake me, twice when my friend came to stay, and once for music production. In seven months.

The moral of this story is, that some men really are from a different planet!

Here Little Fishy….

12 Oct

Last week I came across a great blog (please do your homework, I reposted it but if not read here) about being twenty something and single, and the realisation that it may be something to do with us rather than the men available. Too picky? Not sure.

This weekend, fuelled with a few bottles of wine and a good old moan, my single friend and I decided to sign up to a dating website. After all, the TV aerial is broken so we couldn’t watch anything, and we thought it might prove to be amusing. And it has been interesting to say the least.

And I’ve decided to tell you all about it. Its good fun, a little bit like going on ASOS on payday. Man shopping! ‘Nope, nope, hell no, looks like he has a girlfriend…. in the boot of his car, nope, hello!  hmmm, nope.’

Firstly, thanks to Karen there is a fantastic metric for screening men, so if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. I’ve used hers. I have adjusted slightly to fit my requirements (she’s from Canada so I had to research some of her references), but it’s something every single girl should print off and put on the fridge. I mean we ALL could do with remembering that a Santa Claus beard is a total deal breaker.

The Screening Process (courtesy of Karen)

Requirements for Potential Prospects

1. A pulse:  Regular breathing= 5 points, Comatose= 3 points, Dead= 0 points, Heavy breathing= Disqualified

2. A personality:  Engaging= 5 points, Boring as a sack of wet bricks= 2 points, Doorknob= 0 points, Weird= -3 points, Douche= Disqualified

3. Hygiene:  Clean= 5 points,  Unclean= 0 points, Funky odours= Disqualified.

4. Toilet trained: Independent of personal potty tasks= 5 points, Significant knowledge on how to flush a toilet= 5 points, Avid player of pee games such as `Ready, Aim, Fire`and Àll pee, no see’= 0 points.

5.  Sense of humor: Russell Brand (Mr Katy Perry)= 5 points, Michael MacIntyre= 4 points, Steve Carell (from The Office)= 3 points, Mr. Bean (from your childhood)= 1 point, Charlie Sheen (from rehab)= 0 points, Jim Carrey (excommunicated from the leprechaun community)= Disqualified

6. Dress Code: Nice Clothes= 5 points, Clean clothes= 5 points, Hobo Chic= 3 points, Hawaiian Shirts= 1 point, Rapper Wannabe= 0 points, Falling pants= Disqualified.

7.  Personal Habits: Cooking= 5 points, Cleaning up after oneself= 4 points, Adequate knowledge of using a phone to order a pizza or to call 911= 3 points, Drinking straight out of a milk carton= 2 points, Avid believer in leaving the toilet seat up= 0 points

8. Crisis Management: Able to handle a crisis= 5 points, Unable to handle a crisis= 0 points, This girl is crazy= disqualified.

9. Beards: Joseph Gordon-Levitt (sexy stubble, 1o Things I Hate About You)= 5 points, Jake Gyllenhaal (groomed beard)= 4 points, Brad Pitt (unkempt hobo beard)= 3 points, Jesus (biblical beard)= 2 points, Santa Claus (unacceptable)= 0 points

10. Attraction: I’m attracted to you= 5 points, I’m not attracted to you= 0 points, You are Ryan Reynolds= Directly pass GO, collect your million points and win the game. In fact, you don’t even need to go to GO. Its fine love.

Fine Print: Need a minimum of a million points to qualify. A long interview process consisting of awkward dates ensues if you pass the screening.

So back to my story. I know a lot of people who have had success on dating sites, and see it like a bar full of single people. This is not the case. Single or not, men go on dating sites. But let’s pretend that it is like going out on a night out and being in an environment where everyone is upfront and single. (if you want to read a hilarious blog about internet dating and douchebag men, head on over to Brooke and McKenzie, my new favourites and my inspiration to tell this story).

We signed up. We filled in all the sections, half-heartedly I might add, with me listing my likes as “Wine. Cheese. Wine and cheese.” (this one’s for you Jules!!) and each added a photo, going off to get more wine. In the time we did so, the inboxes filled up with emails. If you are looking for a boost to your self-esteem, sign up to a free dating website; it’s like a shot of wheatgrass on a hangover. We couldn’t go to the toilet for fear that the email inbox would increase to over five pages and we would lose a James Marsden look-alike in the midst of all the shite. On one occasion it happened and my friend looked at me, scared and said “I don’t think I can cope!” More wine.

But don’t expect it to be plain sailing from the inbox ego boost. We quickly established a quick fire get rid of the crazies metric (which should also be stuck to the fridge). If we had gone with our initial thought that we would politely respond to each email we would have been sacrificing our life to the computer.

1)      If someone writes you an email titled “hay” it goes straight to the bin. There is nothing wrong with a) spelling hey correctly if that is the route you will go down,  or b) and preferably, putting something more exciting.

2)      “How heavy is a polar bear?” I fell for this the first time. Guy 1 got a reply. “Enough to break the ice!” Lord. Add it to the metric, if you see this joke, bin the email.

3)      “Fit”. “Gorgeous”. “Sexy” If any or all of these three words come through, accompanied by NOTHING ELSE! they get binned. How are you supposed to start a meaningful conversation from that?

4)      If the email is from a person with no head, only their t-shirt pulled up to reveal a rippling torso, they go in the bin. As we all know, I am a massive fan of a buff body, but I am also not the type of girl who would post a headless photo of myself in my bra. It’s not what one does! (Note. This has been the hardest of the metric points. If I see a six-pack that I would break my finger poking, it is something hard to walk away from. I have overcome this by flicking to my Ryan Reynolds screen saver. Thank God for Ryan!)

5)      As with #1, if someone spells ‘gorgeous’ ‘gawjus’, a little piece of me dies. It’s like when you sneeze and someone says bless you and you say thank you. Apparently this is bad, and if you don’t clap, you are the key suspect in a fairy’s demise. Or something.

6) If they ask me why I haven’t got a boyfriend. There is no easy answer. Because I moved out of living in a house in the country with my ex because I wanted to murder him for not picking up his pants? Because I attract men who are married, engaged, total douchebags or all of the above? Because the guy who was the closest thing I have had recently to a boyfriend is a thirty something workaholic? Because I am insane? Not sure any of these are socially acceptable.

That’s the do not pass go rationale. After that, it’s an entire minefield, but collectively we anticipate that 95% of emails didn’t get a reply. I got the guilt about this for a time but as my friend pointed out, if you respond to someone who looks like a serial killer and/or can’t spell, you are only encouraging them.  I don’t think that is admissible in court, but OK.

Some snippets of conversation:

“In all his photos his friends are smiling and he has vampire eyes!” Delete.

“I think he might be responsible for the death of his Gran” Delete.

“He looks like Eminem.” “Do you like Eminem?” “No I think he looks like a chavvy oik” Delete.

“You only like him because he is mixed race and you like that. He said ‘gawjus!” Half-hearted delete.

It’s now nearly a week on, and what have I learnt? (It’s like writing a science experiment!) I have learnt that Karen is right. I am picky. I get bored easily and annoyed quickly. If someone doesn’t ask me a question, I don’t reply. After all, I’m not trying to force a conversation with someone I don’t know.

There are a great deal of nutters in the world. I refuse to repeat a great deal of the content provided, as my mother often reads this, but some of the tamer ones:

  • Pitbull advised me to “grab somebody sexy and tell them hey, so hey” aaah! You will never get anywhere near grabbing me.
  • “Send me a picture of your feet!” I loved this. No “hi”, no warm up, just a podiatry request.
  • “Hey gawjus, I fink you are the girl I am supposed to marry. I read your profile and I fink I love you. Let’s meet up.” From one dodgy photo and a few lines of text? Surprised you can read….. This one actually added a point to the metric.
  • “If a man in a big red suit comes and puts you in a sack, don’t worry, I asked for you for Christmas”. Vomit. If a fat old man tries to put me in a sack he will be administered with a sharp kick in the general groin region and an ear bending so terrible that he will regret ever attempting to grant Christmas wishes.

But on the upside, I have learnt a lot about myself. All that matters to me is that someone gets that I am always dry, regularly sarcastic and often a little bit odd in my humour, and have the correct personality to be the same. During this scientific experiment I have :

  • Awkwardly seen someone who I shared a drunken snog with on a night out at Christmas.
  • Noticed that a once good friend of mine was now single and contacted him to offer a chat if needed (who says Facebook keeps us in touch?!) PURELY PLATONICALLY.
  • Given my number to two people. This yes, makes me picky. But bonus to the people who made it to this round!

And thus are my findings. In conclusion (they always round it up with a conclusion, don’t they?!) I feel there is nothing wrong with being picky (my granddad would TOTALLY agree. He hates all our boyfriends, deeming they are not good enough for his princesses). It might mean you end up dead being eaten by alsatians before someone sends an ambulance, but I think I would rather that than be romantically attached to a man who has a foot fetish, takes his advice from a rapper who looks like he had a stroke, and cannot spell. I’ll keep you posted if anymore classic, must-be-shared emails come through. Until then I will remain reporting from the field. Over and out!

If you haven’t already please subscribe and follow me on Facebook and Twitter (@Lillyheart999) for insightful tidbits of wisdom. Help me push up the numbers people!!

Fight Night

27 Sep

There are some really interesting creatures in the world. I have palled up with a guy in Liverpool on Twitter, and as with a lot of you, I often share pleasantries on the Twittersphere. It’s fun. I like it. Every now and again I find a kindred spirit who I can indulge in a bit of banter with, and this guy is one of them. Cue chats about the demonic-ness of Tuesdays and banter about regional accents. As you do. So after my parting comment of everyone in Liverpool being a robber, I had a mention from a new person. How exciting!

“You ugly t**t”. Feel free to insert the letters in here that you will, but I think you can get the gist. Wow. My very small avatar picture offers a pic of me in oversized glasses, as you might be familiar with from my ‘About Me’ page. Nothing too offensive.

“Sorry?” I commented back. You know, just in case I was conversing with an upstanding member of the community and they had meant to say hello and just made a slight typo.

“Don’t be talkin about scousers when your fellas a (insert racial slur here) and he drives a Citroen saxo” oooh. There be that fighting talk. I took umbridge to this. Don’t be talking about my fella that I don’t have in such a way!! And also there is nothing wrong with a saxo. That I don’t actually have. But that is clearly not the point. I chose to take the high road.

“We’ve been bantering all day. Chill out love!! And also stop watching me, I love that Citroen saxo” unfortunately you only get 140 characters, otherwise I would have added a nowshutup.

“Don’t banter about scousers when birds down your ways wear white high heels and bubble coats”. Ahem. My first issue with this comment is that I only come from one way, and therefore that is a grammatical error goddamit. And it’s a free world, I will banter with who I like about what I like I’ll thank you! Also I liked how “down my way” as in the whole of the South in his brain spawned a thought bubble of Essex. That was literally all he could come up with. Girl. South. Orange. White heels. Done!! But it did make me laugh. What an idiot!

“I can’t wear my white heels anymore. They affect pedal control in the saxo. It’s a real shame”. That shut him up . He responded with a “hahahahaha” which made me proud. I feel like I have done something for the relations between cavemen and modern-day woman! Belle 1 – Liverpudlian Neanderthal 0. Now please excuse me while I do a little victory dance around the lounge.

Follow me on twitter (@lillyheart999) apparently I now attract controversy and the attention of dim-witted men. Why wouldn’t you?!

Ingenious Inventions

26 Sep

Inventions are fantastic, aren’t they? I mean without some dude in an animal skin inventing the wheel, life would be all the more difficult on a daily basis, and if it wasn’t for Thomas Edison I would have a great deal more accidents with hot wax. And I reckon a lot less of them would be bikini line related.

But it does beg the question however, why can people not see that there are some things out there that just need inventing, pronto? Ill draw your attention to my first invention- less annoyance, tights. Call them what you will (pantyhose, stockings etc.) but the truth of the matter is that if you are female, at one time in your life you WILL have stuck your toe through them when rushing out the door to do something important. They say the only thing you can be sure of in life is death, but I can be pretty sure of this too. Important meeting, legs resembling the colour that Casper the Friendly Ghosts legs would be if he indeed had legs, tights needed. Oooh, slightly shimmery and brown enough to be convincing for your skin colour. Glamorous and confidence boosting… and now with a small, toe sized hole and a ladder from the calf upwards. And don’t believe the lie. No amount of clear nail varnish will help you in your predicament. You will just have a sticky mess of a tights hole, with a ladder sneaking out of it like a bolshy teenager on the way out for a cigarette. Defiantly sloping off. Stick to jeans and a hoodie if you ask me.

Shoes with detachable heels. This one is my friend Jo’s cunning plan, but after her revealing it, I can’t see why it hasn’t been done before. She recently got caught in a downpour on the high street, sans umbrella. Bad enough as it is, but then her heel snapped. And this spawned her fantastic idea; detachable heels. What a good one! If you get caught in the situation where one breaks, you could simply take the other one off and be in a fantastic pair of pumps. It would save the days of women across the world. Brilliant.

Grass that only grows so long. I mean come on, if they can genetically engineer micro pigs and miniature poodles, bonsai trees and plants that are dwarfed, then why can’t they make grass that only grows to a certain length? It doesn’t actually bother me as I live in a flat with no garden, but it would have made for a far more harmonious relationship with ex-boyfriend. I dealt with inside the house and the flower beds; he changed the cat litter and mowed the lawn. Apart from he didn’t, and we had these snippy conversations about it on a regular basis.

Me “what are you doing?” seeing that he was on his xbox.

Him “I’m on my xbox.”

Me “but you did say you would mow the lawn today so the lettings people don’t get on at us again. And it’s now 7pm and you have been on your xbox since about 10 this morning. And the cat litterbox smells of poo. And I’m not doing it because I have done everything else.”

Him “I’m on my xbox. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Me “yeswellyouDIDsayyouwoulddoit!! Tomorrow is Monday. You won’t do it tomorrow.”

Him “I’m on my xbox. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Me, in my head “I’ll do it. But when I’m done I will proceed to lawn mow your xbox. And then your face.”

After I had dealt with the lawn and the litter…..

Him “Oh I didn’t realise you were doing it. It really could have waited till tomorrow. I WAS going to do it.”

Me “I don’t want to live in a house where cats roam free in the jungle grass garden and I accidentally tread on mouse carcasses when going to find them because I can’t see anything. And I don’t like constantly smelling poo! I’m going to bed. Humf.”

The advent of stunted grass would have prevented this. Lol.

What fantastic inventions would you come up with?

Beep Beep…. aaaaaah Toot Toot!

22 Sep

I’m not the best driver in the world. Even if you don’t know me then by now you must be getting that impression. I become very affronted when confronted with this information, but I have a habit of taking bits off my car by colliding with inanimate objects. I failed my driving test twice, the first time so spectacularly that when I got into the car for the third test and saw the same examiner as the first, I nearly died. I passed (go me!)  For example, my Friday was going relatively well until my boss left for the day and came back two minutes later. “Laura, could you remove your car….. from my car?!” it turns out that the dodgy hand brake that Betty was suffering from pre MOT is not fixed, and she has rolled backwards down the steep hill that the office is nestled on, and embedded herself on a Porsche. My bosses Porsche. I understand, it’s like men isn’t it? We gravitate to the most dapper looking one, maybe my car is the same. But it left me with a red face, yet thankfully, no damage bar a little scuffing to the number plate. All that could go through my mind was the amount that my Uncle had to pay to get a crack in the bumper of his Aston Martin fixed. $5000. I envisaged having to live off corn flakes for the rest of the year at least.

But I try my hardest and am relatively good with other people on the road. It’s just fences and kerbs that better watch out for me. But I get the rage when I’m in a hurry to get somewhere and I’m on the dual carriageway and there is someone in the outside lane when there is no one in the inside lane. They are almost never doing the speed limit, are nearly always male and more often than not driving some sort of Chelsea tractor (to my non brits, that’s like a jeep or range rover). This morning it was a man (check!!) driving a BMW X5 (check) in the outside lane with nothing for miles in the inside lane, doing fifty. In a seventy speed limit when I’m cutting it super fine for work and having to do my makeup at the lights, this is not ideal. I am far too much of a good girl to undertake because knowing my luck a police car would come whizzing out of a bush, or the annoying man in the BMW would actually be a policeman, so I sit there patiently, waiting. I don’t even flash (see previous policeman comment) so I just get more and more annoyed until I want to pop. It does no good, apart from increasing the potential of me popping a blood vessel in my otherwise sparkling peepers.

This teamed with my lack of happiness in the morning doesn’t make for a happy little princess. I sit at my desk for an hour mainlining tea and making sure I triple check emails before sending to make sure I haven’t put kisses at the end (I really have to watch myself with this. I’m a natural xxx at the end of a text message person, and I have to ensure that I am remaining professional when sending passive aggressive emails out. ‘Please ensure this is paid today. Xxx’ doesn’t have the same authoritative tone).

Thank goodness it is nearly the weekend and I am getting cheery texts about digging ditches to cheer me up, plus I have Gym Class Heroes featuring Adam Levine (who else, I mean really?!) on repeat.

What kind of driver are you?

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Men are from Earth. Women are from Earth. Deal with it.

20 Sep

I have been thinking a lot recently about the nuances between girls and boys and the part that one has to play in the other. Whether you are male or female, married or single, or in the starting throes of a relationship where all you can do is talk about that person and really annoy your nearest and dearest, you will have felt the confusion of the opposite sex at some point in your life.

I have no propensity to talk about the weirdness of the male species from their point of view. I am one of two girls, my cousins are girls (making me girl three) and my boy cousins are teenagers and therefore a whole other sub species of males. They don’t wash, they show their love for us by punching us and whipping us with tennis balls in socks and talking to them is like having a deep and meaningful with either Beavis or Butthead.

I can however, talk about girls, and the delicate intricacies of our personalities. We all fall into buckets, you see. And I could try to describe all of them, but there’s no point, as Sharideth Smith has done a far better job than I ever could at the Glossary of Girls

She Peaked in High School

You know who I mean.  She’s in her mid to late 20′s and still campaigning for prom queen.  she may never be more than she is and her life plan is to be Mrs. dr. somebody.  The height of her success will be chairing the women’s axillary at the country club.  that’s the super prom queen win.

The upside to this one is that she is not a gold digger.  She will tend to be simple and loyal.

Miss Insecurity

This is the beautiful girl who has no sense of self-worth.  She puts herself down, refuses to take a compliment and asks questions like “why do you like me?”  She needs constant reassurance and may have trust issues.  However, there is hope for this one.  If you see moments of fierceness poking through the fear clouds, she may be able to learn to stiffen her spine and become “a keeper”.

The Cling-on

This girl is so needy she can’t function without you.  That’s an ego stroke on the front end but exhausting shortly there after.  She has to know where you are and be able to get in touch with you at all times.  Blowing up your cell phone during your guy’s night is just the beginning.  At first she will seem normal but she will quickly dump all her friends and activities to be attached to you 24/7.  And oh yes, she will expect the same from you.

Upside to this one?  Just like Miss Insecurity, she may be able to learn to chill out and gain some confidence.

The Princess

She is the Sears Tower of high maintenance.  It’s her way, all day, everyday.  according to Dr. Phil, and I quote, “She’s not a wife, she’s a job.”  You’ll spend your whole life catering to her.  She is the epicenter of self-absorption.  If she gets annoyed, and she will, a lot, you’d better be ready with the jewelry.  She would never pick up a newspaper but has an encyclopedic knowledge of teeth whiteners.

Positives?  I can’t think of one.  Unless you’re into vapid and spending all your money.

Little Miss Can’t Be Wrong

This one can be sneaky.  She will lure you in by making you believe she’s fun and outgoing.  Next thing you know, you’re insecure and a shell of your former self.  She will criticize everything you do in a way that makes you think she’s right.  She wields a passive-aggressive sword with all the finesse of Picasso.  You are cleanly sliced in two before you ever see the blow.  Being right all the time and making you understand how right she is, is her drug of choice.

Positives?  Her respect can be earned.  You just have to pick your battles.  Man up and learn to say no.

Itsneverenough Girl

Nothing you do, provide, accomplish will ever be enough for this one.  Reaching the bar will never happen because she will always raise it.  It’s highly likely that when she’s in a good mood, she’s the life of the party.  But when the party’s over, she’s going to give you the laundry list of everything you did wrong that she’s been tallying all night long.  She is always on the verge of fury, will emasculate you and use sex as a weapon.  No matter what you do, it will never be enough and she may even tell you so directly.

The only hope for this one is a personality transplant or Prozac.

The Runner

This girl is not for the faint of heart.  chances are good that she has some legitimate trust issues that have been more inflicted upon her than acquired.  Once you start to get too close, she bolts.  But she’s strong and probably very caring and intelligent.  She’s just afraid and will put you through the wringer before granting you even the smallest trace of faith.  However, she is very likely worth it.

The Keeper

This girl doesn’t need you but just prefers to have you along.  She’s comfortable around your friends and family.  unless of course, you friends are schmucks or your family is a cesspool of dysfunction.  She knows who she is and likes herself.  she loves being with you but is also happy having her own friends and independence.  This is a girl who, if you dropped dead, would survive because she’s that strong.  She likes her life but would rather have you in it.  she’s your equal.  She challenges you and makes you want to be a better man.  You’ll be waiting to see what she says next.

It’s funny because, of course, its true. I think most of us see a little of ourselves in one or other of these categories.

But this is not the point of my post. My point is, why do people say one thing and totally mean another? My friends have been through the ringer a little bit recently with men saying one thing and meaning another. One man asked a friend to take the day off so they could spend some time together and then cancelled at 4pm. Pretty much once her working day was done anyway. Another has been messed around by a guy who keeps saying he wants to see her and cancelling, and then has decided actually he doesn’t want to see her at all. And girls do it too. Don’t say you are interested in someone, let them buy you dinner and then not reply to an invitation for days. And don’t use “something came up”.

I think the whole point that I am trying to make is that when your mum told you as a child that honesty was the best policy, she was right. The truth may hurt, but it’s a damn sight better than giving someone the benefit of the doubt and then finding that they didn’t mean what you were putting your faith in in the first place. And I think that whether you are male or female, when you meet the right person they will say what they mean and mean what they say. And they will take you for who you are. They wont listen to people talking about who you used to be and they will go with the flow. Because when its right it will be easy. So hold your head high!

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Someone is Smiling!

12 Sep

On Saturday my sister and I went for lunch and to do some shopping. We parked in a pay and display car park and could only scratch around for an hour’s parking money, so fed that in the meter, stuck the ticket on the door and went on our merry way. After an hour we were sitting in Wagamama (love!) and it was pouring outside. The idea of walking back to the other end of the town to feed the god of parking more cash was frankly disturbing. So we thought we would risk it.

Three hours later, arms full of shopping bags and feet tired, we walked back to the car. As we rounded the corner my sister caught sight of the ticket inspector; day glow yellow coat and severe look about him, ticketing the car next to me.

I swear I have never moved so fast. I sped up to my car and in one deft move, zapped the car doors open and whipped the ticket out, bunching it into a ball. Evidence destroyed. Never mind that I looked completely crazy; hair soaking from the rain and bags flying all over the place, at least I had triumphantly foxed one of the devils workers.

The ticket man frowned at me and said “I hadn’t noticed the time love, but next time I’ll give you a ticket. You are parked out of bay, he’s parked out of the bay. It’s not acceptable. Seventy quid. Pay attention”.

I had apparently missed the bay by mere centimetres, because the guy next to me had  done the same.

Of course!! I was running back because I knew I was out of bay! I smiled sweetly, apologised, thanked him for being such a nice man and told him to have a lovely day. Sickly sweet and covered in sugar.

I got in the car where my sister was sitting, struggling to regain my breath after my Usain Bolt style sprint, and she said,

“I don’t get it. Both cars on either side of us had penalty tickets, as did all the ones around us. How did we escape that??!”

And with that, I would like to thank whoever was smiling down on my on Saturday. I bet it was my auntie. She never liked parking inspectors.