Beard cream

As a result of a rather unfortunate fainting incident - long story - I have a long pink scar along my jaw bone on the right side of my face. My friends still make the 'harvey two face' and standard 'Chin up!' jokes - it's been long enough now that I can laugh. . . . just haha! It also has a rather nasty lump bit which didnt heal too well as there was a flap of skin which was too thin to be stitched, or so the rather hunky A&E doctor told me! When my mother first saw if she almost has a fit claiming it obviously hadn't been done properly & that I needed to consult someone regarding plastic surgery. I told her she was being silly & that I was going to have any form of unecessary surgery especially on my face! Anyway since then she hasn't really let in drop & has been coming up with all sorts of scar improvement suggestions.

My Nan has also obviously caught a whiff of the situation & her solution was to give me this funky yellow coloured cream in a tupperware pot that smells of old people. . . she claims she got in from her poor dear infirm, also elderly friend, she cleans for. She claims its a miracle scar cure - the only catch is that its apparently illegal in this country! so this woman's daughter brought it bak for her wen she went on holiday (probably to thailand or asia or sumwhere!!!!). . . . the BIG question is should I risk putting it on my face?!!! bearing in my nan rang earlier & i asked her how often i shud put it on so she rung up her friend & then rang me bak. Her answer was only ONCE a day & only a thin layer as (this is in her own words. . .) 'we don't want you growing a beard do we!' - you can see why i'm a little dubious!

my encounter with a green man

It's that time of year again. . .Halloween & the standard night out/house party that goes along with it. The one night of the year when you spend a ridiculous amount of time making urself look truly scary/hideous (but at the same time attempting to maintain some form of sexy which, rather unsurprisingly takes an awful lot of time, effort & skill especially when you only hav supermarket face paint to work with!)

It also proves to be a mine field for all the single girls out there. After all who knows just what you could be bringing home underneath all the masks & costumes. It must be all the unattractive peoples favourite night out of the year - wow, harsh! And last night, in true halloween form I ended up coming home with one such unknown quantity. . . the Incredible Hulk complete with all over green face paint, ripped shorts & ripped T-shirt.

The sex was amazing, I guess the exact kind of sex you wud expect to have with the incredible hulk!!! But it was the next morning the aftermath of all the glory of bringing sum1 home on halloween was fully realised. My sheets were green, there were green handprints on my walls, I looked in my bathroom mirror & i had small patches of green all over my body (it kind of looked like I had been savagely beaten & my bruises had reached that yellow/green phase), my sink & soap were covered in green where Mr. Hulk had obviously attempted to wash himself & taking a quick look at the man in my bed had obviously failed! Mr. Hulk now looked as if he has some terrible chronic disease as some, but not a lot of the green had rubbed off as he slept.

The morning after halloween perhaps the most amusing walks of shame ever as Mr. Hulk was proof & definitely to put on that extremely strange sex list. . . shouldn't every1 have one?!

play that funky vinyl

I love Anna, I really do, but this does not mean I have to share in her (very bad) taste in music. On this we agree to disagree - when I ride in her car I must endure her musical preferences which up until the other day consisted of only 'Angel fm' a local radio station focusing on the war years whose slogan should be: music for OAPs by OAPs. I joke that when we hit an area of static its becasuse the presenter has just turned up his hearing aid. All the adverts are for undertakers which is quite depressing & slightly odd as when their listeners pop their clogs they can't very well arrange their own funeral can they?! The other day I had to endure a two hour gas mask special - I would really like to tell you that I'm joking here (as much as I loved the war effort back in my junior school history class!) She also gets very excited when she solves the daily guess the artist puzzle which I have to say is an impressive feat bearing in mind todays artist of the day was born in 1897! Having said all this at least I know what to expect. The easy jazz numbers are really quite relaxing and I have grown accustomed to the raspy singers & fuzz from the vinyl records - its all quite comforting in a funny sort of way!

"I love how they always sing about romance," Anna sighed, "It's all walks on the beach by moonlight and candle-lit dinners." "Oh, you old romantic you!" I gave her a playful nudge, "I know what you mean though. It's hardly Akon's 'I see you winding and grinding up on that pole' is it?!" This was probably a grandparents moment when they would say, 'Ah, the youth of today.' "That reminds me, my nan came round the flat this morning," I told Anna, as she had been out at the time buying groceries at tesco express down the road. "Oh?" she replied, as she had been out at the time picking up a few groceries from the tesco express down the road. "Yeah, I think she popped her head in for a bit of a nosey round the place, you know," my nan is a bit of a busybody and knows everything about everyone - she is even better friends with our own neighbours than we are ourselves! "She asked if we had a good evening last night and then she went off on one as she does about how things were back in her day - about the dances she used to go to. This music just reminded me of it that's all." "I want to be back in those times when you used to have to sit on the side of the hall waiting for boys to ask you politely if they could have this dance," Anna said her eyes glazing over slightly. "I know. My nan asked me to explain how it all works nowadays and I just didn't no quite how to put it! I think she would be appauled," I exclaimed. "I went with 'snatch and grab' as means of description but I don't think she really understood!" "Probably for the best," Anna retorted, "All that innapropriate groping would be too much for her!"

"Oh and by the way she thinks I have a drink problem!" I told her, laughing. Anna raised an eyebrow, looking for further explanation. "My mum called me up a while after she had left telling me that when my nan was tidying up the place she had found an empty vodka bottle in the bin next to my bed and feared the worst," I explained. "Oh, that's hilarious - she has such a low opinion of you," Anna chuckled, "The poor dear probably assumed you had downed the whole bottle in an alcohol induced stupour before you went off to bed!" "Well you know me," I gave a little shrug, "Can't get through the night without it. It wasn't even vodka that's the thing I'm just not that hard core. It was one of those bigger bottles of smirnoff ice you know left over from the flat warming party. It wasn't even as if I had drunk it all to myself, although that possibly would have made for a better night!" I said, my voice raised in mock outrage. "Ah, that fateful night. . ." Anna trailed off as we both sat there remembering traces of smiles playing on our lips.

Asexuality & psychoanalysis

“I had an amazing session with my new vibe last night,” Beth dropped in casually, cigarette in hand. “It’s the bullet, you know? Who would have known that such a small thing could be so powerful! After Bob, I may never go back to men again.” “Aww is that what you call him – if indeed it is a him?” I asked. “No dear, Bob as in Battery Operated Boyfriend!” Beth said placing a hand on my leg which clearly said ‘there, there, they will be here soon’. “Oh,” I said inwardly kicking myself for being so oblivious and slow on the uptake. “My power shower has always been good enough for me,” I said attempting to make a quick recovery. “That’s because you’re easy!” Anna giggled as I made a playful swing for her head. “Talking about never going back to men again I’ve decided to become asexual,” Anna announced matter-of-factly. “Anna, you know I love you, but you are really, very weird,” Beth said catching my eye in a knowing look. “Shut up you! Look I’ve researched it and all the characteristics fit me down to a tea. It says you have a few close friends who you tell everything to and cannot imagine having such a close relationship with a sexual partner – check. Also, you can never imagine committing yourself to a long-term relationship and staying faithful to one person - check. And you would prefer casual, meaningless affairs- check.” “That last one could quite easily describe Beth too!” I exclaimed, laughing. “I’ll have you know those days are behind me. I’m happily loved up thank you very much,” she retorted. “Well if you’re becoming asexual Anna, then I’m running away to a convent to become a nun,” I announced.

We might come across as a couple of man-haters, Anna and I, but we’re not really, honest. We completely value the uses that men can provide i.e. sex, I suppose. Perhaps it is our poor relationship history that has developed such a depressing outlook. Anna tends to opt for the home-wrecking approach, preying on men who are totally unavailable and breaking down their current relationship. When she has snared them she typically becomes bored in the first couple of weeks and proceeds to dump them. See, Anna values her independence above or else and becomes decidedly claustrophobic when tied down to another person. I advise prospective boyfriends not to call her too frequently or check what she’s up to and restrict seeing her to a max of once a week. I guess it’s the whole thrill of the chase argument – aren’t we all prone to it!

My lack of success with men can largely be put down to poor judgement on my part. You see a favourite No Doubt lyric of mine could have been modelled on me: when Gwen asks, ‘Why do the good girls always go for the bad boys?’ I totally relate. You meet a bad boy, get drawn in helplessly, begin destructive relationship, he breaks your heart; you mend slowly before the cycle begins again. It all sounds hopelessly sad & tragic, but then why does it happen so often to the strong woman in today’s society. Are we all just hopeless in love or is it because we are afraid of waiting for one of the nice, decent guys to come along? I think it’s because when I find ‘nice’, I read boring! So perhaps Anna and I aren’t all that different and I’m seeking thrills in my own way.

The current guy I’m totally hung up on isn’t particularly rock & roll: there are no piercings, tattoos, motorbikes or criminal records. However, he does enjoy the look on my face when he describes poo fetish porn, he wees up my neighbours wall (not that this is much of a problem other than the principle as I don't particularly like said neighbour anyway!), he writes explicit messages on the roof of my car which I wake up to in the morning & can never quite remember how they got there, drinks vodka red bulls like they are going out of fashion, inappropriately grinds with the entire club and then in the hot tub the following morning drops his shorts to discuss whether or not he should get his back, sack & crack waxed. At this I point out that he is in need of it! Yet, despite all of this, I'm drawn in helplessly. I guess the ‘nice-but-completely-boring’ bloke always turns out to be much better friend potential. Don’t get me wrong I have attempted this approach to wean myself off the bad apples, but this has always been met with disastrous results. My guilt issues and I tend to string out the relationship for a painful couple of nauseating months just because I feel bad for the poor bloke.

Anna once tried to tell me that she believed all my relationships were built on guilt, friendships included. Now there’s a great piece of psycho-analysis for you. “Take Heather, for example,” she began to explain to me, “You are still trying to make up for the fact that you supposedly bullied her in Junior School. We never gave her that invitation to our birthday party, remember? Here you are years later hanging onto that friendship just to make amends.” “What a complete load of crap!” I protested although a little nagging voice in the back of my head was telling me different, “We are both still great friends with Heather after all these years and its nothing to do with what happened in Junior school.” Anna raised an eyebrow (something which, in itself, irritates me as I’ve never been able to achieve it even after years of practising in front of the mirror whilst applying mascara which, thinking about it, is a potentially dangerous feat in itself!) “Alright then, what about that day when she completely went nuts at you back in college. Didn’t that make you feel slightly bad and secretly wanting to make it all right again?” She gave me a knowing smile. This is the annoying thing about a best friend who knows you inside out, better in fact than you probably know yourself; she has a habit of being invariably right.

A fact of nature (- but i'm sorry!)

I’d arranged to meet James my gym buddy for a quick work-out. I had a lot of stress to vent and felt that the treadmill could potentially be in for a pounding this evening. I hopped in the car and switched my i-pod to my work-out playlist to get me in the mood. My work-out playlist tends to switch between very angry rock numbers and ‘techno techno’ awful dance tunes. Today’s playlist of choice featured generic tunes with my favourite bass line - ‘mmm tsss, mmm tsss’ I nodded along in time as the man at the traffic lights next to me gave me a quizzical look. I swung my little blue yaris into the car park and drove round aimlessly for a while trying to decide which bay to park in – the trouble is there is just too much choice! I inwardly scolded myself for my indecisive nature and attempted miserably to Bay Park. After two failed attempts I squeezed myself in next to a parked moped knowing that I’d probably be returning to a scratch on my door for my efforts. Purse in hand and swinging my towel over my shoulder I headed for the gym.

I found James already on the treadmill and chose the machine next to him. He paused his workout to chat as I set up an incline walk. We exchanged pleasantries and I asked how things were with his girlfriend Ashleigh. He made some non-committal response with a look on his face that told me something was up. When I continued to press him for details I couldn’t help but laugh at the story that followed. He told me the other day they were lounging in bed when Ashleigh announces she’s going to the toilet for a poo. Apparently the thought of girls going to the toilet, for him, is such a big turn off that he felt compelled to dump her the next day. At this I tried to tell him that perhaps his reaction was quite extreme and maybe he had been a little harsh (poor girl!). Having said this I still felt the need to apologise in the name of all women. Not sure I would ever tell a boyfriend my toilet habits but I made a mental note not to refer to this in any way ever again. To make up for Ashleigh’s let down of ‘team girl’ I attempted to reassure James that most girls never go for poos or fart for that matter - we are far too cleanly! In much the same way we girls don't sweat whilst on the cross trainer, we glow. Our James isn’t the brightest crayon in the tin (though he sure does look great in a wife beater & sweatpants!) but I wasn’t sure he fell for my attempts to reinstate women as the pinnacle of hygiene!


Thought of the day: "The limits of my words are the limits of my world" Ludwig Wittgenstein

A dawning realisation that I am indeed cheap :(

Sitting across from Anna at the kitchen table I swirled the contents of my cup. “Do you think we are getting old before our time?” I casually asked. “Is this about the weekend again?” Anna sighed, “I know I am possibly the only person we know that has ever been thrown out of a nightclub for falling asleep in the corner, but can we please stop going on about it!” “No it’s not that,” I replied attempting to conceal a big grin, “It’s the fact that here we are making a list of things to do before we reach the big three-oh and number one just happens to be ‘Dress up as old person in wheelchair and carer to sneak into Old Hollywood showing at cinema.’ And why do we want to do this? Because you get OAP rates and an intermission with tea and biscuits.” Anna just laughed, “That doesn’t necessarily mean we are turning senile, just that we are cheap! I’ll do anything for a freebie.” At this I had to agree as it comes from the girl who, much to my embarrassment, will only ever order water, that’s tap water in restaurants when we go out for a meal (and has never before in her life despite living the high life mostly on the tips she receives!). Once the waiter apologised but said they were only able to sell us bottled water at which point Anna turned round to point out, for the whole of the restaurant to hear, that it is actually illegal not to sell tap water. Who would know that for heaven’s sake?

At first I inwardly dismissed Anna's claims about my cheap nature. In fact I totally resented being tarred with the same brush as a tap-water-orderer! Then as I began to mentally weigh up recent events I realised begrudgingly that Anna was completely right, as per usual. This was the thought process that led to a dawning realisation that I am indeed cheap:

> to a lash up at a friends house prior to a big nite out I brought along a bottle of lamrini - yes that is lambini as in what you drink on the street corner when you are 15. I should feel embarassed but its only £1.59 from the co-op down the road and is now available in a variety of flavours! This week might just be a peach week.
> I view a new boyfriend as a means of relieving current financial difficulties i.e. free meals out, drinks bought on nights out, lift home minus taxi fair etc etc.
> When most people ladder their tights they curse and throw them in the bin whereas I am quite pleased to have aquired a new hair tie. Just think how many hair ties you can fashion form an old pair of cut up tights!
> cash points that charge (cheeky buggers!) are not used full stop. I tell myself that this is just a priniciple even if I have to walk half way across town - in a slightly worse for wear state - for the next nearest available one

A great big hug in a mug

I went to lunch with Heather today and was met me with her usual air kiss routine. I reckon you can tell a lot about a person from the way they greet you and Heather’s definitely reflects her general character. Her displays never fail to look oh so very sophisticated, but I’m always left feeling a bit cold and inadequate by the end of it and I'm not really quite sure why! I think it is because I'm more of a hug person myself. I love it when a guy gives you a really strong hug as it can just make you feel so special & protected. Or alternatively the casual one-armed embrace where he pulls you all close that just says I'm really comfortable around you. The man to man (usually congratulatory) hug is great as well: the initial embrace & then the hearty couple of back slaps - amazing!

Having said all this you can get really awful limp hugs which just leave me deflated. An old friend used to hug me this way and I just knew she wasn’t to be trusted! Her arms drape around you barely touching & her head swings out the way as she juts it over your shoulder. I used to feel like turning to her and saying, “Look love I'm not trying to kiss you I just wanted to say hello, but maybe I just won't bother next time.” What I want is a great big hug in a mug just like in those cuppa-soup adverts (although maybe minus the hairy blue arms & the face stroking because after all that’s just weird)! Heather and I usually get locked in a greeting war as after I have been through her air kiss ritual, I tend to try and snare her in a hug as well. What I tend to go for (depending on who is the recipient of course) is the embrace & then the friendly and comforting back rub. I find major hug errors which one should avoid at all costs involve the length of hug. Never hold on for too long because this just ends up really awkward & embarrassing for all involved as the other person pulls away and you just won’t let them –eek! Also burrowing in & loudly sniffing the other persons hair is not advised either as this is just stalker-ish & weird (unless you have been invited of course!) If someone pulls away you might not want to go in for the hug-kill either - perhaps they just don't want to touch you or you have a bit of a body odour issue!

Confessions of a wannabe call girl

In one of those deep & meaningful chats that so often crop up between my best girlfriend & myself we laid out our future life plan. If my choice of degree course fails & as a graduate of musical theatre, she finds herself without work we plan to start up our own escort service. I think we use the word escort to make it seem all the more above board - i guess escort to prostitute is what exotic dancer is to stripper. Surprisingly (or i guess not if you think about it) prostitution is legal in this country altho advertising your services is not hmm. . . im sure there is sum kind of corner we can cut there! & yes we have dun our research! Our reasoning is our morals aren't all that high after all & the money is fantastic. We will buy a flat (boudeiour!) in London conduct the business from there & live in the lap of luxury - sounds easy doesn't it. I guess thats minus the drugs, potential danger from customers & health risks. Trouble is all the media potrayal of escorts recently has promoted the sex industry - i mean who wudnt want to be Billie Piper from 'confessions of a call girl' she looked damn hot in it. Well who doesn't have a back up plan/ Plan B for if everything goes tits up in life - this is ours.

Dude, where's my 'fro?

My chief grievance today has been 'the do' - it was wot cud be described as a very bad hair day. You see the problem is at the slightest hint of moisture in the air my hair turns poker straight, flat & lifeless. Most people tell me they have the opposite problem & their do's are the product of hours of ironing. Im over straight hair-envy wot i'm looking for is a bit of va va voom. Wot I want above all else in the hair stakes is to have an afro for the day, just the day this is all I ask. Then I could bounce around with my curls with perhaps one of those funky coloured combs portruding at a jaunty little angle. Perhaps even a little sparrow might come & nest within then my hair would be truly satisfied!

Totally tea room

You might say that we are old before our time but Anna & I love nothing more than to spend our lunch break in this little tea room round the corner from where we work - & yes it just happens to be located in the City Museum thnkyoo very much! It doesn't bother us that the average age of a tea room dweller is probably approaching the BIG 90. They do tea & 2 slices of toast for £1.20 for God's sake & I haven't even begun to describe the size of the cake portions! The fact of the matter is we love our food - its a sad state of affairs wen u realise u wud much rather spend a tenner on a realli great meal than that fab pair of shoes. The shoes will only be worn once after all & then discarded to the very bak of the wardrobe as you realise you can't manage more than a few steps wearing them. It's probably this shared outlook & understanding that makes us so close! Oh & our joint ambition to sneak into a 'classic hollywood' OAP screening at our local cinema. I mean wot with the reduced ticket price, intermission (!) & free tea & biscuits at half time - who could turn down this oppurtunity?

It was not until we invited James a male work colleague to our weekly tea room outing that we realised that maybe this behaviour wasn't strictly the norm! He looked on half in amazement half in amusement as we sipped our tea with our little finger stuck out & sat there rather quietly gazing around in horror at the framed pictures of fluffy cats, the tea room lady bustling round in her pinny & the distinctly overpowering smell of lavender. "I didn't realise you were such ladies" he exclaimed & yes i'd like to think that attending a tea room brings about a certain sophistication in oneself!

the list that condemns me to be eaten by alsations!

Against my better judgement I've decided to begin a baby name list which has perhaps been prompted by the recent broody feelings I get when looking at any child under the age of five - maybe its that biological clock they talk bout kicking in & ticking very loudly in the background. I believe there to be a great deal of stigma attached to list of these kinds - I mean what scares most men shitless more than baby talk (aside from commitment of course, but for them babies & commitment probably go hand in hand & are difficult issues to separate!) So by writing such a list I have probably codemned myself to be a lonely spinster all my life with only my many fluffy cats for company or maybe in a bridget jones style paranoia I will die alone & then be eaten by alsations.
Alas such a list probably curses you to be barren all your life but hey lets throw caution to the wind, here goes. .

Girls:

1. Eevie
2. Ava
3. Kial
4. Lilly
5. Sorayah

Boys:

1. Kiefer
2. Guy
3. Kit
4. Flynn
5. Isaac

bless the old man he's finally past it!

I just had one of those horrible life-changing moments (well possibly not that drastic but you get the idea!). I've just come to realise my parents are getting on a bit, perhaps this hasn't been such a sudden change & i just chosen to ignore the blatant truth. You see the thing is there pace is slowing rather of late! In my dad in particular I have detected the premature ageing signs, for instance:

• He ties a carrier bag to the gearstick of his car to act as a bin for any rubbish that might be floating around. He also collects paper napkins from restaurants to keep in the glove compartment err. . . in case of a spillage?
• He has developed a very odd fetish for arranging the dish washer & won't let any1 else touch it just so he can fit that extra plate in. In fact he does the same thing with the freezer - very odd!
• He falls asleep on the sofa before 8 in the evenings & proceeds to snore before being battered over the head by my mother with a plumped up cushion
• He completes the puzzle section of the times every sunday morning (having sed that my sister plays sudoku for fun I hope this isn't a genetic family trait!)
• Before he purchases anything e.g. a holiday or a set of tiles for the new bathroom, he has to complete a spreadsheet comparing the market just to get the best deal. This would be all well & good if the process didnt take months by which time the spreadsheet prices are all out of date anyway! And by the way hasn't he heard they have websites that do that kind of thing for you

Hmm. . . I thought old age was supposed to make you go senile, not anal!

I'm in a relationship with a little yellow rubber man

Plus points:

• He isn't needy or clingy & he doesn't call you at every oppurtunity just to find out what you're up to - in fact he plays hard to get
• He's a great listener & his eyes won't glaze over even after an hour of ranting (- it was something realli important you had to get off your chest!)
• He always makes time for you when you most need him
• He doesn't protest when you flick the football over to watch Grey's Anatomy
• He doesn't have a beer belly & his toes are hair free
• He won't screw you over or break your heart
• You can stretch his arms & legs really far which is strangely quite therapeutic
• I get to share him with my best friend & our 3some isn't awkward

My children will go to St Trinians (or todays equivalent. . .)

So today a frined outlined her future plans for the education of her adopted children (she is a small child hater & therefore plans to bypass the stretch marks & wingeing stage). So the troubled teenage offspring out of care are going to be shipped off to boarding school for lessons in homo-sexual intercourse and dealing weed! Important life lessons didnt you know that everyone should be inducted into. Of course i'll have to re-name them she notes or else they won't fit into the clique perhpas Storm, Persia or Priscilla would suit. & wot if they don't want to leave home i ask? well im going to be such an awful mother that they wont be able to get shot of me sooner she replies. Hmm fair.

Where did we go right?

So we arrive at a beautiful house overlooking the sea equipped with rose wine & nibbles just in case a sophisticated evening has been planned (BUT never fear we had the peach lambrini - yes we are that cheap - & smirnoff in the boot in all readiness). Completely prepared to get totally innapropriate & rowdy we are not disappointed when our host pops down to the co-op to get sum tequila & a lemon! At this point we retrieve the alcohol from the car & the night begins.

The evening slowly deteriarates into a haze as we revert to 'I have never. . .' spin the bottle & strip poker. Immature some might say but there is a reason they are old favourites!!! Which leads me on to a question: which way do u approach when you go in for the kill - sorry kiss? My left or cack-handed approach was the source of much amusement & teeth clashing - which i might add is possibly one of the worst feelings. I've never experienced this before & put it down to either drunken un co-ordination from both parties or someone somewhere telling me that I should not be tongueing girls, someone elses boyfriend or indeed my best friend! Wrong on so many different levels. Perhaps to resolve this I will conform & approach from the right in the future!

Upon the declaration that someone at the table had never received a love bite a friend proceeds to correct this by giving them to everyone sat around the table. Its almost as if we are branded as in the morning its discovered that we each bare identical marks on our necks. What goes on in these 5 walls stays within the walls (& yes the room did have 5 walls!) It's time to get out the scarf, apply that concealer & wear one's hair down. No one wants to explain a love bite let alone if its been given by a girl it could all get rather uncomfortable & embarassing!


At this point people start removing clothes at will. No one is sure of the exact rules of poker so the bottle is used to serve another function - perhpas we shud rename it striptease rather than strip poker. Among a table of relatively small boobed girls I am left feeling very much more adequate & two hands have to come into play rather than the conventional one-armed hug of the cleavage. As underwear is removed people start arranging what they think are strategically arranged pieces of kitchen towel. One of the guys walks around casually letting it all hang out I have a passing thought that this is what it must feel like on a nude beach hmm how very liberating! Looking at our discarded clothing around the table we realise there is nothing more to remove & on this note we all fall into a hastily arranged bed.

Big boys don't cry

One of my most uncomfortable experiences to date was listening to a best friends boyfriend hysterically sobbing down the fone to her this morning. Basically she had ended it with him the previous evening because some innapropriate fotos of him with another girl were found on the internet. He was literally beside himself - horrible, just horrible.
This doesn't mean I'm some cold hearted witch who is against guys expressing their emotions. I actually find it quite endearing when a bloke sheds a little tear at the end of a sad film & then tries to disguise the sniffing under the pretence of a cold or hayfever. But my tolerance will only stretch so far - crying after sex for example: just creepy. During sports as well crying is totally unacceptable. There can be none of this tearing up because you've just sustained a carrer threatening injury i.e. just received a little kick. Take it like a man & suck it up, shake it off & get bak out there!
There is just something distinctly feminine about sobbing & wailing which I think should be kept separate from the male population as a whole if only to maintain face!

Ah family - you've got to love them

So I attended the marriage of some distant relation (a second cousin twice removed or sumthin) to a guy who I've never met before in a town which is in the bak of beyond - I mean wot cud be more fun than that?? Not a lot actually if you have one crack-pot family. As soon as the free bucks fizz & champers start flowing all hell breaks loose!

For starters theres the welsh aunt who looks like the cleaning lady Aggie off of Kim & Aggie onli blown up with a bicycle pump. She cackles like a witch & drinks like a fish. Once shes knocked bak 10 pints she hits the dance floor like a crazed woman head swinging hips shaking (I wud use the word gyrating but it makes me feel a little bit nauseous) truly believing as Abba sings that she is 'the dancing queen.'

Also theres a crazed uncle who rushes off in the middle of the reception because he gets a call on his mobile that theres been a spotting of a rare bird (yes of the feathered variety) at the other end of the country. No1 is surprised that this man can't hold down a relationship. Rather shockingly he did marry once to Gislayne whose maiden name was Fluck. She liked her friends to call her Gizee, as in Gizee Fluck - in all seriousness! Wow, just wow.

Then theres the friend of the groom who requests Bryan Adams summer of 69 (much to the wedding DJs delight). He must have desparately wanted to be in a rock band in his youth as he head bangs & air guitars the entire way through. I am just in awe as I clutch at my head making sure its still firmly attached - if I attempt it even to a chorus in a very un-hardcore way I'd give myself a nose bleed.

Then theres the cousin who relates his entire sob story over lunch. It turns out his ex has just had a little boy but hes not sure if the baby is his. Yet he is still forking out a fortune in maintenance - a paternity test follows. . .It reads like a script of eastenders. His new woman who is sat next to him looks old enoff to be his mother & also has a ring through her nose (perhaps not so like her mother afta all) looks highly unimpressed throughout this sorry tale & looks as if she wud quite like to drill a bolt through my nose as well as I try & disguise my laugwith my napkin. Maybe she was turning her pierced nose up as it looked quite like I'd just spat something into it!

Amazing scenes

Well, hey there 2008!

So, last year the number of resolutions I kept = 0 therefore I have decided to stick to the same resolutions for this year & see if I fare any better! My progress on these resolutions may follow.

My friend & I have also come up with a new theory that how attracted we are to a guy depends on our dominant sense. For me its smell & for her its taste. It seems I have this very odd habbit of sniffing something before I try it this applies to drink, food oh & men! Experience has taught me that I am most attracted to a soapy 'I have just been washed' smell - strange but true! New year also taught me that I find the smell of beer & stale smoke also highly attractive. For my friend its how a guy tastes if you get my drift. I have to say I've never 'tasted' a guy as such maybe this is because I have never pulled a bloke tasting of anything really repugnent (good word must use this more in everyday conversation) like fish or curries or just generally really bad breath! Apparently the taste of beer makes her wanna gag. Note to men: always carry gum. Maybe my attraction to the clean smell bodes me well in this sense that I always end up with sum1 hu looks after themselves - see the senses look after the other senses uh huh. Its a theory that works for us anyway: so wots your dominant sense??

So it was a good new year definitely topping my new years to date. Having said that this is no difficult feat as last year was spent in a french ski resort bar watchin french porn on a wide screen tele (No - really!) which was quite odd as upon enetering surrounded by neon signs I thought I was in a gay bar - obviously not! Is it commonplace to play porn in bars in France? I haven't visited enough to pass judgement. It was kind of intrigueing at first I'm not gonna lie but then the cheapness started to make me feel a bit nauseous. Is it normal to get porn flash backs as well eurgh gag!