the unfortunate (sex less) existence of my cat

My cat has been the recipient of more affection today than she is used to as I think she has been in some kind of a scrap or picked up an infection as she can't open her right eye (hmm, this may require some specialist attention!). Her current sorry state got me thinking that she really is a rather unfortunate creature. She was a rescue cat & was taken away from her mother at an early age & as such when we got her she used to suckle on this fluffy nightdress I used to own as a child as if it was her mother. Then there's the fact that she has been subjected to the same flavour of Iam's cat food every day since we got her & I think this has driven the poor girl into the depths of dementia as recently she seems to forget that she has just been out will wonder round the house aimlessly before returning to the door to be let out. Or maybe. . .

. . this is all to fill the large void in her life as we hav deprived her of children. I'm no animal activist but it's all rather strange that if a woman finds out she is unable to conceive children then this is a life changing moment which has a massive impact. Yet we take this away from our pets as an everyday occurence. I recognise the need to control the cat & dog population we wouldn't want them taking over the world after all would we! but the poor thing doesn't even have it explained to her. She just falls asleep & when she wakes up she can't hav children if it were you you wud feel violated. And she must know after all. . ..

And does newtering (shes a girl - does this word apply?!) also take away sex drive?? I no you get the randy dogs who hump legs, or cushions or anything that moves but you don't really hear about horny cats do you. I reckon my cat would want to be a horny devil given the chance. She's a ginger female - very rare we were told - so apparently in the cat word ginger doesn't hold the same stigmatism! But is she now simply unphased by all those prospective bachelor cats out there, couldn't care less about the opposite sex or does she mourn the loss of being a mother. . . how sad :( Perhaps she doesn't keep loitering round the back door to be let out AGAIN because she's lost her marbles, she's simply trying to fill the times & the void in her life left by lack of sex & children!

In the future I think I would like to keep a cat or dog of my own but to let them have their full childbearing potential. I would also quite like a cleaner please (just an after thought!).

the milestone

The other day I reached a milestone in my latest relationship & it wasn't the first kiss, first time we had sex, 3 month anniversary kind of milestone. No, it was the first & hopefully last time he had walked in on me on the toilet - naked (i wud like to take this oppurtunity to explain that I was about to shower & therefore had removed my clothing - obviously)

Anyway he simply surveyed the scene in front of him before shuffling out backwards to my exclamation of 'OH!' those kind of guilty sounds that escape your mouth without you meaning them to. As the door swiftly closed and I lept after it to bolt the door fast all I could do was stand there horrified & feeling slightly violated!

I ran the shower & stood beneath the jet of water considering what angle to take with this. Should I:-

a) pretend it never happened & live on peacefully in ignorant bliss

b) avoid each other in awkward silence & see if he has the balls to address this most embarassing of subjects

or c) launch into an angry tirade ranting about lack of privacy

Never one to shy away from anything I went for a slightly toned down version of option see. So stepping out of the bathroom my towel wrapped around me I re-entered the bedroom where my boyfriend was perched on the end of the bed.

"You are a terrible boyfriend!" I exclaimed trying to make light of the subject, "What has a girl got to do to get a little privacy around here?" He held his hands up - an innocent gesture trying to ward off my attack, "I thought you were just in the shower & was coming in to surprise you. But don't worry, I still fancy you," he teased, but he had this wide-eyed look in his eye. "OH!" (there it was again escaping like that). . I buried my face in my hands wondering if he would keep getting random flash backs to that hideous hideous image of me.

I wondered if we would ever be able to get past this, if I would be paranoid that he would always be picturing me naked on the toilet for heavens sake!!! When I recounted my tale to a friend she was anything but concerned. "I think you reach that point in your relationship when you just feel completely comfortable around each other," she told me (she's been with her boyfriend for over 3 years). "I'll often be cleaning my teeth when Jim's on the toilet, or he will come in & chat to me when I'm on the toilet."

I think my expression gave the game away, I'm not sure I'll ever reach that point in a relationship where I would be happy for either my partner or myself to be present when the other is on the toilet. Some things should just be kept strictly to yourself, am I right?

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