Ok, so there's been new developments at work, namely, me making a move on the 18 year old kitchen apprentice and now me and the boy have some sort of 'thing' going on, as my one follower knows (Hey Fran).
I'm just about to hit my 24th birthday and a state of paranoia has taken grasp of me.
I'm now asking questions like 'Am I cool anymore?', 'Can I get away with wearing Kanye West glasses?', 'Fuck, are they stretch marks!?'.
I realise logically that I'm still in my twenties and can be classed as a 'young woman' but since uni ended the party seems to have truly ended and frankly, I'm sad.
When I was at uni I could have called up any one of the numbers in my phone, said I'm going out and the reply would've been, 'give me 15 minutes'. Now I have to book 3 months in advance before a night out can occur. And instead of it ending up an accidental house party, it now ends up being a quiet pint in firebug. Or worse. A night out at Molly 'o' Grady's with a bunch of jeering quasimodos, but on the upside, I was the youngest one there, except for the 16-17 year old copping off with a thirty something in the corner.
Not only that but even my metabolism has decided to flip on me. In uni, I used to be able to do every drug under the sun on an empty stomach within one hour and party til the morning at which time I would then go and visit my mum and feel only slightly rough for a few hours, now I take one toke of spliff alone and I can't think or open my eyes for days on end and smack my head off doors because I can't remember how this opening and shutting shit works again.
At the age of 24 it's already getting harder to take care of my appearance, the bags under my eyes are more prominent and I have the most random line on both of my cheeks as well as smile lines round my mouth. I can literally imagine the crows feet that will eventually form around my eyes! But then maybe I'm just paranoid. The fact is that I still get ID'd for fags and booze so it can't be that bad.
As for the young kitchen apprentice, after developing a crush on him shortly after christmas and telling myself for weeks that I wouldn't go there because he's too young and the like, I eventually hit a 'fuck it' point one night and kissed him. But lets face it, I could've said I wouldn't sleep with him til I was blue in the face, but anyone that knows me should know that the moment my head has tilted to gaze at someones arse like it's gourmet meal, then yeah, it's soo happening.
The reaction to my little triste with this young buck has generally been one of shocked laughter or tutting as if I'm some predatory sex pest that has raped him of his virginity and corrupted his young influencial mind. If I were a man and he were a girl, I'd be recieving pats on the back, shakes of the hand and general positive jeers. It's understandable when a man dates a younger girl, but people seem to find something threatening or sad in an woman dating a younger man. As if I should 'know better', know better than what?! What exactly is the crime here? If I'm still a young woman what is the problem?
Truth being that, yes by this age my mum was married and pregnant with her second child, but in this generation in this modern age, should I really be looking to settle down in my life? I'm not even sure if I want marriage or children. In fact, I feel quite negative about those ideas.
The frenchman where I worked asked me if I wanted children, and when I said I didn't, he called me sad! Is this honestly the only path in life? For christs' sake, don't digress from the social standing order. The way of things is to court a man older than you, get him to marry you, nag him about going to the pub and sporn his sprog. He goes work, you stay at home and nurture the children. That is the way of things and god fucking save your soul if you do anything otherwise.
I'm not against people picking that path, it's a beautiful thing to do and children are the purest thing in this world, marriage (when it lasts) is so lovely an idea.
But this is never who I'VE been. I always imagined myself as one of those old spinster women who still wears make-up, dyes their hair the colour it was in her youth, wears feather boas and calls everybody darling. Living in a rickety house with secret doors. Kind of like that old woman in the Ethan Hawke version of Great Expectations. The kind of old lady where young kids stand outside her house on their bikes and tell stories of how the the old ladies' left eye pops out and apparently she's crazy and her house is haunted. The kind of old lady which answers the door to the teenage postman in a slipdress.
This is a woman I envisage being at 70 years old but fuck, I don't want to be her now.
And I'm not her now.
Granted, everytime this boy says the word 'sick' as an exclamation of something good, I try to imagine myself using the word this way and cringe a little bit. Me exclaiming 'sick' is a bit like my middle-aged mum saying 'safe bruv', I think. It's just wrong.
Admittedly, for the first couple of weeks of seeing this lad I was feeling a bit like an old piece of flannel being used as a jizz-wiping cloth. I was extremely embarrassed in myself for my infatuation for him as well. The last time I was infatuated I was his age and I suppose I'd like to think that I've evolved from playground crushes by now.
Another truth is that he's one of the most good-looking people I've ever slept with, and this for me, was ridiculously intimidating. Does it help as well that he's a drummer in a band? I shouldn't think so. I've always said in girly conversations that there are two types of men you should avoid dating, coppers and musicians. The general idea being that a copper boyfriend will be too busy asserting his masculinity chasing bad guys to take you out and musicians are too busy finding themselves and expressing their inner soul through their art so that they may be proper understood to possibly find the time to see the beauty in their women.
Now, as you can tell, I've given real thorough thought to my little romance with this guy and the more I think the more indignant I feel that I'm being made to feel cheated out of my youth by the general reactions. I have considered that I'm most likely being a little too sensitive and that this is all in my head.
Maybe my impending birthday is making me assess my priorities again. Maybe I just need to take a chill pill and spend more time figuring out how to get this lad to do sexy dances for me, and cooking in my kitchen in only an apron. Though since I live with my landlady that could be a little awkward.
I should be pleased that there's a person on this earth still capable of making me blush. I should feel elated that I can still be coerced into doing the nasty in public places.
I left my shame behind a long time ago, and now this little drummer boy is on the scene, it is no time to start behaving like I'm a lady. I'm having fun, I still enjoy a good playful scrap as much as I did when I was 17 and I don't think there's anything wrong with sleeping with one of the guys in the band, and of course I have some knowledge and experience to bring to the table. Maybe other 24 year olds are livin' it up on their mortgages and long-term relationships, but I never really had a childhood, and I have so much fun to make up for. I'll never get my uni days back, they're gone and it's never going to be the same. Yes, I'm unhappy in my job; yes, I'm not the most confident girl in the room; yes, my past long-term relationships have failed miserably and yes, my nights out arn't going to be the epitomy of debauchery like they used to be.
The person that's standing in my way right now is me. I can get a better job, I can build my confidence, I can make the night mine and I can touch up beautiful people if I want to. I don't have a ball and chain to answer to and I am financially stable enough to treat myself to a meal with a good mate every now and then. I don't have any responsibilities tying me down and I am free to fuck off where ever I want to at any time I want to. I have a passionate and flighty life, and no one has the right to judge that but me.
'Cos it's well sick, man!
Saturday, 26 February 2011
Thursday, 10 February 2011
Make Love, Not Stupid Comments
Ok, from my previous blog, I briefly touched upon my journey to enlightenment and so forth. There's that. And I also touched upon how my job suck's big fat stinky ass. There's that. Allow me to elaborate on my frustrations, please be patient, I do have a point to make.
So my evening starts with the sexist little french fucker, and ends with the two-faced smarmy welsh barman. This is a regular nightly part of my job. Not only am I meant to keep up with the swaying to and fro rules of the establishment in which I work, keep a smile on my face whether PMT's decided to make a jazz-hands appearance or not, and play hide and seek with all the bloody crockery and correct menus just to do my job properly but I have to contend with unnecessary berations about next to nothing because some male chauvinist with the attitude of a pretentious neanderthal has decided his ego needs a boost. And really, I hope that they go home feeling like the big man for verbally abusing a young girl, otherwise my nightly bruised self-esteem is all in vain.
My personal quest is to gain an annoyingly calm disposition in all matters and when confronted with all walks of life and attitudes. To be positive and encouraging, hopefully inspiring (at best). I dream of being this floating mistress of spirituality and deep understanding of the world. Like a sort of modern shaman of wisdom and hope. Then I go to work and all my learnt positivity of the day fucks off out the window and I look at my peers and scream in my head 'DIE MOTHERFUCKERS! DIE!', with a matching internal image of myself dressed as rambo raining bullets on those tossing fuckwits.
Honestly, I'm a pacifist, but these 'people' are actively stunting my growth, harshing my mellow in a way that makes me feel that I'm part of some sort of nasty Pacman game.
The point I'm making is simply this, maybe it's just the UK, or England, or maybe just Leicester but the world that I'm living in seems to find it alot easier to push other people down, to present their negativity to everyone they meet like a massive burning christmas tree. I wonder though, am I meant to be impressed with these people's ability to make every glass half empty? Should I be in awe of the swift and dexturous way with which you tore that young kitchen apprentices spirit down? I applaud you, little miss, for how you look at people in love like they are coupled paedophilic rapist lepers, you miserable, incoherent, muttering, spiteful, two-faced little bitch!
This may seem like a hypocritical response, but I swear, negativity and bitterness is infectious.
If you were to imagine two over-dressed iconic figures, one good, one evil at battle with each others force fields, (then let me paint it to you this way) at this time evils force is overpowering the goods.
Why is it so easy to hurt people rather than build them up? I realise that it's dog eat dog world out there, but for example, individuals are acting like this GLOBAL recession is attacking them personally and everyone else is at fault for it. I don't want to sound like some idealistic tree-hugger but why can't we all just get on? Where is the love I hear you sing Black Eyed Peas, indeed?
You would think that some sort of sophisticated knowledge of respect and appreciation would have taken hold of us by now, but let's face facts, the reality is that we're all still just petulant, obnoxious school children screaming at each how much better than each other we are. Girls and boys STILL argue about which is the better sex, instead of accepting each others complementing differences. Does it not occur to them that by combining the feminine and masculine, the black and the white, the yin and the yang, that you can create something twice as interesting, fun and powerful than it's individual parts? Nope, because we're all too busy stubbornly stomping our feet to actually use of brains, arn't we?
If you're reading this, I ask you to try and be nice to someone when your initial reaction is to scowl at them, at least try and see where it gets you, variety is the spice of life after all.
For now, my plan is to hold onto my confidence for dear life everytime I go into work and hopefully find some kind of work which means I don't have to talk to people too much, so I can carry on in peace with my spiritual journey towards annoying unaffectedness.
Peace!
PS. Legalize Marajuana, Prime Minister Cameron, you uptight cunt!
So my evening starts with the sexist little french fucker, and ends with the two-faced smarmy welsh barman. This is a regular nightly part of my job. Not only am I meant to keep up with the swaying to and fro rules of the establishment in which I work, keep a smile on my face whether PMT's decided to make a jazz-hands appearance or not, and play hide and seek with all the bloody crockery and correct menus just to do my job properly but I have to contend with unnecessary berations about next to nothing because some male chauvinist with the attitude of a pretentious neanderthal has decided his ego needs a boost. And really, I hope that they go home feeling like the big man for verbally abusing a young girl, otherwise my nightly bruised self-esteem is all in vain.
My personal quest is to gain an annoyingly calm disposition in all matters and when confronted with all walks of life and attitudes. To be positive and encouraging, hopefully inspiring (at best). I dream of being this floating mistress of spirituality and deep understanding of the world. Like a sort of modern shaman of wisdom and hope. Then I go to work and all my learnt positivity of the day fucks off out the window and I look at my peers and scream in my head 'DIE MOTHERFUCKERS! DIE!', with a matching internal image of myself dressed as rambo raining bullets on those tossing fuckwits.
Honestly, I'm a pacifist, but these 'people' are actively stunting my growth, harshing my mellow in a way that makes me feel that I'm part of some sort of nasty Pacman game.
The point I'm making is simply this, maybe it's just the UK, or England, or maybe just Leicester but the world that I'm living in seems to find it alot easier to push other people down, to present their negativity to everyone they meet like a massive burning christmas tree. I wonder though, am I meant to be impressed with these people's ability to make every glass half empty? Should I be in awe of the swift and dexturous way with which you tore that young kitchen apprentices spirit down? I applaud you, little miss, for how you look at people in love like they are coupled paedophilic rapist lepers, you miserable, incoherent, muttering, spiteful, two-faced little bitch!
This may seem like a hypocritical response, but I swear, negativity and bitterness is infectious.
If you were to imagine two over-dressed iconic figures, one good, one evil at battle with each others force fields, (then let me paint it to you this way) at this time evils force is overpowering the goods.
Why is it so easy to hurt people rather than build them up? I realise that it's dog eat dog world out there, but for example, individuals are acting like this GLOBAL recession is attacking them personally and everyone else is at fault for it. I don't want to sound like some idealistic tree-hugger but why can't we all just get on? Where is the love I hear you sing Black Eyed Peas, indeed?
You would think that some sort of sophisticated knowledge of respect and appreciation would have taken hold of us by now, but let's face facts, the reality is that we're all still just petulant, obnoxious school children screaming at each how much better than each other we are. Girls and boys STILL argue about which is the better sex, instead of accepting each others complementing differences. Does it not occur to them that by combining the feminine and masculine, the black and the white, the yin and the yang, that you can create something twice as interesting, fun and powerful than it's individual parts? Nope, because we're all too busy stubbornly stomping our feet to actually use of brains, arn't we?
If you're reading this, I ask you to try and be nice to someone when your initial reaction is to scowl at them, at least try and see where it gets you, variety is the spice of life after all.
For now, my plan is to hold onto my confidence for dear life everytime I go into work and hopefully find some kind of work which means I don't have to talk to people too much, so I can carry on in peace with my spiritual journey towards annoying unaffectedness.
Peace!
PS. Legalize Marajuana, Prime Minister Cameron, you uptight cunt!
Thursday, 3 February 2011
Sophisticated Relationshits: Part 1
This is my first blog I guess, I figured it would be a good idea. I'd like to think I'll be eloquent and concise but it's not always going to be the case. Which ideally brings me to the topic in hand.
You'd think after, being in three solid relationships with three different vibes of love attached to them with three very different men, I'd have developed some sort of sophisticated and tuned in intuition about relationships.
Now, don't get me wrong, this isn't meant to come off as some feminist rant slash crying into ice-cream 'why won't he love me?!' whaling cry for attention, because, babies, that's not my bag. I happen to be on some half-arsed spiritual quest for enlightment and learning, which happens to be quite difficult to do on 50 hour week shift work, hence the half-arsed nature of it. Let's face it, it's difficult to get your chi flowing through all your chakras in a straight line when your days is a mix of a little french man yelling at you about butter and wine, maryland chicken meals, lucazade fixes, frantic showers, dating too many people you never intended to and don't have the time to see and your boss dragging out a bollocking you should have had over a week ago for a two hour shift you slept through accidentally, with the smarmy barman telling you in creative ways how much better than you he is.
But that's just the way the creme brulee drips down your chin, I'm afraid.
Anyway, I digress (and I will). Relationships.
Yeah, I don't get them. I try, I do. But why on earth does something that is supposed to improve and add to the quality of your life have to be so bloody complicated and confusing (and so cause misery). I look back on my past relationships through gray-tinted glasses of disappointment. The relationships in question might have made me supremely happy, but I can't remember being happy in them without that happiness also being teamed up with a feeling that it came with a great cost.
The resulting ends of my time with those men seem to taint the entirety of the relationship for me and I end up feeling as if I've wasted time, energy, (money), love and food on those morons.
Granted, I have since learnt that a factor of a decent relationship with another person is to first have a good relationship with yourself, something which I've never had and still struggle with now. My body has never been a temple, I've pummelled this thing with drugs, booze, fast food and cigarettes, and have made no real deal of effort to take up much socially recognised exercise.
As a girlfriend, about 20% of my energy and time goes into making the man I'm with feel like a king, but beyond that, who has the fucking time?! Christ, If you're that insecure within our relationship and your masculinity that you need at least 40% more of my worship then go see a counsellor.. or a prostitute, I don't give a fuck, it's the same thing, sort your shit out.
It's not that I'm some sort of insensitive bitch, it's just that the particular men that I have been out with tend to have problems like, 'Should I have a salad or chips as a side order?' and that kind of effeminate indecision and confusion in a man isn't something that makes me think, 'God, I can rely on you to take hold of the wheel should a close relative die or I find a lump in my breast one monday morning'. Truth is, yes, I'm a feminist and a strong ass fucking woman, so in turn I need a strong ass fucking man for the times when I fall off the everest high pedestal they place me on.
The rest of the time, I just want to have fun, I want to love and be loved, I want some respect and consideration (which is obviously reciprocated). I want to be able to turn to the love in my life and be able to have an interesting discussion about anything that comes up and to have passionate debates with that person that occasionally result in a row, followed by the inevitably fabulous make up sex. I want the in-jokes, the toying with each others hands, the playful banter, the playing footsie under the table, the whispered 'I love you's'. Maybe he wants to go hang with the lads for the day and come home drunk at a stupid hour, by all means go and do that honey, have fun. If he wants to glance at other women, I'll join you just to see if your taste in women is still up to scratch and then make reference to a threesome with her to get the cogs in your pants going for a bit. If you wanna go to the stripclub, lets go together, I might even pay for a dance with the girl of your choice and then when we stumble through the front door back at home drunk, I'll tell you to get your ass upstairs cos the dancing isn't over yet, baby! We go and have our days separate from each other and then meet up again at the end of it all and tell each other about the funny and shit things that happened in our day, have a cuddle in front of the TV and maybe make some lazy love before conking out for the day.
This is the basic with which I expect from a relatioship. This, as a package deal.
Of course if he solely wants to go out and get drunk with the lads and come home at a stupid hour, look at other women, watch porn and go to the stripclub without me, and completely ignore me in the time that he's with me, then, well, ba bye! Hope the door doesn't jam itself in your ass hole on the way out.
Personally, I think this is reasonable, take into account that I am (if I say so myself) a funny, cute, pretty, intelligent, strong, sexy, sensual and goofy girl who will happily watch a marathon of Star Wars at your request if I can pick 6 films that you have to sit through as well, this is a good deal. Any man that wants any more from me than the above - and remember that this is all included in the 20% pack - is an ungrateful douche and an unrealistic twit of a man.
And this is where I'll round off by stealing a quote from my lapdancing cousin and pass it off as my own: If you can't handle me at my worst, you don't deserve me at my best.
Goodnight boys and girls. x
You'd think after, being in three solid relationships with three different vibes of love attached to them with three very different men, I'd have developed some sort of sophisticated and tuned in intuition about relationships.
Now, don't get me wrong, this isn't meant to come off as some feminist rant slash crying into ice-cream 'why won't he love me?!' whaling cry for attention, because, babies, that's not my bag. I happen to be on some half-arsed spiritual quest for enlightment and learning, which happens to be quite difficult to do on 50 hour week shift work, hence the half-arsed nature of it. Let's face it, it's difficult to get your chi flowing through all your chakras in a straight line when your days is a mix of a little french man yelling at you about butter and wine, maryland chicken meals, lucazade fixes, frantic showers, dating too many people you never intended to and don't have the time to see and your boss dragging out a bollocking you should have had over a week ago for a two hour shift you slept through accidentally, with the smarmy barman telling you in creative ways how much better than you he is.
But that's just the way the creme brulee drips down your chin, I'm afraid.
Anyway, I digress (and I will). Relationships.
Yeah, I don't get them. I try, I do. But why on earth does something that is supposed to improve and add to the quality of your life have to be so bloody complicated and confusing (and so cause misery). I look back on my past relationships through gray-tinted glasses of disappointment. The relationships in question might have made me supremely happy, but I can't remember being happy in them without that happiness also being teamed up with a feeling that it came with a great cost.
The resulting ends of my time with those men seem to taint the entirety of the relationship for me and I end up feeling as if I've wasted time, energy, (money), love and food on those morons.
Granted, I have since learnt that a factor of a decent relationship with another person is to first have a good relationship with yourself, something which I've never had and still struggle with now. My body has never been a temple, I've pummelled this thing with drugs, booze, fast food and cigarettes, and have made no real deal of effort to take up much socially recognised exercise.
As a girlfriend, about 20% of my energy and time goes into making the man I'm with feel like a king, but beyond that, who has the fucking time?! Christ, If you're that insecure within our relationship and your masculinity that you need at least 40% more of my worship then go see a counsellor.. or a prostitute, I don't give a fuck, it's the same thing, sort your shit out.
It's not that I'm some sort of insensitive bitch, it's just that the particular men that I have been out with tend to have problems like, 'Should I have a salad or chips as a side order?' and that kind of effeminate indecision and confusion in a man isn't something that makes me think, 'God, I can rely on you to take hold of the wheel should a close relative die or I find a lump in my breast one monday morning'. Truth is, yes, I'm a feminist and a strong ass fucking woman, so in turn I need a strong ass fucking man for the times when I fall off the everest high pedestal they place me on.
The rest of the time, I just want to have fun, I want to love and be loved, I want some respect and consideration (which is obviously reciprocated). I want to be able to turn to the love in my life and be able to have an interesting discussion about anything that comes up and to have passionate debates with that person that occasionally result in a row, followed by the inevitably fabulous make up sex. I want the in-jokes, the toying with each others hands, the playful banter, the playing footsie under the table, the whispered 'I love you's'. Maybe he wants to go hang with the lads for the day and come home drunk at a stupid hour, by all means go and do that honey, have fun. If he wants to glance at other women, I'll join you just to see if your taste in women is still up to scratch and then make reference to a threesome with her to get the cogs in your pants going for a bit. If you wanna go to the stripclub, lets go together, I might even pay for a dance with the girl of your choice and then when we stumble through the front door back at home drunk, I'll tell you to get your ass upstairs cos the dancing isn't over yet, baby! We go and have our days separate from each other and then meet up again at the end of it all and tell each other about the funny and shit things that happened in our day, have a cuddle in front of the TV and maybe make some lazy love before conking out for the day.
This is the basic with which I expect from a relatioship. This, as a package deal.
Of course if he solely wants to go out and get drunk with the lads and come home at a stupid hour, look at other women, watch porn and go to the stripclub without me, and completely ignore me in the time that he's with me, then, well, ba bye! Hope the door doesn't jam itself in your ass hole on the way out.
Personally, I think this is reasonable, take into account that I am (if I say so myself) a funny, cute, pretty, intelligent, strong, sexy, sensual and goofy girl who will happily watch a marathon of Star Wars at your request if I can pick 6 films that you have to sit through as well, this is a good deal. Any man that wants any more from me than the above - and remember that this is all included in the 20% pack - is an ungrateful douche and an unrealistic twit of a man.
And this is where I'll round off by stealing a quote from my lapdancing cousin and pass it off as my own: If you can't handle me at my worst, you don't deserve me at my best.
Goodnight boys and girls. x
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