Good good good GOOOOOD vibrations

Today, a film will be unleashed on the public. A film entitled Hysteria. You may have heard of it. And if you have, you will realise that this is a film, I simply cannot let slip by unnoticed.

It is a film about an ordinary everyday household object. And the origins thereof.

Yes. I am talking about a woman's best friend. Anyone, at this stage, who is thinking - 'Iron', is going to get a swift kick in the ankle from me.

I am of course referring to a single woman's solace, a married woman's guarantee of joy, a husband's nemesis, The Vibrator.

Any woman who tells you she has never owned or used a vibrator is a liar or a nun. It is the equivalent of a sixteen year old boy saying 'I can use my right hand for WHAT?! How very dare you?! I would never! I have exams to think of.... The very idea....'

These days they come in so many shapes, sizes, colours and creeds, the choice can be as difficult as deciding which chocolate to take in a big 'ol box of Milk Tray... You can even buy them off the shelf in Boots. (The shop. They aren't wearing boots, I think you have to go to a very specialist store for that).

They even come in a lots of different animal shapes. A menagerie a trois if you will... (sorry... couldn't resist) for the....umm.... discerning animal.... ahem.... lover..... 

There is the Rabbit... of course. Yes, we ALL know about the rabbit, but were you aware of the dolphin? The whale? And Oh My God I Wish I Was Kidding.... the HELLO KITTY VIBRATOR. 

Those three words sum up why the Japanese need to be stopped. Now.

The vibrator is no longer a tool for the sad single spinster. They are enjoyed by couples, frequently as 'spicing up' type equipment. Men even have their own fun jiggly rings of joy. 

Whilst it is becoming more and more common for women to discuss the latest in buzzing technology, it still remains a thing of great fear and excitement to men, a bit like a roller coaster, costs a lot, it looks fun and colourful and there's lots of screaming.....

But, one thing that scares them is, what if it does a better job? Will they be demoted? And why is it so much bigger than their own appendage? Isn't that just a rubbery smack in the face?

Well, they have no one to blame but themselves.

The vibrator was invented by doctors in the Victorian age to 'cure' women of 'hysteria'. The usual method of this was for the doctor to stimulate a women's vagina with their finger until they reached 'completion'. Men mixing their laziness with their love of toys invented a device to do the job for them. Which meant it was developed with a very male take on what women would find stimulating. Hence the supersized phallus.

If it had been invented by a woman, it would probably resemble a sort of tiny Ryan Gosling and would project pictures of shoes on the wall during usage.

It wasn't long before women were taking smaller versions of this 'cure' home, and funnily enough, hysteria suddenly became a very common complaint.

I am sure that no man, unless truly confident in himself, will believe me when I say no woman would choose a plastic wobbly device over a real, living breathing human. And why should he believe me, when he is told time and time again that that is not true?

Sex and the City, and any female orientated show is constantly digging away at masculinity and telling them all that they are useless and will never live up to the treasures that are nestled in Ann Summers. But it's okay, because it's always meant as a bit of fun, a little emasculating joke. 

Why can't we just tell them the truth? We would chuck out our rabbits, our tingletips and our black knights for just one evening with the man of our dreams.

But not Hello Kitty. You will have to fight me to get that one. 

Is Romance Dead? Or in a coma? Should we poke it and see?

So for those of you not yet aware, which is anyone without a computer, phone or indeed within shouting distance of my face, I am currently residing in the beautiful city of Venice in Italy.

 

This was not an 'Eat. Pray. Love' finding myself type decision, it was more a 'we will pay you to eat' type decision. 

 

So here I am. In what I believe might actually be the most beautiful city in the world. Add to that pizza, ice-cream and yummy Italian men. Or that was the idea. Unfortunately Venice is not full of thirty something dark haired lotharios called Lorenzo who would love to eat gelato off my naked body. Nope.....It is full of tourists. 

 

Tourist couples. (I threw up in my mouth a little bit when I wrote that).

They've all flocked out to have a wonderful romantic four days on gondolas, holding hands on bridges, kissing in corners and generally getting in my way on my way to work.

 

Initially I wanted to throw each couple off the Rialto and into the Grand Canal, but to be honest that would be a little too time consuming and I have better things to do with my time. Eat Pizza. Scowl. That sort of thing.

 

So instead I have observed. Like a sort of pervert spy.

 

Romance is a big business here. This place is a sort of Groundhog Valentine's Day. Gondoliers sweep young couples up and down the canal under some of the most stunning vistas ever to have been built by man. Rose sellers accost you at every turn with their huge bunches of reminders of your singledom. You can eat ice cream and playfully put some on your lovers nose before kissing in a sort of Rom Com type way. This was the city of Casanova for goodness sake. How can you not get swept up in the greeting card life? Even I forget sometimes and start holding my own hand as I wander over bridges and wonder what romantic restaurant I will take myself out to this evening.

 

This would be an ideal place to have such a unique experience, if you weren't sharing it with 6543 other couples.

 

As a result the city is packed with couples forcing themselves at huge expense to have a good time. 

 

Women scowling at boyfriends who didn't buy them that rose despite the fact that it was 3 euros and he's already sold his clothing and teeth to take her to the opera and eat a sandwich. (It's an expensive city).

 

I go on my little vaporetto up the river and watch couple in gondalas. And do they look like disgustingly happy newly weds who need to get a room? No. They look embarrassed as people gawp at them from passing boats and the banks of the river. And, depending on the weather, a bit wet. And not in a good way.

 

Call me cynical, (I won't answer because it's not my name), but I think that this forced romance actually sucks the romance out of a relationship.

 

Maybe I'm just bitter, but I can't see how you can feel ardently in love with your partner when you are fighting through crowds of equally ardently in love couples and rose sellers.

 

I can't help but feel a little smug as I sit in my quiet little corner with my book watching couples argue over maps and who got who lost.

 

But maybe I just don't know what romantic means.

50 Shades of Wahey!

So, I don't know if you've noticed, but there's been an ever so quiet discussion going on about a certain novel. It's probably passed you by, as it has barely been mention in the press, on Twitter, Facebook and every conversation you overhear. Hardly anyone has mimicked its title for comedy effect. It has its own sort of cult following. And if I were to spoon anymore sarcasm into this blog it would overspill causing everyone to be washed in a sea of low humour shouting - "Drowning am I?! Oh that's original"

50 Shades of Shite, as I like to call it, cannot be ignored unfortunately. Believe me I've tried. I threw a copy out of the window but the postman brought it back. I tossed it in a river, but it came through my tap when I poured myself a glass of water. This book is like a slimy leech. A slimy leech that I have unfortunately read.

I am not here to bore you my literary critiques or to tell you not to bother with this poorly written excuse for erotica. (Though I have achieved both of those things in the above).

What I thought we could chat about today is fetishes and kinky sex. 
Yes. That got your attention didn't it?

Sex. 

Sex sex sex.

A long time ago I met a gentleman. A very lovely guy, who told me I was beautiful and asked for my number. I wasn't even at a Home for the Blind or anything! Result.

We had a few lovely dates, and this guy was such a sweetie. And, it would seem, adored me. Which was, well... great! He was a handsome, kind, generous man. My luck was in. Right?

It was on, I think, the third date that he admitted that his sexual preferences were, well, unexpected. He was a little on the S&M side of the bedroom. And liked his women to be Dominatrices. I was, a little surprised. Actually, that's an understatement. I'm not sure if I would have been more surprised if he'd told me that on the odd occasion, he loves to sit on top of his roof, dressed as The Queen throwing fecal matter at passing wildlife.  

This was a gateway into a world I had never even looked into before. I know it exists, sure. It is like the holiday resort that you have heard tales of, and you are sure is lovely for certain types of people, (you know, those people) but really isn't your cup of tea.

So I had a lot to ponder.

Now before I continue that story, let me move on to the tale of a friend of mine - Andy. So, Andy and I were chatting recently about our love lives, sex and lack thereof. As Andy is a gay man, he isn't a stranger to the various sexual liaisons that occur between two consenting males who have met over the wonderful world wide web. So, not so long ago, Andy is chatting to a guy online and they are getting on really well, and have a lot in common. Then this guy asks Andy if he likes CMNM?

Andy is a little confused.

So before answering, he does what any upstanding (pardon the pun) gentleman would do. He consults Google.

So, for those of you uneducated types, who weren't aware. CMNM stands for Clothed Male, Naked Male. Apparently, this is a 'thing'. There are people in the world who prefer to stay fully clothed whilst others get completely naked. Often, I believe this can be linked to voyeurism. There are WHOLE websites dedicated to it! I'm not that surprised. I think in this day and age, you can find websites for everything. I imagine if your thing is men dressed as nuns on rollerskates you can probably find at least four websites to chose from depending on what colour of habit you would prefer.

My question in all of this, which is vaguely related to 50 shades, is how far should you be willing to stretch your sexual boundaries for the possibility of a wonderful relationship?

If their 'thing', really isn't your 'thing' then surely the relationship can't last. I know that sex isn't everything but at the end of the day, sex actually is everything. And if one of you isn't getting the sex they want how long are they gonna hang round. Even if the person fulfills them in all other areas.

In fifty shades, Miss Twatty McGinty (I can't remember her actual name, so this will do), pretty much gives herself over to something she isn't entirely comfortable with for a man she loves. This is not a great role model for young women who are ready to start exploring their sexuality. Elizabeth Bennet and Jane Eyre are far stronger than Miss McGinty. And they were written a long time before feminism, suffragettes and the sexual revolution.

Andy? Well, Andy tried it out and didn't find it too hideous a prospect. In the end, the relationship didn't work out for other reasons. So, I guess dipping your toe in from time to time isn't the worst thing. Don't knock it till you've tried it, so to speak.

Interestingly, I wonder, does having a particular, shall we say, fetish make it more difficult to find love? It's hard enough to find someone you fancy who like the same sort of food as you let alone someone who also loves to be tied to a car bonnet, covered in red paint and force fed fish. (Just for the record, I have not just let slip any of my own fantasies).

And me? Well, I don't have a wardrobe full of PVC catsuits and gimp masks, that's for sure. I think some things are a bit too scary, even for me. 

Checkout my new website though - www.dragnunsonskates.com. 
I think you'll like it.

All strings attached.

I have been deliberating for a long time over the topic of this blog.

There is a huuuge amount to talk about on this subject. This will probably take a good ten blogs. It is the first time I have ever had to do research. By research I mean chat to friends, lazily use Google once and watch Desperate Housewives.

The subject that I am attempting to broach is infidelity.

I'm sure it is not a coincidence that the word infidelity starts with the word infidel. 

Actually it is a massive coincidence.  

Is it inevitable that a partner will cheat? Film and TV say it is. And why would they lie? Everyone is at it. It would appear. No relationship is complete without a good old fashioned affair.

Unfortunately, what with the nature of cheating being all sort of secretive and that, the statistics can't really be trusted. But research would suggest, that somewhere between 30 and 60% of all married individuals will be unfaithful at some point.

Let's start with the basics. What constitutes cheating? People's opinions on this vary MASSIVELY. I think we are all pretty much agreed that any form of contact with another persons 'special area' is cheating. But there is a divide on kissing. I know a married woman who thinks snogging another guy is acceptable. And a bit of harmless fun. But then, I also know a man who was married but had a full blown affair for ten years. But the way he sees it, he was completely faithful. To two women. 

Both of these people, I think, are just telling themselves what they need to tell themselves to stop the guilt. The same way that I tell myself that if food is free, then it doesn't have any calories in it. Which is why my current diet consists of me rummaging around in bins outside Tescos. Seriously, I am only eating 300 calories a day. I don't know why I'm not losing weight.

In this day and age, there are all sorts of ways to get your kicks, that don't involve actually touching another persons yoghurt gun or panty hamster.

There are all sorts of websites dedicated to watching a complete stranger perform acts of rudeness on themselves. And if you're feeling in a generous mood, then you can show them your private no pants dance too.

If you engage in this behaviour whilst in a relationship, is that cheating? There are very clear arguments on both sides.

It is as harmless as porn, you will never meet the other person and possibly most importantly, you are not, nor ever will be in an emotional relationship with that person.

But, it is another person, and it is just the two of you involved. And your partner may understandably feel hurt that you have had to go elsewhere for your one man tug o' war. 

I should probably stop now, seeing as I having only managed to talk about what constitutes cheating so far. 

I have lots more nonsense to spout on this subject. And will do so at a later stage.

The Italian Inquisition

Ciao!

A while ago I had a boyfriend. I know, I know. I actually used to own a man. It wasn't a dream or a lie I made up to convince my parents that I'm not a lesbian.

Unfortunately, as with all of my relationships it fizzled out. We both agreed that this wasn't going to work. At least, I think that's what we agreed, English wasn't his first language. And Italian isn't mine.

Although I loved the idea of a romantic liaison with a Latin Lothario it turned out to be very unlike the promises made to me by films and my Grandfather's Mills and Boons books (Yes I said Grandfather - Don't ask).

Rather than the full blown passionate love making for three days coming out of bed briefly to eat pasta like his Mamma used to make it was more like dating a wet dog. Who actually did make pretty good pasta.

Anyway, we moved on with our lives. He in fact moved to a whole different country. I don't believe I had anything to do with that. Not this time.

We continued to keep a vague interest in each others lives. Occasional emails that sort of thing.

Anyway, recently I went on a small visit to the country he now resides in. To the city he resides in nonetheless. So I thought it might be nice to meet up. It would be rude not to. Right?

Well, as it turns out, my idea of rude is not the same as that of an Italian.

Our virtual conversation went as follows.

Me - 'Hey I'll be arriving on the 17th and leaving on the 21st? Any time around then good for you?'

He - 'Yes. That is good.'

Me- 'Great. I'll be in touch closer to the time.'

He - 'Am I still entitled to fill you up?! hehe!'

This is the point where the pianist in the bar stops playing. Birds fall out of the sky. The traffic outside shrieks to a halt. Drivers poke their heads out of their windows and shout up to me. 'He said what?!'

Yep. 

I believe you can guess what my response was. Let's face it. If there was even a tiny chance of that happening (which there most definitely was not), he had certainly squashed that in one poorly judged move.

My sister pointed out that what with English not being his forte and also he was now learning his third language, maybe he had made a mistake. Perhaps he meant to say 'Feel you up'.

Of course, it's possible. But that isn't exactly what a girl wants to hear either.

Needless to say, I didn't meet up with him, so he didn't get a chance to clarify what he meant. 

Che Peccato

One's company. Two's stealing my bloody quilt.

Hello World. Or part of it. Hello.

I would like to continue the discussion I was having with myself a few weeks ago that you were listening in on because you are nosey bastards. The one about how relationships come about.

So let's say that you managed to maneuver your way around the war zone that is the first date relatively unscathed. But not, I imagine without the scars, the night terrors and the profuse sweating. No one can escape that.

No word of a lie, I once had a haircut coincidentally booked on the day of a first date, and so I went straight home and washed it and restyled it to look more 'normal' so it didn't look like I'd 'made too much of an effort'. This is the sort of idiocy a human being has to deal with when on the hunt for a member of the opposite sex. Or same sex. Or let's just be honest. Sex. Or is it? Perhaps it is more a sign that I am a mental person. You decide. 

Anyway, so let's say hypothetically you have had one, two, God forbid three dates with another human who doesn't make you want to peel your own face off slowly and deliberately with a toothpick. 

What then?

Now it's the truly difficult stage. The 'Letting someone ruin your life' stage.

I'm not being melodramatic here. I couldn't if I wanted to. My cape is being dry cleaned.

Now is the stage where you decide that you are willing to surrender all of those things that make being single wonderful. 

Lying sideways across your massive bed. Dropping everything to go to the park with friends and wine. Watching whatever you want on telly no questions asked. No judgement. Eating chocolate spread on digestive biscuits for breakfast, lunch, dinner and elevenses. Not having to subject your body to the torture it has to go through to convince your partner you were just born this naturally soft, hairless and smelling like an ice-cream factory.

Is it worth it? Really? What do we get in return for giving up our precious spare time, and all that money for all those dull-but-let's-pretend-they're-super-fun-activities-until-we-have-been-together-for-a-year-and-then-I'll-admit-I-hate-bloody-theme-parks-and-horror-films?

Umm... Sex I guess is the obvious one, and cuddling, and umm.... help to build Ikea furniture?

I'm sure there are lots of things. Probably.

I suppose if someone is worth it then you let them crowbar their way into your life with their stupid face and the annoying way they chew.

I know a lot of you who read this are in relationships, and may sometimes feel a bit green eyed about the lifestyles of us singletons, and I'm not surprised, I have to admit it's a pretty fantastic life with no one to answer to. But I hope this also reminds you that you have met someone who was worth leaving that life behind for. And that's not to be sniffed at.

Sorry. I got a bit schmaltzy there. I don't know what happened. I'd best go outside and kick a puppy.

Beauty and the Decidedly Average

Hello you gorgeous bunch.

Yes, yes I know. It's been a while hasn't it? I do like to keep you all chomping at the bit. 

Wondering 'When oh when will I get to read such an insightful piece of literature? I have absolutely no idea what to do with myself, I think I will just lie down here and chew on this piece of carpet until the all knowing one comes forth and imparts her knowledge' 

Worry no longer.  I'm here to impart.

So, something that I have been thinking about a lot recently is beautiful women. Not in the sense that I have been single for so long it may be my only option, more in the sense that I can't seem to escape them.

It is difficult to go anywhere at the moment without being poked in the eye by images of stunningly beautiful women. Ridiculously unbelievable beautiful women. On billboards, on buses, on TVs, at the cinema. 

This in itself doesn't particularly bother me. We are all more than aware that executives have a firm belief that we as human beings are incapable of buying something/watching something/existing unless we see a stunning woman every twenty five seconds. I personally won't touch any product unless I know that at one time it was touched by a size four, blonde haired, blue eyed Goddess. It's just the way I was brought up.

No that's fine, what does bother me is the massive inequality that we are subjected to. 

The men in adverts, TV programmes and films are decidedly, on the whole, pretty average. 

They are allowed to be homely, dare I say on quite a few occasions overweight? They are allowed to not have chiseled jaws and emerald eyes. 

Don't get me wrong, yes you see that of course, but the ratio is very unbalanced. 

Think about the films and TV programmes and adverts that you are enjoying at the moment. How many times do you see an average looking, homely guy, with lots of personality going out with a disgustingly beautiful woman. Woman aren't allowed to be 'homely' or dare I say it overweight, unless it is part of the plot.  Unless she is the best friend, or if she will at some stage be transformed into an absolute stunner so these average guys can FINALLY be attracted to her.

The people who can be blamed for this inequality, as they can be blamed for most things in life that are evil, are the producers and executives. I can think of two reasons why they are casting such mismatched couples.

1. They are male and not overly attractive themselves, so they have created their own universe where beautiful women fall over themselves to be with a quirky man. Hopefully this will then make it so.

2. They honestly believe that men will turn over and watch something else if they don't have a woman with model good looks to encourage them to try to lick the TV screen

The only thing this practice manages to achieve is making women feel exceptionally inadequate and men believe that they are entitled to expect no less than supermodel looks from their girl regardless of their own physical prowess. 

It means that women, who have less than supermodel looks are being looked over because guys think they can do better. Telly tells them so. And telly is always right.

I hope of course that I'm wrong and men are cleverer than this. But subliminal messages are often stronger than we think.

It would certainly explain why I am sat here drinking brand named cola I don't remember buying and contemplating suing someone for an accident I haven't had.

In the beginning, God created man. It went downhill from there.

Having been single for an extraordinary amount of time (the last relationship I was in, we had met at a party celebrating the remarkable discovery of fire) I have started to think about how difficult it is for a relationship to actually start. How do they come about? Anyone? I can't bloody remember.

Upon occasion, you meet a gentleman and he may ask for your number. 

Hurdle one - completed. 

Yes, this has happened, even to me, so I know it is not something that only happens in films. 

This is a nice stage, I am comfortable at this stage. I can sit and daydream about this guy and what our life will be like together. Sure, it might be a difficult life together with me having to try and work out what his name is, because I can't remember, I'm not sure he ever told me, I was too excited to be talking to an actual man, but a life together it will be nonetheless. 

Then you come across hurdle number two. The initial texts. What if he writes like a dick? Spells like a four year old? Or worst of all worses, he uses the term 'lol'?

Hai Bayby, u r hot ;-) wanna meet sum time? LOL!!! ;-) 

Yeah. That text is gonna get an 'I think you've got the wrong number, this is an STD clinic' response. 

So let's say, theoretically, hurdle two has been leaped and bounded over and you've had a few lovely, gentlemanly, grammatically correct text messages, with the use of only one smiley face when entirely appropriate. 

Now it's the horrific car crash waiting to happen that is the 'first date'.

Who invented this system? This shitty interview for the position of girlfriend?! Whoever it was, I would like to tie them to the back of a high speeding elephant. 

You spend, days and weeks, deliberating over what to wear. You realise you have absolutely NOTHING suitable in your four wardrobes worth of clothes. You are starting to consider cutting up a waistcoat and a pair of jeans to makes a sort of dress thing. Why are you even doing this to yourself anyway? He's going to hate you and realise that he should probably be going out with your sister. What's the point?! Then after nearly being sick with nerves, you have a couple of Gin and Tonics and you start to think about wearing the pyjamas you have on, because actually they look pretty sexy. 

You look goood. 

You stumble to the venue of choice.  And there he is. Now the fun and games begin, what do you order to drink? Nothing that makes you seem like the sort of lady who loves to end her evening in an alleyway, and certainly nothing that is prone to making you end the evening dancing on the table with your (or anyone else's) knickers on your head.


You take your seats and stare at each other for a bit. What if the conversation doesn't flow? Horrid stilted small talk -


'So, do you have any brothers and sisters?'
'Where are you from originally?'


It can all feel a little like you are in a GCSE French class.


How do we as human beings manage to get past these stages? And how do we decide whether or not we want to spend a little more time with that particular human?

Spark I think it's called. But how do you know if that's there under all the awkwardness and drink?  Oh and if it does go well, don't go home with him. Because even if he has fallen in love with you instantly and believes you are the woman he is meant to marry. It will change his view of you - because no matter how much we try to change things, apparently it is still the 1950's.


It's all a bit of a boiling pot of idiocy. You dip your spoon in and hope for the best really. I like to think of it as a sort of lottery. I guess if you don't buy a ticket you aren't ever going to win.


Still it's worth a try. And the one time it does work out, then it's got to be worth the hassle right?


Don't ask me. I have absolutely no idea.

Searching for my lost youth. If you see him, do send him home.

Hello you lovely lot.

It's been a while hasn't it? I'm sure this might give a few of you the impression that I have some sort of life. The rest of you are sensible enough to know that I'm just plain lazy.

I have had a few ideas about what the topic of discussion will be today,  and I have settled on - 

Age.

The age we are is such a big factor in so many things. And let's face it in today's society youth is king. We are already being reminded that if we are indeed older than 21 then we might as well shoot ourselves in the face as there is very little left to live for. 

We can buy creams to help us salvage what is left of our saggy, horrendous, 28 year old faces. Or if you are older than 28 then you should probably just have your saggy horrendous face pulled up by the eyebrows in some surgical type of hideous procedure.

Women of course get the brunt of this ageism, being constantly reminded that if we aren't young and attractive then chances are we'll die alone. Wrinkly.

What I find interesting is age gaps in relationships and this new found ideal that they shouldn't be too large. In Victorian times a man could marry a woman thirty years his junior and no one would bat their proverbial eyelids. These days even a simple five years can cause an eyebrow to raise to an alarmingly high state on one's forehead. (Thus saving on the aforementioned surgery).

It is so dependent upon the individual, I have had relationships with much, much older men, who I swear could have been ten years younger than me, in body and mind, and much younger men who were already in the pipe and slippers stages of their lives. 

Apparently there is a rule about age gaps in relationships. 
Yes, a made up rule that has been invented by the Rulemakers at the Rulemaking Institute of Rulesville, Ohio, that states that the ideal age gap in a relationship is when the man is with a woman who is half of his age, plus seven. So, for example if the man were 30, the woman should be 22. 

Why? Why is this the case?  And should this man therefore discount any other age? 

'My God, you're attractive, I don't think I've ever met someone who makes my stomach go fluttery in the way that you do, your eyes are like two misty oceans on a... Oh you're 25? Good day to you Madam, thank you for your time.'

Why is it also considered ideal for the man to be older than the woman? Oh you can give me the 'girls mature faster than boys' argument until the cows have got back from their day at the office, but we all know that 

a) men don't mature at all past 15, 

and 

b) men will always find any excuse to be with a pert young pretty thing half his age. 

Women also like the idea of a pert young pretty thing half our age. Oh yes we do. It's just that we also like the idea of having an actual conversation with our playthings, that isn't about One Direction or Skins or whatever it is the youth of today is getting up to.

And yet, an older women with a younger man is classed as a 'Cougar'. Quite an unflattering term, I think, compared to it's 'Silver Fox' equivalent. 

Men are allowed to get old. And they are allowed to then choose much younger women. Women are not allowed to get old, without surgery, and they are mocked if they choose to go after younger men. 

Well I say, it's time to change this. I think it's time for men to act their age and women to be allowed to be comfortable in theirs.

That's what I say. 

But of course, I would say that. Seeing as, at the age of 28, I should probably be looking into residential care homes.

Well, I'm not laughing

Today I would like to rabbit on about an article what I read...
And no, this isn't just an opportunity to prove that I actually spend some of my time reading newspapers. I promise. Although I have to admit, I now feel preeeeetty smug.

The article in question was discussing a research project from the University of Massachusetts and McMaster University, Ontario, which showed that men are intimidated by funny women.


Excuse me, while I put my handbag down a second in order to pick my jaw up off the floor.


This is terrifying. For some of us ladies, funny is all we've got. Really.


I've spoken about this before, briefly, when a guy I met said that he and his girlfriend never laugh together but it's ok because he could get laughter from his friends. I thought this was crazy. But I didn't realise the problem was widespread. If I had known I would have done something about it. Handed out flyers entitled 'Women. Stay bland or die alone'


If you put into google 'men are intimidated by' the list of suggestions is pretty interesting. It would appear that men are intimated by strong women, intelligent women, successful women, smart women, tall women!!


Now,  I don't know about you but I don't know many 5ft 4, stupid women who aren't very good at their jobs and still, it would appear, dwell in the 1940's. So it's slim pickings I'm afraid gentlemen.


Also this paints a very bleak picture of men, don't you think?


We're all pretty aware that men find it difficult to make decisions that arent entirely lead by their penis. It's an age old fact. I imagine that even picking food from a menu is lead using this human divining rod. 
'What is the food group most likely to get me laid? Steak? I will have eight steaks please.'


Yet, this google list would paint all men as a bunch of terrified little beings that run and hide in a corner the second a woman with a personality makes herself known.


'Mum! I can't have a bath, there's a woman who's made a great career choice, making wise cracks on the bathroom ceiling... Can you kill it? Don't throw it out the window! It'll come back in!!'


Can I honestly believe that a man is turned off by a woman who is able to banter? Are men turned off by anything really? Surely, if he's got some boobs to play with he couldn't care less if the woman has a head?


I have been long resigned to the fact that men prefer the younger, more attractive model of woman. Fine. That's life. I'll never be that woman and I'm okay with that. 

But men are more attracted to the meek, bland, stupid woman who doesn't understand humour but will laugh at all of his jokes, because he's her man? 

I will never be that woman and I'm okay with that.

Not all men are bastards, some of them are dead

Now, I don't want to be one of those whining women who complains about how all men are bastards whilst scoffing on a two kilogram bar of Cadbury's, crying into a tub of Ben & Jerry's and stroking one of my eighteen cats, but really, I'm beginning to think they might be. Very little evidence to the contrary. 


Take for example my lovely friend Francis. Francis, like most of us, is looking for that special someone. As a gay man, he tends to meet a lot of not so special someones. But then don't we all? 
So Francis is in his local gym. In the sauna. I know, cliche, but bear with me... There is a fella that Francis has seen around  the gym quite a bit, there has been lingering eye contact and what us lesser fools would call a spark. 
So, back to the 'ol sauna. Francis, notices said gentleman smile and move a little closer. There is conversation, laughter, mucho macho flirting and knee touching. 


Yum, right? 


Right. Until sauna boy casually mentions that he has a boyfriend. You can imagine the disappointment poor Francis felt. As would we all. When he leaves, Sauna Slut follows him to apologise with drivel like 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to lead you on, I should have said something earlier' 


Sorry don't cut it buster.Yes you should have said something earlier and no, you have no excuse for behaving like a total twat. 


Why would someone do that? 


Before we answer that, let us join Heather. 


Heather is a friend of mine who is beautiful. Not only did she fall out of the beautiful tree and hit every branch on the way down. She snapped the branches off and keeps them at home for putting on make up. So, Heather is out with a group of friends and some new acquaintances and there is one guy in particular who is quite a charmer. Someone that she might not have noticed initially, but this guy has the chat. He is the sort of fella who would make you laugh till your knickers fell off.


This charmer asks my friend for her number. He texts her as soon as she leaves saying how he had a great night and they should do it again sometime. Heather is obviously quite excited by this. She thinks, this could be a good thing. She does some investigation through friends, tell me about this fella, you know in the private investigator way we all do, 'Does he have a job?' 'Where is he from originally?' 'Has he been CRB checked?' Unfortunately, Heather didn't get the answer to any of those questions, as the first thing she was told was that this guy has a long term girlfriend.


Really?!


I know that this isn't an unheard of scenario, we all know tales of this happening. We could all sit around the fireplace and regale each other for hours with wine and cheese and our stories about little shits. As unfortunately these things happen all too often. But seriously, why? What does a guy get out of it? The thrill of the chase? It just doesn't make sense to me. Is it training for when he is single again? Because if his girlfriend has any sense at all she won't be with him a lot longer.


My only solution is this, if a guy asks me for my phone number I'm just going to punch him in the face. I think it's safer to just cut to the chase.

Technoeulogy

So. I have found myself for the last week or so in the barren land of no computer. AND no smart phone. Can you imagine?! No facebook, no twitter, no junk mails to tell me how to elongate my penis in order to make my girlfriend happy. I should have paid attention to these, having now found myself with no girlfriend. And a weirdly long penis.

We have all come to rely on this technology way too much (the Internet - not penis elongating devices). It is so difficult to do minor things, view things online, check times of things, watch mystic cat on youtube and all of the wonderful things that help make our little worlds go round.

What did we used to do before we had this ability? How did we function?! If someone asked the question, 'How long can a caterpillar hold it's breath underwater?' We used to have to wait until the following day, or till Monday if it was the weekend, and pop to our local library to dig out a dusty copy of an encyclopedia in the hopes that we would find the answer. 

We would probably not find the answer. 

It is a stupid question. 

But I bet Google could tell you. 

It is now no longer necessary to hold information in our brains because we are able to find out that information at the touch of a button.

Future generations will have to enter www.whatismyname.com every time someone asks, as they literally do not have the brain capacity to store such trivial information.

I no longer am aware when friends are having birthdays as I don't bother to write down this information. Why would I? When I have the friendly Facebook Butler I like to call FB?

As I am happily reading what nonsense people have been up to, looking at pictures of people on camels and noticing that 'Richard has just fallen over in the street LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :-) ', he wil  clear his throat politely and say -

'Ma'am'

'Yes FB?'

'Were you aware Ma'am, that it is Lady Victoria Rysing's birthday today'

'Gosh Darnit, FB, I was not aware of that, I will leave a little note on her wall that will get lost in amongst all the hundreds of others she will receive. Which, will then, in turn, convince her she is popular as many people have taken the time out of her day to write such notes.'

'Very good Ma'am.'

I am not saying that it is bad that we have reached this stage, for if you think about it many wonderful things have come from it, like being able to order a take away without speaking to a human. It is just weird to realise how much I actually require regular Internet in my life just to function on a basic level.

This past week I have been unable to clean myself, or feed myself and keep ending up in the sea instead of at work.

This doesn't even cover the amount of time we spend Falking (Facebook stalking). I mean what happened to the days when you used to meet someone you liked and you would spend that wonderful exciting time getting to know each other. Your likes, dislikes, how they'll die if they smell honey, you know the usual cute things.

These days you meet someone (and I know I'm not alone here) and instantly add them on Facebook. Then I spend hours scrawling through their profile with a toothcomb (which incidentally should never be used to comb teeth). Driving yourself mental with questions like 'Who is that girl in that photo with her legs around his neck?' 'Why did his status on the 17th October say that he is having a 'great time' does that mean he's a murderer? You know, the usual cute things.

Anyway, I must be off, FB has prepared tonight's Roast Pheasant. 

Give us our day back you bastards

Ah yes. It's that time of year again. The time of year that fills with dread the hearts of every singleton, boyfriend and husband alike.


That day of the year when single folk are scared to leave the house for fear of being bombarded by hoards of couples in every restaurant, cinema and street corner. We are left to peer through the curtains like lepers frightened to catch a glimpse of the pitying looks in our untouchable direction by those who are deeply in love, parading the streets with their flowers and chocolates.


If that wasn't bad enough we are reminded of our singledom for a good solid month approaching V-day. Cards, roses, champagne everywhere. You can't set foot in boots to buy shampoo without being reminded that you will probably die alone by a stupid cartoon cat on a heart shaped card.


And yet, this is not my problem with Valentine's Day. It may not sound like it but I am happy for all of those people who have found each other in this otherwise quite bitter universe.


What I am annoyed about is the fact that it is our bloody day! It isn't intended for couples to get together and make kissy faces at each other, or for boyfriends to get in a sweaty panic as they have to pay £25 for a rose at a petrol station at 7pm on the 13th because they had forgotten all about it. Or even for the girlfriends, to lament that their boyfriend got them sodding chocolates, when they have been together for four years and he knows she's lactose intolerant.


No.


It is for us. It was designed so that we could have a day, above all days of the year, when we could breathe in, man up and say, do you know what? I quite fancy you.


On what other day of the year could you get a card telling you that you had an admirer, signed off with a question mark, and not have to take it to the police as evidence of stalking?


Couples have every other day of the year. They get to spend Christmas together, and birthdays, they get to have the New Year's Eve kiss. 


In the Metro this week thay had a 14 page spread of things to buy your partner. And then a tiny three line article on how to 'survive valentine's' if you are single! You can't just rewrite whole days! You can't just say, right from now on Christmas days will be celebrated by going donkey racing and eating bicycle tyres and wearing underwear on our heads! 


As single people we have to be subjected to PDA's every single day of the year. Well I say we should claim this day back as our own. I say V-day should be declared as a day when all couples have to stay indoors and you are not allowed on the streets unless you are single. And we can have some sort of massive single jubilee street party. With dancing and banners and punch and suchlike.


That's what I think.

Coffee? Or shall we just have sex?

Hello hello to readers both old and new. I hope you've enjoyed reading all the other blogs so far. I know I have. I read over them all as soon as I wake up and once again before bed. To remind myself of how hilarious I am.

It turns out, I'm pretty hilarious. Who knew?

Sooo. I thought it might be time to assess older issues. I have been having some lovely conversations with older people about relationships. It's comforting and a little bit frightening to know that they are just as clueless as we are.

The mother of a friend of mine talked to me about how the most difficult thing about getting older, (getting older mind you, and not relationships- We weren't even discussing relationships), the most difficult thing about getting older is staying true to the sanctity of marriage and keeping everything as exciting as it was in the beginning.

This of course doesn't come as such a surprise. I think most of us expect this. Forever is a long old time. And as we keep being told, nothing lasts forever so why should a relationship be any different.

Things change every day and you can never be sure of what is around the corner, feelings change, situations change, you don't know what you can expect.

But that isn't necessarily a scary thing, isn't it a wonderful thing thinly veiled? Can't we see that as an opportunity to be grateful for what we have now and just enjoy it?

Then there is the other monster. Monotony. That little beasty that wants to get in and remind you of how bored you are and how you may be bored FOREVER. Which, as previously discussed is a long old time.

If you are bored of something however, it is your own fault. If you are drinking tea, day in day out, and you start to think my God I'm bored of this tea, then whose fault is that?! Now of course I am not saying never drink tea again and switch to younger sexier latte, because as we all know, latte may be a hot sexy young thing, but it doesn't relax you in the same way. Sure it keeps you awake for longer but too much of it and you are left feeling the effects. And surely eventually you will be bored of that too. No, I'm saying spice up your tea a bit. Maybe try it with honey, or vanilla milk instead of sugar. Isn't that tea looking a little more ravishing, doesn't it feel like a whole new sexy cup of tea?

I think you know what I'm saying... yum.... tea.

Another conversation I was having was how some people are still as terrified of commitment as they were when they were younger despite having been married or had children.

What is it that people are afraid of? I think I am correct in thinking that this is a feeling that we all have to some extent. What if I've chosen wrongly? What if there is a better one just around the corner? Can I really do this forever?

I think the key to this is remembering that it doesn't have to be forever. I know that we all want to believe we will get married once and when we do it is for keeps. But I think it helps quell the fear if you realise that if it goes pear shaped you don't HAVE to stick around, you won't be stoned to death if you decide to move out. Your two hearts don't ACTUALLY beat as one, so you aren't going to die if you walk away.

Just a thought. Maybe it helps if you think that it may not last forever. It may help you to cling on that little bit harder. Like a leech.

A lot of men have it so much easier than women as they get older. Men seem to get more attractive with age whereas women seem to decrease in beauty. An older gentleman friend of mine was saying how he thinks this is because women have lost their 'spark' not their looks. That beautiful confidence and radiance that flows from them. I think there is a whole lot of truth in this. If you think of Helen Mirren or Judi Dench who are both beautiful older women, they certainly still have a spark. I think too many of us ladies allow our spark to die out too quickly. Or that it is men who have wrong us and kill our spark. Ooooooh philosophical.

So anyway, I'm sure you're wondering about me. How am I coping with this single lifestyle of mine?

Well, it is a lifestyle I have become accustomed to over the last few years. So I've settled in quite well now. I love the fact that I am my own person to come in when I like, go where I like and drop everything to run off to a free cake and beer party without having to consult anyone else. I wish someone would invite me to a free cake and beer party. I get my own double bed and get to watch whatever flm or televisual programme I like.

 I am also loving not playing games. Not wondering when that person will call or why haven't they called. Or maybe my phone isn't working, perhaps I should phone O2 to check to see if there is something wrong with incoming calls, but then he may call while I am doing that..... you know. All that brain melting stuff.

Plus I don't have to do all of the ridiculous grooming that we ladies have to subject ourselves to. Just the basic stuff. I mean seriously ladies, don't worry, I won't give any secrets away, but we put ourselves through a lot of weird crap when you think about it.

But of course I miss the cuddly nights in, the walking through the park holding hands, calling someone to say hi (who isn't my mum), and the ahem....

Soooo. On that note thanks for sticking around through this nonsense. You lovely people.

Not hard though is it? I'm hilarious.

Two's a couple, and they can shove it.

Hello Children.

'What are we going to talk about today Auntie Suzy?'

That's a good question William, let's find out......

I am going to talk about being a lemon. Not the fruit. The outsider.

I have a pet hate, that I am sure (in fact know) I am not alone in. 

Spending time with the dreaded 'couple'.

Now, there is a huge difference between those people who are in a relationship and the 'couple'.

I have many friends who are in relationships who I could spend all the time in the world with. If it's the three of us, it feels like the three of us. There are certain couples I know who make you feel like you are spending time with some form of two headed freak with no interesting conversation. Fun. These people have pet names that they use. ALL THE TIME. They only seem to do everything together. They sit together, fondle each other and only talk about things they have done, are doing or will do together.

They seem to think that the love for each other is so amazing that everyone else will want to hear about it all the time. We do not want to hear about it all the time. We don't even want it sent in a yearly newsletter. Get your hands off each other or get out of my face.

The fact is that with these clingy couples, you are more than happy to spend time with him on his own or her on their own. it's actually quite fun, you have a lovely time. Together it's like they have morphed together and their two brains combined somehow melt into a sort of cheese fondue but with less personality.

What to do? Avoid? Or wait until they are so sick of each other that when you spend time just the three of you they are talking through you?
 

'Suzy, can you tell Neil that if I wanted to hear an annoying grating voice telling me how worthless I am I would call his mother'

'Suzy, would you please tell Kathryn that I have no interest in her dull sarcastic comments and that if she wakes up dead in the middle of the night, it wouldn't have been me that did it, as I am at the back of the queue. Behind everyone she's ever met.'

This generally makes it worth having to go through all the initial lovey dovey stuff I find.

But what about me? What have I been up to?
 

I met a boy. I know. An actual boy. A boy that makes my toes tingle and boobs purr. But don't worry faithful readers, I haven't acted on it. Oh no. In fact the opposite. After a few stumbled, idiotic girly conversations where I couldn't speak in sentences, I bumped into him outside my local large generic food store, wearing a tracksuit, dishevelled hair and no make-up. To top it all off I had been caught in a shower. A very large shower. Making me look a little like the girl from the ring but in an awful tracksuit combo.
 

I saw the fear in his eyes.

We ignored each other.

The steps I take to stay celibate.

A date? I can't I'm afraid. Because I hate you.

Hello Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, Groovers and Shakers, Twisters and Makers, Surprisingly Flexible and Firm as a Planks... How are we on this fine day? Don't answer that... It's rhetorical. Idiot.

I am well (I am aware you didn't ask but I went ahead and answered anyway to make up for your rudeness).

I have however just tried to breath using mainly rice. I thought this would be an interesting experiment to try in my 28th year on this earth. The results of which were watery eyes, and a red face. If any of you wish to partake in a similar experiment to see if we get corresponding results, feel free.

Today's subject is a fairly serious one. But don't worry I will throw in a few knock knock jokes to shake things up a bit.

My topic is unrequited love.

This is a pretty painful subject. Regardless of which side of the fence you find yourself on. I for one, am pretty sure that unrequited may well be the only type of love I have experienced (boo hoo

sucks to me tiny violinist sob sob get over it). But I can in no way claim to be an expert in it or how to deal with it.

Recently I had to tell a gentleman that there was no future in us. He has always been a massive flirt, and delights in sending the odd (very odd) inappropriate text. Which is fine. They were quite amusing and I would be able to say 'Hoho! that's just Martin. Oh silly Martin!' Obviously not his real name.Martin is an Old man's name. But recently, after 5 years of this, he started revealing his true feelings and how he genuinely wanted to go out on a date. I am sorry to say that I am not attracted to this man at all. So the answer was no. Also, I feel partly responsible for this, because at no point during these 'ridiculous' (so I thought) texts, did I say- 'Honey, you're lovely and all but you just ain't my bowl of beans' (In case anyone was wondering that was said in my cowgirl voice). So I felt almost as though I had lead this guy to think that I may be interested. But I think that when it comes down to it, you can't be held responsible for other people's feelings. If we spent our entire time trying to second-guess how a person is feeling or holding back in case people get the wrong impression, then we would lead very stilted lives. 

Of course I would also say you can go a bit too far in the other direction by maybe sticking your hands down a man's trousers and thinking ' I'm sure he won't get the wrong impression, he knows we're just friends'

Having frequented the un side of unrequited love I realise too that sometimes you are asking to get hurt. I was involved with a gentleman who was a lovely man. We both agreed and knew from the outset what the relationship was. We were 'lovers' (In case you were wondering this was said in my sort of Mexican/french voice). It wasn't a relationship, we enjoyed each others company and would have fun but without having to answer to each other or anyone else. And yet, I went out of my way to find out about other people he was seeing. I can't explain why. I knew what this was and neither did I have any hope of it becoming anything more. But I had to be alpha female as it were (I know that doesn't work, you snobs). I needed to know that even though he had other women about, I had to the best. It's an odd situation to have found myself in really, jealousy starts like a tiny black dot on the brain and it spreads like branches, until it slowly encompasses you and you start doing things you can't explain, looking for more reasons to be suspicious. In the end it was only to hurt myself. I had no ground to stand on as we had agreed what the relationship was and therefore really, I was the one who was being untrustworthy by being very two faced about the whole thing. I think I am not made out to be a 'lover'.

Now, these are the two sides of unrequited. The yearning and the heartache are incomparable. But I witnessed the most wonderful of phenomenons recently. 

True love.

Having discussed unrequited love, it happens to us all at some point in our lives, in some cases much more than once, so it really makes you appreciate what a rare and incredible thing it is when a person truly loves a person and that person truly loves them back (not a title for a song I don't think)

I went to a wedding recently, I am friends with the bride, so I know all too well how much she loves and worships the man she married. I have spent a little time with the groom but not enough to have the old deep and meaningfuls. He is a lovely guy and I do approve.
It was wonderful though to attend the wedding and see the groom cry. As soon as the bride arrived, and pretty much right through the service. Even in his speech. He was so overwhelmed with happiness. He felt like the luckiest man on the planet and he got us guests to thinking that he probably was too!
 It made me think, if my husband, (whosever that may or may not turn out to be) feels that lucky to be with me on my wedding day, then I would be due for a long happy life.


Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Smee.
Smee who?
Smee! Writing a blog!

Thanks for reading.