Ghosts of boyfriends past

Everyone has some of those old photos that they would rather disappeared off the face of the planet. Reminders of a bad choice, be it a dreadful haircut or really really horrific outfit. 

These days with Facebook, these photos are even more accessible and even less burnable. Sure, you can untag yourself, but somewhere out there is an awful reminder of that hideous fur catsuit you were convinced looked amazing when you left the house. You were Naomi Campbell. No. You were in fact RuPaul. 

There was a horrific period, if you recall, in the nineties when lime green and fluorescent orange was for some reason deemed to be acceptable. And not, as it should have been, an arrestable offence. If you don't recall this period, I can only assume that it is because your brain has blacked it out for your own protection. 
During this time, I owned a bright orange skin tight Lycra shirt with a black collar. Feeling this wasn't ludicrous enough, I would often couple this with some Boyzone dog tags. Hell yeah I was a stylish chick. Without any friends. This outfit is etched onto the back of my eyeballs as a mistake that should not have been made. Why did no one do anything? Like push me down a well?

Luckily, there is no photographic evidence of this atrocity. Maybe because people who even attempted to look directly at me would have their retinas burnt. 

I have a friend who used to wear foundation two shades too pale. She looked like a lost Parisian mime. Did I do the honourable thing and tell her? No. No I did not. I let her carry on scaring children and dogs as any good friend would. 

This hall of shame is not unfortunately limited to clothing or awful haircuts. We can add into this mix boyfriends who shouldn't have been. 

Ah yes. The 'what-in-God's-name-did-I-see-in-you?' Museum. 

Everyone has at least one. I, unfortunately have several. 

There's the one who ended up in a mental hospital. 

There's the one who become a monk. 

The four, five or six who turned out to be gay. (That I know of). 

The one who left me for someone else because God told him to. 

I wish I was making this up. I really do. But I'm not. Well, at least I got some good writing material out of it. And some stories to laugh at with my therapist.

And I suppose in a way, we have to have these awful relationships to prove to ourselves what it is we really want. 
But do we? Do we really? I mean, I don't need to drink a bucket of vomit to know that I would actually rather have a cake. 

And yet, somewhere along the way, I really wanted to be with these idiots. In the same way that I was happy to be dressed like a children's entertainer on ecstasy.

They say love is blind. Sometimes I think it can be deaf, mute and quite frankly a little bit slow of learning. 

I guess all we can do is pat ourselves on the back for burning those outfits and ditching those awful men. This is what makes us become complete human beings. Right? Yes. Let's all tell ourselves that... 

As for that shirt, I have no idea what happened to it in the end. I must have seen sense and thrown it out. Maybe Lady Gaga has it? Maybe it is being used by woodsmen to protect themselves from bears. Who knows... Who knows.... 

I will not think about you naked. Promise.

A question was posed to me a couple of days ago. A question of the sex and relationship kind. I love a good question of the sex and relationship kind. And once a question is posed to me, I like to have a good old ponder. And then an ice cream. And then a further ponder. And then I like to share my views with you stunningly beautiful people. You are, you know, each and every one of you. Except you. Put your clothes back on.

The question went thus - 

'Can a straight man and a straight woman ever have a completely platonic friendship without either of them thinking of the other in a sexual way, ever?'

My first reaction to this was - Absolutely. Of course. I have many straight single male friends and there has never been even the slightest question of anything more between us. 

And then I thought, 'Really?... Really? No question at all? Really?' and then I thought, 'Hmm, maybe you're right, Second Me... The more I think about it, the more you could be right...'

If I think of my straight male friends, some of them did, of course, come with the initial thought of 'Oh hello you... Would you like to put your head between my breasts?' but then we become friends and heads in breasts is just considered a faux pas.

And for the ones that it has never crossed my mind to think of in that dirty dirty way, not at all, not even once, not even if I had had a bath filled with tequila, how can I be completely sure it has never once crossed their mind. I mean, look at me. I'm hot. I would. 

Narcissistic comments aside, I think that a purely platonic relationship is possible.

But maybe only if the two people involved are very unattractive. Or have got to the stage where the relationship is very close and it would be like getting down and dirty with your brother or sister. The thought of which has made me vom in my mouth a little bit. 

But in any friendship, at some stage, bumping uglies will probably cross your mind. But I guess, it then depends how that thought makes you feel. If it's a bit vomey in your mouth, then it's probably not right.

Getting back to nature, we should really all be having sex with each other all the time. To, you know, populate the planet and that. It's only boring society that says that that's not acceptable these days. So maybe these thoughts are always there and we are just constantly filtering them out of our heads just to be able to get on with our lives. It would be pretty tough to get any work done that's for sure, if we were just having to have sex with everybody. And when would we get time to eat? Think about it... These are the dangers of non platonic relationships. Take note kids, Just Say No.

When you least expect it

In the last few years, dating websites have been popping up all over the virtual shop like moles in a beautifully newly mown croquet lawn. One thing that is obvious in this is that so many people are searching for love. I mean, like, google searching for love. But the only thing I can see that this can result in is lots of money for I_am_desperate_for_a_man_who_is_in_no_way_like_the_last_twentyfive_shitheads_I've_dated. Com. 

I'm not going to have a go at dating websites here. Of course, in this day and age, meeting new people can be really difficult. Especially in a city like London, where the abnormal act of actually striking up a conversation with a stranger usually results in a swift pepper spraying. 

I know lots of people who have met through dating sites and are wonderfully happy. Indeed, my own little sojourn into the world wide weird web has giving me a lot of material to use in these blogs. And tales to regale my therapist with. 

It's the act of actively looking for love that I'm going to talk about. There is the age old saying that love happens when you least expect it. For those of us who have been single since the Vikings invaded, anyone who hands out this superduper helpful advice is risking a good old fashioned punch in the face. 

Of course, I'm not flyering for potential boyfriends or checking the ring finger of every man I sit next to on a bus. But, of course, when you are single and not wanting to be you can find yourself buying things to help you become more attractive, going to places to try to meet potential mates and Internet dating. 

And yet, in my experience, the people who have found true wonderfully slushy greeting card type love have stumbled across it, sometimes on websites, at a point in their lives when they are so ridiculously happy that everyone falls in love with them on sight. 

I mean, when have you ever heard a love story that started with 'I saw her from across the room, she looked tired, miserable, no self confidence and with an air of desperation, I knew I had to speak to her at once...'

Next time you are on a tube, train, bus, sexual health clinic, anywhere where there are lots of people, have a look to see who are the most attractive people in the crowd. Male and female. And then, what is it that is attractive about them? The clothes they are wearing? Hair? Make up? Possibly. (Men do look hot with eyeliner). But more than likely it is that walking with air of confidence, that complete happiness in themselves. This is something that draws people in. 

Instead of spending money on dating websites, or things that will make you more attractive, why not spend money on things that will make you happy. Like ice cream. A weekend at the beach. A week in Brad Pitt's underwear. Because these things can just as easily lead you down the path to love. And if they don't, you'll be happy and won't care anyway. 

Now, if you'll excuse me, Ben, Jerry and I have to pack, we've booked ourselves in for a week away in Benedict Cumberbatch's Briefs. (Try saying that three times with marbles in your mouth - or not - whatever makes you happy). 

Breasts are not news

As you are only able to see the (completely accurate) cartoon of my legs, and not a full length picture, cartoon or otherwise, it is important that you are aware that I have very large breasts. I mean that it is important for the purposes of this blog. Not just as a boast. 

Lets talk about The Sun. The National newspaper not the hardly ever viewed orb in the sky. 

Reading the sun goes a bit like this - Page One - outrage at the latest thing we have decided to be outraged by. Usually paedophiles.

Page two - look who got thrown out of The X factor.

Page three - woman with breasts.

Page four - Ahhh! Look! Kate Middleton with a puppy. 

Why is this acceptable? (The naked woman with the puppies- not Duchess of Cambridge the puppy) Has this become like background noise to us now and we don't even think about what a ridiculous idea it is. 

There is a wonderful campaign running at the moment called No More Page 3. It is calling for The Sun to get rid of its topless girlie pictures. This is a campaign I am fully behind. It is my opinion that these dated pictures are large part of the reason that otherwise reasonable men think that it is ok to downright stare, to comment as you pass them in the street and even occasionally grab, if you happen to have large breasts. 

Almost as if having been blessed with oversized breasticles, you are automatically giving permission to every Tom, Dick and Wanker to treat you like dirt. 

One time, a man, who had his arm around his girlfriend reached out to grab my breast as I passed the couple. I wish I was joking. I really do. 

If you saw someone with a huge nose, is it acceptable to whisper 'massive conk' at them as they pass? Is it normal behaviour to maybe sneak a little stroke of their appendage? Of course it isn't. Breasts are a body part like any other.

But, I have to deal with comments on a daily basis. A perfectly nice stroll through the park is blackened as a man sneers 'cracking tits' at you as he slimes past. I am not exaggerating when I say daily basis. Truly. 

Don't get me wrong. This is not a 'my gold shoes are too tight and my pearl necklace is choking me' type blog. I am more than happy with what I've got. Yes, of course, there is the backache, the having to wear two parachutes tied together instead of a bra, the black eyes when jogging. And, indeed, big breasts are, in general, a wonderful thing. All breasts - big, small, round, square all colours, shapes, sizes and creeds. Breast should be celebrated. But not like this. 

The Sun's arguments for this ridiculous feature  that it is clinging onto desperately, include the word 'harmless'. It will not admit, that this might be the only reason this awful paper sells. But when children are subjected to this feature on a daily basis, on trains, in waiting rooms, at home, what kind of 'harmless' message are we giving to them?

This world is already an unstable place in terms of the horrific things that young people have access to with the progression of the Internet. Do we need to add this into the mix too?

We are telling young girls that this is something they should aspire to. Their fifteen minutes of fame. We are telling young boys that girls want to be looked at as sex objects. They love it. This is completely normal. Go on, have a squeeze...

The buck has to stop somewhere and I say it should be here. 

Because breasts are not news. 

Sign this petition and make it stop

http://www.change.org/en-GB/petitions/dominic-mohan-take-the-bare-boobs-out-of-the-sun-nomorepage3

Does he like me?

From time to time I get some messages from you lovely lot , my readers, asking me for some relationship advice. Very flattering indeed that you think of me some kind of relationship Buddha. But strange too, as I am more of a relationship Gandhi, with my choice of abstinence. Or rather, having abstinence unwantedly thrust upon me. 

About 90% of the questions I am asked in face to face real life by actual friends and also by lovely stranger-to-me messaging women essentially boil down to the same thing:

Does he like me?

Does he love me?

Does he still like me?

Does he still love me?

And, of course, the answer is, how can I possibly know? In some cases I've never met you or him so I have absolutely no way of knowing from a one sided email. But, the response I give is pretty much always the same. And, I think, pretty much always accurate. 

Instead of trawling through his messages looking for hidden meanings 'he said 'see you later' at the end of his text, does that mean he WANTS to see me later, or like he feels he's being held at gunpoint to see me later?'

 

Or analysing every single look he gives you or doesn't give or times he touches your shoulder and agonising yourself to death over these meaningless things.

The answer lies in this one simple question. 

Do you like yourself? 

If the answer is yes, then the chances are he probably does too. It is no surprise or huge secret that people like spending time with people who are comfortable in their own skin. If you are happy to spend time in your own company, are happy with the way your life is and are brimming with self confidence. Then why would he not like you? The only reason I can see is because he is a class A idiot. 

Any amount of time you spend agonising about the things that are wrong in your life, your bodily defects, (of which, I assure you, you have none) then the more negativity you will create around yourself. 

I know it's harder said than done a lot of the time, especially when we are constantly being told by the media, advertising etc that are many reasons in life to not be happy, and that if you buy this shampoo all your dreams will come true. But a positive mental attitude makes people love to be around you. 

There are two types of people in life, there are lights and there are drains. 

Lights are pretty self explanatory. Lights are the people you have all the time in the world for. The people who you make you feel better just by being in their company. They are also so goddamn attractive. But that attractiveness isn't from an innate natural beauty (although annoyingly, sometimes it is) it comes from their positivity and being comfortable in themselves. 

Then there are drains. Not all drains are obvious at first sight. They are the sort of people that it is a bit of a chore to be around. They can only really focus in what is wrong with their lives, their bodies, the world in general. They essentially drain energy from you whenever you see them. Even if these people have natural beauty, it pretty much gets covered up by the negative energy they chose to sit in. 

Now, these are of course quite extreme ends of the scale. 

But what you have to think to yourself is,

'Am I the sort of person I would  choose to spend time with?'

 

If not, then take measures to become that person. 

 

If you spend your time pointing out the things that are wrong with you then yes, he will notice them too. How could he not? You're shoving them in his face!

 

Men never EVER notice the things we hate about our bodies, so why show them to him? 

 

If trying to be confident is uncomfortable for you at first, and for a lot of women it will be, then pretend. Pretend to be a confident women. After a little while, you just will be. 

And when you are, how could this man fail to want to be around you and bathe in your light. And quite frankly, if he is not drawn to you like a moth, then plenty of other men soon will be. 

You'll be covered in moths. Umm, I mean men. Or Moths. If you prefer. 

The Ex Files

I like to think that I am a bit of an expert when it comes to relationships (How to avoid them, how to have a man never call you again, and generally how to do all of things that ensure you that you will die alone). Which is why so many of my female friends come to me for advice in all things romance.

Nope, I can't explain it either, but there we go.

Last night I had a dinner with a wonderful friend of mine, Emily. Emily is a lawyer, Emily is a tough, hard working, no nonsense girl. Last night, Emily was a blithering wreck.

I had never seen her like this, she looked like a survivor from 28 Days Later. I wanted to put my arms around her, to comfort her but I was scared that she would eat them.

Her issue was that her boyfriend of six months or so, was still in regular contact with his ex girlfriend and it was driving her crazy.

'It's killing me' She would say between downing buckets of red wine 'I'm trying to stay calm and collected but this Bitch won't leave him alone'

She then stabbed her chicken in a way to ensure that it was really truly dead and looked up at me with the eyes of a desperate woman.

'Aren't I enough for him?'

Let's face it, we've all been here. Especially when it comes to fledgling relationships. You aren't really secure on the ground you are standing and then there's this ever watchful presence of the last woman who owned your man occasionally throwing hand grenades onto the battlefield.

It's quite a dominating presence, this woman who as far as you are aware is prettier, slimmer, cleverer (wouldn't use made up words like cleverer), cooks, cleans, does charity work, amazing in bed, is an all round Goddess and you just don't match up.

Well, let me tell you what I told poor demented Emily from under the dinner table....

He is not the one putting her on a pedestal....

You are.

Of course every man is going to have ex girlfriends, unless you date a virgin, which at my age is a touch creepy. Or we make ex girlfriends illegal. I'm sure it's on the coalition's list of things to get round to.

Some men will stay in touch with their Exes, of course, as will some women. (Sorry, that was a bit obvious, if it was just men keeping in touch with their exes and not women I'm pretty sure that's stalking...)
But, and you will have heard this time and time again, he is with you now. He is not with her. And there is a reason for this. There is a reason they are not together and there is a reason that you are.
You can drive yourself crazy over it, and ruin your relationship or you can behave like a strong independent woman who knows that she is loved and happy and secure. I know which of those two I would rather be in a relationship with. If I was a lesbian. But that's another story.

The fact of the matter is that they are friends now, which is not a bad thing, a man needs female friends for when it comes to help in his relationships, it's very healthy. In fact, if he stays in regular contact with her, it will only serve as a constant reminder of why they aren't together anymore, she won't become this perfect mythical being that she is in your head.

You just need to get the image of them bumping uglies out of your head and you'll be fine.

Looking back on it, bumping uglies might not have been the term I should have used. We had to pay for a lot of broken glass at the restaurant last night.

On the 9th Anniversary of my 21st Birthday

For today's little pick me up, I would like to talk about getting old and wrinkly.

Yes, it's something that we've read about time and time again, heard endless jokes about things going south that really have no business being there. The advertising industry feeds off our inevitable decline, wrinkles, hair loss and, gulp, hair gain.

But we all think the same thing, every single one of us young idiots think

'It'll never happen to me'

'My skin is made of a fine balance of plastic and rubber and will stay this pert and bouncy till I am laid up in my glass coffin looking as beautiful as snow white'

Which is why we are taken entirely by surprise when the decline begins.

We shouldn't be. We knew it was coming. It's inevitable. Like Piers Morgan. Slightly less horrific, but equally inevitable.

These days, I won't take my make up off before I go to bed just in case I have a panic attack when I look in the bathroom mirror in the morning.

I think I alone am sustaining the entire global sale of cover stick and foundation. I am frightened to get on a boat just in case the sheer weight of my concealer sinks it.

But what can we do? Accept it as inevitable and grow old gracefully and beautifully like Helen Mirren or Dame Judi?

Let's face it, if I didn't look as beautiful as them at twenty five, I don't have much hope in later life.

Or surgery? Fill my face with enough plastic to make a to-scale model of Buckingham Palace?

Nope... That doesn't appeal really. Except, that maybe Prince Harry could come and live in me.....

Sorry.....That got weird.

I think that we should welcome back with open arms the era of the corset. Sure, we'll have to endure a touch of fainting and the slight blueness of the lips, but think how slim and pert we'll all look! In A & E....

I truly believe that every small line that gets collected on your face over time is a loving wonderful memory to be worn with pride and a big smile. A sign that you have lived a wonderful, enriched life.

Or at least, that is what I tell myself as I lie, face down in my anti-wrinkle cream quietly sobbing....