How to be a better girlfriend

I am furious. My blood is boiling. I cannot see straight.

I have just read an 'article' (the quotation marks are a representation of me doing bunny rabbit ear fingers, with a tone of extreme sarcasm in my voice - I thought I'd better let you know, as these things sometimes don't come across in the reading), this 'article' is all about how to be a better girlfriend. This is a horrific enough concept in itself. Sure, I am all for improving relationships, with... Oh, I don't know, some new age concept, such as communication, but, this 'article' seems to have been written at some point during the 1950's. If it was, we could read and have a giggle and say 'How stupid we were back then, haven't we come a long way?' and then go back to waxing the cat. However, this was published TODAY. I will not direct you to the 'article', as it deserves absolutely no traffic. I will, however, share with you some of it's highlights....



5. Stock your fridge with beer. Never run out of beer when he comes to see you. A mediocre girlfriend will go out and buy beer once he comes over, but a fantastic girlfriend will have the beer already waiting.

Good Lord, imagine being only a mediocre girlfriend. The kind of stupid bitch who goes out to buy beer every time her man comes over. Presumably because she is spending the rest of her time writing poetry about him, or embroidering a portrait of him into her lacy bedspread. Now, that's the kind of unthinking woman who deserves to be shown the back of his hand to remind her who's boss!


6. Keep making the effort. Even if you two have been together for a year, don't start dressing like a slob and all of a sudden put on an abundance of weight. Of course women can tend to yo-yo, especially after the holidays, but if you gain too much — as superficial as it sounds — he is not going to be happy.
Try to maintain the way you were when you met him. Or better yourself because you are so happy to be with this man that you love to look good for him. Dress up at least once in a while. He will be pleasantly surprised and turned on!

That's right - you are so happy to be with the man, that you should be in a perpetual state of discomfort. You are so happy, that you should feel the need to 'better yourself'. Because, let's face it, somehow you fooled him into liking you for who you are, (well done on that witchcraft by the way!) and God forbid he finds out that you are human under that perfect body! May I recommend plastic surgery? Because, the truth is, you are bloody lucky he is with you now. In a year or two, he'll be having sex with his secretary and you'll only have yourself to blame.



 
9. Wake up with a smile. Men love a positive woman they can wake up to in the morning with the glass being half full instead of half empty. What will score you more points is to let him lie in while you make breakfast or serve him coffee in bed. 




Great tip! Maybe I should also iron his shirts, make his packed lunch and use this time to do my hair and make-up. Because, as in handy tip number 6, if he wakes up and I look like a normal human being, he'll probably pour scolding water on me, like I damn well deserve.


12. Remember: Food is the way to a man's heart. You do not have to be a gourmet chef, but if you have a few exciting recipes in your repertoire, then you will look even better. This is especially useful when he has his friends around. Give them their guy time and make food. If cooking is not your thing, have a great array of take-away menus at your disposal.


Yep. Make food for him and his friends. Don't talk to them though. They've been doing man things all day. They don't want to hear about periods and babies. Back in the kitchen, Sweetheart!



13. Learn his language. When he's thirsty, he's thirsty. When he says "yes" he means "yes" and not "no." When he says he's hungry, well you better get some food in his stomach soon. Also note men don't like to walk around when they are hungry looking for a restaurant as us women will do.

Yep, when he says he's hungry, you'd better get some food in his stomach, as is your job, in fact your only reason for being.
And man, us women are such stupid bitches, looking for restaurants when we are hungry. We should be happy to lick the chewing gum off the pavement just like he does!



 
I feel I've learned a lot from this 'smarticle'. I now know EXACTLY how to behave in a relationship and I will damn well make sure not to mess it up by in any way having a personality.

Phew. Now, if you'll excuse me, I really shouldn't be wasting my time writing, which is a task that really should be left to a super clever man, I'm going to go and curl my hair and bake a delicious apple pie to see if I can bag a husband.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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.

Breasts, jugs, buzoongas and over the shoulder boulder holders.

Ah, the weekend. My favourite of the end family.

So I was chatting to a guy last night who has a beautiful girlfriend. Talented, lovely, amazing figure and big boobed. What could be better than that? Nothing. I thought. Well, as it turns out, to his own admission, she has no sense of humour. He was saying that he enjoys his times with the lads because he can actually let go and laugh. Which is something they have to 'agree to disagree on'.

I think that's dreadful. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying they need to split up right away. That there's no hope. I mean they are a lovely couple. But, is it not important that the person you spend most of your quality time with makes you laugh? I mean, currently I spend most of my quality time with me, and I'm hilarious. But not everyone is so lucky. What happens when the sex slows down? (not literally, I meant over a period of time) When, the boobs go south and the wrinkles set in? Although I guess laughter lines aren't really an issue in this case. Isn't laughter essential? Is that just me? Shouldn't you want to spend all your time with that person because they light up your life? Maybe that is just me. I guess people have their lives lit up in different ways. Perhaps laughter is just something that I look for. But I hate the thought that people would rather go for looks than fun. But again this could just be a personal preference seeing as I shine in one area and not in another.....

 

But now on a serious note. Yes that's right. I'm getting a bit serious here. Warning!

 

So I'm driving along and I'm sat in traffic. Pulling up next to me was a van, driven by a man who was sat looking over at me and leering. Properly leering. With this disgusting grin on his face. I tried not to catch his eye. As the traffic moved forward, he stayed level with me for about a mile. There were no cars in front of him and he would stay level with me and gawp. Smiling and laughing.

At first I was annoyed, but that turned into angry and intimidated. I feel sick thinking about it now. 

I have always had a lot of comments as I walk down the road 'big tits' etc... My sister and I were having this very conversation a while ago... in regards to my frontal globes, but where do you draw the line? At what point does it go from a comment to harassment?  

What made this guy or any other guy think that that is acceptable behaviour? He gives neanderthals a bad name. What did he think I was going to do? Get them out? And wibble them a bit?

Now I know that none of the fellas who read this would dream of this sort of behaviour, they may think 'check out the jugs on that' when a well endowed young lady walks by. They may even lose control of their eyeballs as they become magnetised towards the north pole that is the lady bazoongas. But they would never, ever say it out loud in such a crass manner. I don't think....

But gentlemen you are our buffers. You are the ones that have a gateway into a fellas psyche. So, think a bit. The next time you hear a guy talking in a way about a girl in your company that is unacceptable, or would make her feel uncomfortable, let him know it isn't cool. It isn't nice and we don't like it.

 

 

If she's out of earshot, let rip. After all, she does have bloody lovely jugs.