I have thought of one story to tell you...
To get the cheapest flights I had to do three stopovers over 36 hours which, I can assure you, is not fun. On my middle flight I had my aisle seat ready and waiting for me like I'd planned (aisle is always best, you don't have to move people and it's quite rare that people move you. Also, there's extra leg room although I have been known to get run over by a trolley on a few occasions) but a French couple were sitting seperately and asked me to move so they could sit together yadda yadda yadda no problem. Except I then had a middle seat between an Irishman and an Arab guy. Provisionally this was fine except the Arab guy spoke minimal English, was clearly sexist as he ignored the female air hostesses but not the men, and held up the plane because he wouldn't put his seat up or put his seatbelt on. Very comforting, eh. He slept for the first half of the flight lounging extravagantly - and let me tell you I had to utilise some sneaky moves to get my armrest - but then woke up after the food and took to just staring at me. It wasn't all the time but it was frequent and held for long enough to make me feel very uncomfortable. He then started to put his hands down his trousers to 'adjust' himself from time to time. I simply decided to ignore him thinking he would pass out again but I was very wrong. When the Irish guy fell asleep he pulled his blanket over his lap, stuck his hands down his trousers and started massaging his prominent erection. Well, my eyebrows disappeared into my hairline and are yet to come back down. I woke up the Irish guy and called a flight attendant who said "I'm sorry, all the seats are full and it's not like anyone is going to want to swap."
....
Yes, I get that, but I'm a nineteen year old girl next to a middle aged pervert, cut me some slack here! Silly Emirates, I will be using that woman's cavalier attitude to get me some First Class seats all the way home!
Thankfully the Irishman found it hilarious and was more than happy to sit next to the Arab guy anyway. But still, it was only one more seat between me and some scarring emotional trauma, so when I got off the flight in Bangkok I did the one thing I know how.
I got drunk.
Saturday, 22 December 2012
Down Under
So I've just completed my first week in Sydney, Australia visiting the glorious Sarah (who also has a blog, Inane Ramblings, we are so indie) and I've had a whale of a time. Can I say that? Do people still say that? Either way, I have. I haven't done that much sightseeing as such because I got a pretty awesome view of Sydney when we went skydiving over it! I was the one in the corner freaking out when we first arrived, I started shaking, I went pale, I took up smoking again temporarily, I couldn't speak to anyone. Then four hours went past when we were waiting for the clouds to part and, frankly, I got bored. By our jump I was running around, punching the air, swearing to the high heavens and ready to "do this!" Sarah who had been completely calm up until that point got into the helicopter and suddenly went "I can't look down, I can't look down, I'm not looking down!" My skydiving bloke then noticed her leg strap had come undone which did not help her vertigo as her partner still didn't notice her prodding him going "uuuuh excuse me???" But she got to jump fully tied up and she had a great time. For me it was amazing, the view was incredible and the feeling of falling was amazing. I highly recommend it to everyone, although when he told me to fly the parachute after we released it I had images of me plunging us into the sea, but apparently he shared the same visions as he never truly let go. Plusthefact, I was so weak I could hardly change direction!
We've had some days just relaxing on the beach, and some nights watching my burn turn into a good base tan which I am determined to top up on a daily basis! I have met some truly amazing people and had a hell of a lot of fun.
Like last night: we started off in a salsa club and I ended up on a cruise yacht stealing three bottles of wine and then sneaking off again to the admiration of my very poor friends. Now that we've got the booze sorted I think we can hit it again tonight.
I'm trying to think of sarcastic and funny things to tell you all but I've just had so much fun I can't make fun of any of it!
We've had some days just relaxing on the beach, and some nights watching my burn turn into a good base tan which I am determined to top up on a daily basis! I have met some truly amazing people and had a hell of a lot of fun.
Like last night: we started off in a salsa club and I ended up on a cruise yacht stealing three bottles of wine and then sneaking off again to the admiration of my very poor friends. Now that we've got the booze sorted I think we can hit it again tonight.
I'm trying to think of sarcastic and funny things to tell you all but I've just had so much fun I can't make fun of any of it!
Tuesday, 27 November 2012
My dick is much bigger than yours..
I've just been witness to the wonder that is testosterone fuelled alpha domination. A wonder that is only partially understood by women with a temper let alone the normal, happy damsels of today. It's something that I like to refer to as "peacocking" (which I'm pretty sure is a scientific term, kudos to me) and humourously reminds me of every single David Attenborough documentary I've ever seen that ends in the animal with the smaller pair of testicles running away with its tail in between said testicles.
The amusing thing is that it takes absolutely nothing to trigger this natural instinct to be top dawg in our men. Don't get me wrong, I have flashes of entitlement when I encounter another strong female personality and, on occasion, my hackles have been raised when I have felt threatened.But I've found - finally, after yearsof experimentation - that fighting fire with ice is the best possible tactic. My secret weapon is indifference and it serves me well, not only in the field of petty domination but it also reminds me that I have nails, not claws, and conditioned hair, not a willd mane.
(Manly) Men, on the other hand, appear to forget that they now strut about on two legs and live in a civilised society - anything can be a threat to their dominance and it amazes me that it doesn't end in blows what with all the pupil dilation and fist-clenching. For example, I'm currently in a computer room at university with two very blokey men and we were asked to keep it down by the only other occupant of the room. In defence of the boys I have no doubt if they'd been asked politely - although I now realise this is an unrealistic option - they would have adhered but instead this other occupant decided to tyranically letcure them, press his dominance through his contacts and insult their knowledge. Immediately the boys were biting back with their own comments, physically puffing out their chests (I kid you not) and undermining his rant thereby successfully intimidating him. To put the icing on the cake they suggested that he had in fact been trying to intimidate them and be aggressive but, instead of reacting how he thought they would, it really fucking pissed them off. Apologies were made from both sides, but only after the accuser had apologised for his initial behaviour. I think it's pretty obvious who won that battle and I have no doubt that if we started chatting again the other guy would keep quiet because, in scientific boy terms, he just got owned.
My reaction would have been a cursory apology before he got a chance to rant because, let's be honest, the altercation wasted everyone's time. Well, from a woman's standpoint anyway. However, I have no doubt the relationship between the three men has now been altered through this necessary, sanctimonious ritual from assumed equality -which left them all uneasy - to the natural Alpha, Beta and TheBitchWithHisTailInBetweenHisBalls.
The amusing thing is that it takes absolutely nothing to trigger this natural instinct to be top dawg in our men. Don't get me wrong, I have flashes of entitlement when I encounter another strong female personality and, on occasion, my hackles have been raised when I have felt threatened.But I've found - finally, after yearsof experimentation - that fighting fire with ice is the best possible tactic. My secret weapon is indifference and it serves me well, not only in the field of petty domination but it also reminds me that I have nails, not claws, and conditioned hair, not a willd mane.
(Manly) Men, on the other hand, appear to forget that they now strut about on two legs and live in a civilised society - anything can be a threat to their dominance and it amazes me that it doesn't end in blows what with all the pupil dilation and fist-clenching. For example, I'm currently in a computer room at university with two very blokey men and we were asked to keep it down by the only other occupant of the room. In defence of the boys I have no doubt if they'd been asked politely - although I now realise this is an unrealistic option - they would have adhered but instead this other occupant decided to tyranically letcure them, press his dominance through his contacts and insult their knowledge. Immediately the boys were biting back with their own comments, physically puffing out their chests (I kid you not) and undermining his rant thereby successfully intimidating him. To put the icing on the cake they suggested that he had in fact been trying to intimidate them and be aggressive but, instead of reacting how he thought they would, it really fucking pissed them off. Apologies were made from both sides, but only after the accuser had apologised for his initial behaviour. I think it's pretty obvious who won that battle and I have no doubt that if we started chatting again the other guy would keep quiet because, in scientific boy terms, he just got owned.
My reaction would have been a cursory apology before he got a chance to rant because, let's be honest, the altercation wasted everyone's time. Well, from a woman's standpoint anyway. However, I have no doubt the relationship between the three men has now been altered through this necessary, sanctimonious ritual from assumed equality -which left them all uneasy - to the natural Alpha, Beta and TheBitchWithHisTailInBetweenHisBalls.
Monday, 3 September 2012
Women Talk
A friend told me last night, in the middle of a not particularly positive discussion about my relationship, that she didn't see me and my other half together in five years, and just the night before I'd had the exact same conversation with another close friend but reversed. It got me to thinking about how little we know our friend's relationships, really. Yes we spill all the fantastic and awful sexual details - for example I know that both those women have used foodstuffs during foreplay instead of designated sexual lubricants and they know that I once played for the other team.
We dissect our conversations constantly with out girlfriends and often jump to irrational conclusions because of this - "He said he lied to save your feelings? Nuhuh, men are not that emotionally aware he was definitely cheating on you."
We tell our girlfriends about our deep and dark desires to do that tall dark and handsome man we met on a night out and they promptly put us in our place either with: "Don't you dare be so stupid to ruin something so good." or
"No way, I'm the single one, this isn't fair...Tell you what I'll fuck him for you."
But how much do we actually talk about the men we're with? Sure my friends know the secrets of his that I've been allowed to talk about (and some I haven't); they've met the man, loved the man and some have been attracted to the man; I keep them updated about the changes, the fights, the romantic nights but none of that gives them any basis to really know him.
I'm unaware if they know he listens to books, or he loves to cook, or he never lets me go while he's asleep. They certainly don't know we've gotten to the stage in our relationship when all bodily functions are mutually accepted as hilarious.
Maybe I was quick to judge two nights ago and maybe my friend was quick to judge me last night but, as she put it, "I'm happy if you're happy. If you're not then I want you to make a change to ensure that you will be." I guess I forgot to mention in my moment of doubt the tickle fights we have that leave me weeping in laughter and him weeping in pain. In fact, I'm sure if he told his friends my glee at his discomfort they'd have a few things to say but in the meantime I plan on proving my friend wrong.
And, after re-reading this, possibly trying to fix the balance of romance and flatulence in my wonderful relationship.
We dissect our conversations constantly with out girlfriends and often jump to irrational conclusions because of this - "He said he lied to save your feelings? Nuhuh, men are not that emotionally aware he was definitely cheating on you."
We tell our girlfriends about our deep and dark desires to do that tall dark and handsome man we met on a night out and they promptly put us in our place either with: "Don't you dare be so stupid to ruin something so good." or
"No way, I'm the single one, this isn't fair...Tell you what I'll fuck him for you."
But how much do we actually talk about the men we're with? Sure my friends know the secrets of his that I've been allowed to talk about (and some I haven't); they've met the man, loved the man and some have been attracted to the man; I keep them updated about the changes, the fights, the romantic nights but none of that gives them any basis to really know him.
I'm unaware if they know he listens to books, or he loves to cook, or he never lets me go while he's asleep. They certainly don't know we've gotten to the stage in our relationship when all bodily functions are mutually accepted as hilarious.
Maybe I was quick to judge two nights ago and maybe my friend was quick to judge me last night but, as she put it, "I'm happy if you're happy. If you're not then I want you to make a change to ensure that you will be." I guess I forgot to mention in my moment of doubt the tickle fights we have that leave me weeping in laughter and him weeping in pain. In fact, I'm sure if he told his friends my glee at his discomfort they'd have a few things to say but in the meantime I plan on proving my friend wrong.
And, after re-reading this, possibly trying to fix the balance of romance and flatulence in my wonderful relationship.
Wednesday, 8 August 2012
Acting, darling
This is going to be different - summary of the acting trip to North America!
First off, my other half and I spent a week in WI with my family doing all sorts of nonsense like playing with bows and arrows, midnight fishing and, well, shooting guns. It was my first time shooting a real gun and so after I fired I swung round to my cousin and Dave and yelled "Oh my god that's got some punch!". Took me a couple of seconds to realise they had dove behind a bench and were screaming instructions about putting the gun down..woops?
Oh by the way, I'm a pretty good shot. That Mountain Dew can had it coming from the start.
It was a fantastic week - from convincing Dave he had to wrap up to go to the movies because of the aircon, to my family getting me high on sugary drinks and watching me climb the walls. Fishing on the lake in the middle of the night truly was fantastic..until we heard some rocks getting bashed against each other and Zach said: "Oh yeah, that's how the otters eat, they break open the clams.....except they don't eat late at night.."
Of course, imaged of a crazed psychopathic geologist jumped into my head and we swiftly departed.
And finally, on the last night, we went wolf and bear stalking (from the safety of the car, naturally) after hearing something pretty damned huge do a circuit of the outskirts of the garden. I've never spent a better three hours in my life, despite the fact I'm now sure all the "eyes" we were seeing in the woods were probably fireflies. Or maybe it was the Dew talking.
New York was also amazing. The city itself is a scary scary place - until you get into the Sex And The City parts of town, they're fabulous - but the amount of different and wonderful people you meet is insane. We went for a couple of drinks with a Broadway star (Mags) and a professional opera singer (Marla) which turned into us going to a Broadway leaving party and finishing off the night with karaoke - and, after subtly selling myself to this group of people for hours about my Grade 8 distinction - I murdered a musical number and buried my shame in many more gin and tonics thinking 'Oh good god, I just caterwauled in front of Bill from Mamma Mia.' My lovely new friends said there was absolutely nothing wrong with my "performance" but the next morning at breakfast one of the Jamie's turned round and said "You HAD to pick the song that was well below your range didn't you." Well, I guess that sums it up.
Performing in New York was, of course, incredible! Feel terribly privileged to have an off-broadway credit at 19, and the fact that I managed to drink myself under the table every night being underage. Beneath it all, I'm clearly still a student.
There are just so many possibilities in New York - take the one night I was going to go to bed early: I got a second wind in my sails after one drink with the family but was sent back to my hotel with strict instructions to go to sleep. I was so close to doing as I was told - I made it back to my hotel, even! - when I started chatting to some beautiful black girls who were sleeping outside the hotel to audition for a reality modelling tv show and three hours later, and plenty tequila later, I realise I am effectively missing and my poor director is worried sick. I thought it was alright to stay out a little longer because "well, I'm practically inside the hotel" but it wasn't..my bad.
Tell you what was wonderful - walking out of the hotel the next morning coffee in hand and sunglasses practically stapled to my face - and having five previously unknown women to you greet you with a cheer as they explain you helped them write their applications for them. Who knew you could do such great deeds totally shitfaced. And an awesome catwalk.
Oh and, quel surprise, I forgot to see the statue of liberty. BUT instead I ended up in the restaurant where a SATC episode had been filmed and got free drinks all night from the staff talking about my love for Mr Big. If that's not NY then I don't know what is.
Canada was also fantastic - we were given the penthouse suite in NY and when we got to Halifax we had a hot tub on the deck overlooking the sea! (Don't ask me which sea, I'm not very good with that kind of stuff, but it was definitely cold.) We had a good run in Halifax and spent a good couple of nights in the casino getting pictures taken with the replica titanic staircase - oooerr, right?
I think convincing the Canadians that the boys in Scotland wear kilts as everyday wear was probably one of the highlights as one of said Canadians turned around and said "Oh yeah yeah yeah yeah, I have a Scottish friend and he is always wearing his kilt, oh yeah, I know all about your culture."
Oh, yeah...?
I also finally started my book so watch this space...
I had a fantastic trip, although getting my passport taken off me at Heathrow was far from ideal seeing as I had seven minutes to make my connection. I managed to get fast tracked through security but, for the first time in my bloody life - with 5 minutes to go, mind - the damned machines beeped when I walked through and I had to get searched. When I eventually managed to start sprinting through the departures lounge I dropped my massive hair clip thing and yelled "FUCK IT", clearly thinking this would give me a boost of super power speed so I could get my plane.. Anyway, when I was hopping down the escalator a man turned round to me and said "Is this yours?" holding out my hair clip! Three guys had thrown it between themselves and then down to the guy on the escalator so that when I passed he could give it to me! Made my day.
This isn't like one of my normal blogs but it was truly amazing.
OH some more highlights: gorgeous man on plane there and gorgeous man on streets of NY who stopped to stretch out in front of me. Mum and I tried to follow him down the street but my aunt wouldn't let us...probably for the best.
I'll be back.
First off, my other half and I spent a week in WI with my family doing all sorts of nonsense like playing with bows and arrows, midnight fishing and, well, shooting guns. It was my first time shooting a real gun and so after I fired I swung round to my cousin and Dave and yelled "Oh my god that's got some punch!". Took me a couple of seconds to realise they had dove behind a bench and were screaming instructions about putting the gun down..woops?
Oh by the way, I'm a pretty good shot. That Mountain Dew can had it coming from the start.
It was a fantastic week - from convincing Dave he had to wrap up to go to the movies because of the aircon, to my family getting me high on sugary drinks and watching me climb the walls. Fishing on the lake in the middle of the night truly was fantastic..until we heard some rocks getting bashed against each other and Zach said: "Oh yeah, that's how the otters eat, they break open the clams.....except they don't eat late at night.."
Of course, imaged of a crazed psychopathic geologist jumped into my head and we swiftly departed.
And finally, on the last night, we went wolf and bear stalking (from the safety of the car, naturally) after hearing something pretty damned huge do a circuit of the outskirts of the garden. I've never spent a better three hours in my life, despite the fact I'm now sure all the "eyes" we were seeing in the woods were probably fireflies. Or maybe it was the Dew talking.
New York was also amazing. The city itself is a scary scary place - until you get into the Sex And The City parts of town, they're fabulous - but the amount of different and wonderful people you meet is insane. We went for a couple of drinks with a Broadway star (Mags) and a professional opera singer (Marla) which turned into us going to a Broadway leaving party and finishing off the night with karaoke - and, after subtly selling myself to this group of people for hours about my Grade 8 distinction - I murdered a musical number and buried my shame in many more gin and tonics thinking 'Oh good god, I just caterwauled in front of Bill from Mamma Mia.' My lovely new friends said there was absolutely nothing wrong with my "performance" but the next morning at breakfast one of the Jamie's turned round and said "You HAD to pick the song that was well below your range didn't you." Well, I guess that sums it up.
Performing in New York was, of course, incredible! Feel terribly privileged to have an off-broadway credit at 19, and the fact that I managed to drink myself under the table every night being underage. Beneath it all, I'm clearly still a student.
There are just so many possibilities in New York - take the one night I was going to go to bed early: I got a second wind in my sails after one drink with the family but was sent back to my hotel with strict instructions to go to sleep. I was so close to doing as I was told - I made it back to my hotel, even! - when I started chatting to some beautiful black girls who were sleeping outside the hotel to audition for a reality modelling tv show and three hours later, and plenty tequila later, I realise I am effectively missing and my poor director is worried sick. I thought it was alright to stay out a little longer because "well, I'm practically inside the hotel" but it wasn't..my bad.
Tell you what was wonderful - walking out of the hotel the next morning coffee in hand and sunglasses practically stapled to my face - and having five previously unknown women to you greet you with a cheer as they explain you helped them write their applications for them. Who knew you could do such great deeds totally shitfaced. And an awesome catwalk.
Oh and, quel surprise, I forgot to see the statue of liberty. BUT instead I ended up in the restaurant where a SATC episode had been filmed and got free drinks all night from the staff talking about my love for Mr Big. If that's not NY then I don't know what is.
Canada was also fantastic - we were given the penthouse suite in NY and when we got to Halifax we had a hot tub on the deck overlooking the sea! (Don't ask me which sea, I'm not very good with that kind of stuff, but it was definitely cold.) We had a good run in Halifax and spent a good couple of nights in the casino getting pictures taken with the replica titanic staircase - oooerr, right?
I think convincing the Canadians that the boys in Scotland wear kilts as everyday wear was probably one of the highlights as one of said Canadians turned around and said "Oh yeah yeah yeah yeah, I have a Scottish friend and he is always wearing his kilt, oh yeah, I know all about your culture."
Oh, yeah...?
I also finally started my book so watch this space...
I had a fantastic trip, although getting my passport taken off me at Heathrow was far from ideal seeing as I had seven minutes to make my connection. I managed to get fast tracked through security but, for the first time in my bloody life - with 5 minutes to go, mind - the damned machines beeped when I walked through and I had to get searched. When I eventually managed to start sprinting through the departures lounge I dropped my massive hair clip thing and yelled "FUCK IT", clearly thinking this would give me a boost of super power speed so I could get my plane.. Anyway, when I was hopping down the escalator a man turned round to me and said "Is this yours?" holding out my hair clip! Three guys had thrown it between themselves and then down to the guy on the escalator so that when I passed he could give it to me! Made my day.
This isn't like one of my normal blogs but it was truly amazing.
OH some more highlights: gorgeous man on plane there and gorgeous man on streets of NY who stopped to stretch out in front of me. Mum and I tried to follow him down the street but my aunt wouldn't let us...probably for the best.
I'll be back.
Wednesday, 13 June 2012
With great jewellery comes great responsibility
Just this past weekend I attended one of my other half's numerous family weddings - with six aunts and uncles each having had more than your standard 2.3 children it's hardly slim pickings now that the cousins are all classified as adults. However, it gives me many annual excuses to go out, buy a dress, wear it once, forget all about it and then get a lovely surprise when it suddenly reappears back into my life. Of course, only after I've gone out and bought another one.What can I say? I'm creating a legacy for my kids.
I intend on building it up for another decade or so first, though, but many family members seem to have different ideas. Most of my man's strong-willed family married young when it was socially acceptable, financially advisable and actually rather fashionable. Oh, and let's not forget the love. However, they now seem to think that because we are engaged we shall also be getting hitched ASAP instead of enjoying (milking) it for the next few years. The majority of the people I spoke to first words were "So when are you getting married?" Okay, yes I can understand the reasoning behind this what with the gorgeous piece of jewellery on my left hand, but, after the tenth person came up to me with an expectant look on their face as if I was going to trample all over the actual bride's big day by announcing that my wedding would be taking place in ten minutes just down the hall, I was exhausted. Apparently only some people understand the "long engagement" effect - which is what I consider 'time to reconsider', you know, just in case he suddenly develops acne, or I turn lesbian or whatever else may happen in our last teen year. I was armed with an inventory of excuses but eventually I snapped and somebody got an earful of the truth, which they reacted to with surprise (I didn't blame them).
"Hey! He agrees with me!"
"Anything to keep her happy, eh?"
"Oi, pal, don't double-oh-seven me, we agreed to be smart, don't make me marry you right here right now to prove a point"
"You know I would"
...
Do I? Well, I suppose I do, and I'd love to but I just don't think I could hack being somebody's 'wife' yet.
And, anyway, after you get married apparently all you hear is "So when are you having kids?" and, bearing in mind that I see a future of wearing tight, gorgeous clothing ahead of me, that really might make me rethink my sexuality.
I intend on building it up for another decade or so first, though, but many family members seem to have different ideas. Most of my man's strong-willed family married young when it was socially acceptable, financially advisable and actually rather fashionable. Oh, and let's not forget the love. However, they now seem to think that because we are engaged we shall also be getting hitched ASAP instead of enjoying (milking) it for the next few years. The majority of the people I spoke to first words were "So when are you getting married?" Okay, yes I can understand the reasoning behind this what with the gorgeous piece of jewellery on my left hand, but, after the tenth person came up to me with an expectant look on their face as if I was going to trample all over the actual bride's big day by announcing that my wedding would be taking place in ten minutes just down the hall, I was exhausted. Apparently only some people understand the "long engagement" effect - which is what I consider 'time to reconsider', you know, just in case he suddenly develops acne, or I turn lesbian or whatever else may happen in our last teen year. I was armed with an inventory of excuses but eventually I snapped and somebody got an earful of the truth, which they reacted to with surprise (I didn't blame them).
"Hey! He agrees with me!"
"Anything to keep her happy, eh?"
"Oi, pal, don't double-oh-seven me, we agreed to be smart, don't make me marry you right here right now to prove a point"
"You know I would"
...
Do I? Well, I suppose I do, and I'd love to but I just don't think I could hack being somebody's 'wife' yet.
And, anyway, after you get married apparently all you hear is "So when are you having kids?" and, bearing in mind that I see a future of wearing tight, gorgeous clothing ahead of me, that really might make me rethink my sexuality.
Saturday, 10 March 2012
The Three Muskateers
There has been a recent upheaval in my life, a challenge a lot of women would not undertake, a change I was not sure how I would cope with - I have just moved into a flat of, god help me, two boys.
Only these aren't just any boys: these are 7:30 awakening, 10 hours a day working, binge drinking medic boys. And I must admit I adore them, after spending a year vetting them in halls at university, obviously.
I can't believe how easy my transition has actually been - we cook dinner (and surprisingly by 'we' I mean 'them' as I'm forever late coming in) and they have managed to refrain from most women=kitchen jokes. Magnus, however, sneakily manages to take advantage of the fact I don't enjoy burnt food ("students shouldn't have standards!") and after starting the process allows me to hastily take over as he distracts himself with something else. He is frequently compared to a goldfish.
In the first week of my living with the boys I did a huge washing of what one might call my 'delicates'. I was prepared to come home early to take them out of the machine and hang them up in my own room so as not to give the other two heart attacks. Can you imagine my shock when I cam home to find it all carefully hung up already in the hall. When questioning Magnus about this development he said: "Oh yeah, Saunders needed the machine..but I wouldn't talk to him about it, it was all a bit distressing, he wasn't sure about thong-hanging ettiquette." Naturally I managed to thank Saunders without turning it into a long winded conversation, but still avoided his laughing gaze and hurried into my own room, hoping he wouldn't ask me to do the same for his boxers.
I'm also learning a lot of male behaviourisms - during Wednesdays, which is movie night (and was fully male before my arrival), I have found it is not acceptable to talk during movies/ask explanations/ask for it to be paused for food/demand a chick flick. Of course, I'll get used to it - but it has made me realise how much our boyfriends put up with and not to expect the same pampering from our male friends (although I'm hoping to break one of them).
I can only express my surprise and delight at how I've managed to fit in and how welcoming my boys have been - I'll never get over coming home to a cooked dinner, running into my french knickers in the hall, or boy gossip at 3am after which I swiftly get thrown out: "Rach! Just because you don't have lectures doesn't means the rest of us aren't doing a real degree!"
Despite my bad influence I truly believe they appreciate the addition of soap to the bathroom.
Operation Bleach Boys starts today.
Only these aren't just any boys: these are 7:30 awakening, 10 hours a day working, binge drinking medic boys. And I must admit I adore them, after spending a year vetting them in halls at university, obviously.
I can't believe how easy my transition has actually been - we cook dinner (and surprisingly by 'we' I mean 'them' as I'm forever late coming in) and they have managed to refrain from most women=kitchen jokes. Magnus, however, sneakily manages to take advantage of the fact I don't enjoy burnt food ("students shouldn't have standards!") and after starting the process allows me to hastily take over as he distracts himself with something else. He is frequently compared to a goldfish.
In the first week of my living with the boys I did a huge washing of what one might call my 'delicates'. I was prepared to come home early to take them out of the machine and hang them up in my own room so as not to give the other two heart attacks. Can you imagine my shock when I cam home to find it all carefully hung up already in the hall. When questioning Magnus about this development he said: "Oh yeah, Saunders needed the machine..but I wouldn't talk to him about it, it was all a bit distressing, he wasn't sure about thong-hanging ettiquette." Naturally I managed to thank Saunders without turning it into a long winded conversation, but still avoided his laughing gaze and hurried into my own room, hoping he wouldn't ask me to do the same for his boxers.
I'm also learning a lot of male behaviourisms - during Wednesdays, which is movie night (and was fully male before my arrival), I have found it is not acceptable to talk during movies/ask explanations/ask for it to be paused for food/demand a chick flick. Of course, I'll get used to it - but it has made me realise how much our boyfriends put up with and not to expect the same pampering from our male friends (although I'm hoping to break one of them).
I can only express my surprise and delight at how I've managed to fit in and how welcoming my boys have been - I'll never get over coming home to a cooked dinner, running into my french knickers in the hall, or boy gossip at 3am after which I swiftly get thrown out: "Rach! Just because you don't have lectures doesn't means the rest of us aren't doing a real degree!"
Despite my bad influence I truly believe they appreciate the addition of soap to the bathroom.
Operation Bleach Boys starts today.
Sunday, 22 January 2012
Keeping the heat alive
A recent statistic said that couples fight on average 300 times a year. Now, in a 365 day year that seems like quite a few fights - if you discount days like birthdays, anniversaries, familial celebrations, dates and the happy month that is Christmas time (known to Jews as December) that leaves you about a month of bliss in your time together. When I read this statistic originally I thought thank god I was - sorry, we were - some of the lucky ones. I think exactly an hour later we were bickering about something profoundly stupid apparently I have a moody habit of pushing his buttons. Apparently he is unaware he does the same to me. However, this was only one of 300, right? We surely don't have another 299 planned for the year...right?
It's a lot easier to get into fights than you think. Especially with women, we have an enormous ability to start something as a joke and then realise that we are actually pissed off about it, something that men will never understand or mimic, I hope. Usually I can be dissuaded with a sharp "wheesht, you're doing it again" but tonight we had a stormer.
Stormer's do tend to be quite serious between us, we both have a temper and I have a knack of saying rash things in the heat of the moment and manipulating the conversation. His response tends to be sticking his fingers in his ears and shouting "TWISTY TWISTY TWISTY" which tends to make me more pissed off than I was - it's not good when they figure out our techniques.
However, tonight (in retrospect) was rather comical as tonight we are staying at his parents'. The fight might have escalated in heat but the pointed words thrown at each other were done in cliched whispers and the storming about done on tiptoes. To any onlooker it must have been hilarious, we would have been better off communicating in sign language.
Obviously, as the protagonist in these situations I decided to storm out of the house into the dark and the wet (wearing all of his clothes for fear of mine being ruined) and needless to say he followed me. While we were leaving I checked he had the keys and he made sure I was warm enough - recounting this I'm not too sure why on earth we were fighting.
Anyway I made it to the playpark and my shoes getting soaked were obviously his fault, and the fact that it was raining was clearly another reason to get angrier at him. He proceeded to kick some monkey bars as I stormed off yet again. And waited for him when I got lost.
Needless to say it was all resolved with tears, kisses and a desperate need to get back in the warmth on my part. Couples fight. That's what we do. It's a way of passing the time and letting off some of that illicit sexual tension. It's almost therapeutic. In fact, I think it's rather intelligent of us to have found a way round forking out for a £100ph counsellor which would probably result in "of course you weren't listening you were staring down her top!"
One word to the wise though - when fighting try and refrain from throwing the engagement ring away. It will result in a lot of abuse from your man. They're sensitive about these things (to them it's more than a very expensive, gorgeous piece of jewelry). And you'll want it back in five minutes, anyway.
Wednesday, 4 January 2012
The Discovery Channel
One of the biggest problems posed in a girl's life is: where is the line when you must put comfort before fashion? (Although I prefer the word 'style', a much less scary term.)
I'm late packing for a few days away with the man up north in the highlands...you know..up North. He has a cottage in a very sweet location, almost bambi-esque, it's just a shame about the lack of central heating/warm water/local coop/sane people. The plus side is that the cottage next to us is the residence of a drug dealer - just in case it all gets a bit too much.
Back to the problem of packing: the first time I went with him I took a dress in the hope it would be sunny and there would be a nice cafe or something to wear it to. I wore it despite the weather, convinced it was my right to look fabulous even if I was in the Scottish equivalent of the outback but, unfortunately, many Marilyn Monroe faux pas followed and the townspeople practically tried to burn me at the stake. Well, you get the drift.
The next time I went up I didn't take the dress again (fool me once etc etc) but I was insistent that my 'shoe for every occasion' habit would not be beaten by the wild and took a lovely pair of suede brogues. Having to dry them out in front of the fire almost caused the end of my relationship, it was not funny.
So this time around as I'm packing I'm having to sacrifice all my beautiful, wonderful dresses/skirts/shoes and leather gloves in order to wrap up in trackies, hoodies, old tees, walking boots, fluffy hats etc. Things I wouldn't normally wear outwith my house unless on another continent. The only word I associate with 'waterproof' is mascara - and if I have to wear it I consider my first port of call a taxi!
But, finally, comfort has finally overtaken my style, although I'm still taking my eyeliner.
I'm sure the man will be happy that I have embraced country life and will want me to be enthused by the delights of hillwalking and puddle-jumping and insect-admiring. And for him, I will. For him, I will have a wonderful time. For him, I'm sure I will be overtaken by the beauty of a wet and windy day. For him, I'll encourage near death experiences by walking through the woods in the dark.
In fact, for him, to prove I'm so into my nature nowadays, and so wonderfully comfortable, I won't shave my legs.
I'm late packing for a few days away with the man up north in the highlands...you know..up North. He has a cottage in a very sweet location, almost bambi-esque, it's just a shame about the lack of central heating/warm water/local coop/sane people. The plus side is that the cottage next to us is the residence of a drug dealer - just in case it all gets a bit too much.
Back to the problem of packing: the first time I went with him I took a dress in the hope it would be sunny and there would be a nice cafe or something to wear it to. I wore it despite the weather, convinced it was my right to look fabulous even if I was in the Scottish equivalent of the outback but, unfortunately, many Marilyn Monroe faux pas followed and the townspeople practically tried to burn me at the stake. Well, you get the drift.
The next time I went up I didn't take the dress again (fool me once etc etc) but I was insistent that my 'shoe for every occasion' habit would not be beaten by the wild and took a lovely pair of suede brogues. Having to dry them out in front of the fire almost caused the end of my relationship, it was not funny.
So this time around as I'm packing I'm having to sacrifice all my beautiful, wonderful dresses/skirts/shoes and leather gloves in order to wrap up in trackies, hoodies, old tees, walking boots, fluffy hats etc. Things I wouldn't normally wear outwith my house unless on another continent. The only word I associate with 'waterproof' is mascara - and if I have to wear it I consider my first port of call a taxi!
But, finally, comfort has finally overtaken my style, although I'm still taking my eyeliner.
I'm sure the man will be happy that I have embraced country life and will want me to be enthused by the delights of hillwalking and puddle-jumping and insect-admiring. And for him, I will. For him, I will have a wonderful time. For him, I'm sure I will be overtaken by the beauty of a wet and windy day. For him, I'll encourage near death experiences by walking through the woods in the dark.
In fact, for him, to prove I'm so into my nature nowadays, and so wonderfully comfortable, I won't shave my legs.
Monday, 2 January 2012
Sex and the City on the brain.
I've been watching too much Sex and the City over the past few weeks and now whenever I think to blog my thoughts have a Carrie Bradshaw-esque moaning sincerity about them. This time, though, I'm going to roll with it.
Carrie and her three best friends are constantly in search of "the one", although for Samantha her quest seems to be centred around sexual positions. Charlotte is bored of dating and has the biggest nesting instinct known to mankind - eventually she does gets married but falls out of love when the man "can't get it up". Understandable in my opinion. She seemed to fall out of love at a rate of noughts and so I thought:
How do people fall out of love?
I was almost in love once before I met my boy. Coming from a background where I'd been conditioned not to believe in love or trust men it's no surprise that I never fell all the way in my first serious relationship, but I was close. Still, breaking up with him was one of the hardest things I ever had to do and my feelings for him didn't truly leave me until months down the line, and even now I care for him deeply although we hardly speak. It's easier to look back on our time together in retrospect with the knowledge that I didn't let 'true' love pass me by, but I really believed we loved each other at the time. And I know many people that have made the same mistake.
The whole falling in love thing is easy with the right person. But falling out of love nowadays seems just as easy in a culture that encourages speed-dating, power-dating and just dating dating dating. When we have so many options in front of us how do we know who to choose? And how do we stick at it long enough to truly know what love is without getting bored within the first month? Sure, it could be the completely wrong person but other times we are just throwing the word "love" around the way women do "diet" after christmas. And in a time when sex on the first date is the norm how do we separate infatuation from love, and how do we know love when it actually bites us on the ass?
I don't know if it's possible to fall out of love, but I trust that it will not be a regular occurence if it ever happens to me; and I know it will be one of the hardest experiences of my life.
Maybe it's impossible to fall out of love, and we just have no idea what love is? Maybe the wrong definition of the word has led us to mistrust it altogether. Maybe we've forgotten how to do it properly.
So this festive period try and have a little faith in the coming year. And watch Love Actually.
Carrie and her three best friends are constantly in search of "the one", although for Samantha her quest seems to be centred around sexual positions. Charlotte is bored of dating and has the biggest nesting instinct known to mankind - eventually she does gets married but falls out of love when the man "can't get it up". Understandable in my opinion. She seemed to fall out of love at a rate of noughts and so I thought:
How do people fall out of love?
I was almost in love once before I met my boy. Coming from a background where I'd been conditioned not to believe in love or trust men it's no surprise that I never fell all the way in my first serious relationship, but I was close. Still, breaking up with him was one of the hardest things I ever had to do and my feelings for him didn't truly leave me until months down the line, and even now I care for him deeply although we hardly speak. It's easier to look back on our time together in retrospect with the knowledge that I didn't let 'true' love pass me by, but I really believed we loved each other at the time. And I know many people that have made the same mistake.
The whole falling in love thing is easy with the right person. But falling out of love nowadays seems just as easy in a culture that encourages speed-dating, power-dating and just dating dating dating. When we have so many options in front of us how do we know who to choose? And how do we stick at it long enough to truly know what love is without getting bored within the first month? Sure, it could be the completely wrong person but other times we are just throwing the word "love" around the way women do "diet" after christmas. And in a time when sex on the first date is the norm how do we separate infatuation from love, and how do we know love when it actually bites us on the ass?
I don't know if it's possible to fall out of love, but I trust that it will not be a regular occurence if it ever happens to me; and I know it will be one of the hardest experiences of my life.
Maybe it's impossible to fall out of love, and we just have no idea what love is? Maybe the wrong definition of the word has led us to mistrust it altogether. Maybe we've forgotten how to do it properly.
So this festive period try and have a little faith in the coming year. And watch Love Actually.
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