This is the first time since I’ve started blogging that my blog has been the same as what I’ve written in my diary.
I love writing diaries, they’re great to read back when you’re bored or having doubts about certain things and it’s the little secret part of you that no one else has access to. A blog can be read by anyone and it can be written about anything, where as a diary is for your eyes only, it’s 100% personal and no one needs to know about the content.
My diary is titled ‘A note to my husband’ and is full of everything that this blog doesn’t contain: the little bits, the in between bits and the bits that will one day make a lot more sense. One day my husband will have full access to them, but until then they are going to line my bookshelf and make memorable reading for a rainy day.
Anyway… this is what I wrote:
“The weirdest thing happened last night. We (Becky, Nic, Gin, Brad, Tom, Will and I) went out, had a fantastic time, got back, were joined by two of my guy friends from here and then it hit me. I no longer wanted to drink.
They were knocking back bottles of wine- four in total and a bottle of Bucks Fizz- and I just didn’t want any more.
The thought of waking up today with a stinking headache, losing all dignity and being proud of it just felt stupid.
Maybe I’m getting old and sensible (some what doubt it, but it’s a possibility) but I just wanted to boot the guys out of the house, tidy up and go to bed.
Falling over and hitting my head really knocked some sense in to me. Ironic or what!”
As you can see this is a tad depressing having been a student for the past three years and living by the rules as every tax-dodger does and making the most of life. No matter how much my body was starting to love this ‘new me’ my head was still a bit confused.
Could this be the start of something beautiful or will the next blog start with ‘As if that were possible.’
Sunday, 31 October 2010
Monday, 25 October 2010
Secret squirrel
Everyone has their secrets and nine times out of ten there’s a genuinely good reason for them. I guess you could say it’s what makes an individual individual and that can never be a bad thing.
However, this week my secret took its toll on what could potentially be the most amazing job ever.
Since I first discovered writing and men I have wanted to write for Cosmo magazine. I don’t know what it is about the male species, but for some reason when they are the topic I can write essays. So imagine the excitement, jumping up and down and general astonishment when I received a phone call from Cosmo offering me a month’s work experience with them starting this week…and then imagine the heart-break and anguish when I had to refuse the offer.
My general lack of intelligence had just blown a pretty huge opportunity and no amount of male experiences or ability to write was going to change that.
I had always thought honesty was easy, in male terms good guys are honest and bad ones get caught cheating. But when it comes to being honest with yourself it’s a whole other ball game. Your self esteem will instantly plummet; you’ll get sick of ‘encouraging’ comments and really wish you could re-write the past.
Sadly re-writing the past is a slight impossibility and no amount of chocolate will make it better. Besides you will just end up fat and let’s face it, no one wants to be a fat ugly journalist.
So it seems the dream job will have to hang on for a few months, while something a bit more important takes priority.
At this rate I will be paying somebody to write this essay for me, the real reason for having to turn Cosmo down, before anyone gets ideas about my unnamed love child…which by the way will either be called Hitler or Chardonnay.
However, this week my secret took its toll on what could potentially be the most amazing job ever.
Since I first discovered writing and men I have wanted to write for Cosmo magazine. I don’t know what it is about the male species, but for some reason when they are the topic I can write essays. So imagine the excitement, jumping up and down and general astonishment when I received a phone call from Cosmo offering me a month’s work experience with them starting this week…and then imagine the heart-break and anguish when I had to refuse the offer.
My general lack of intelligence had just blown a pretty huge opportunity and no amount of male experiences or ability to write was going to change that.
I had always thought honesty was easy, in male terms good guys are honest and bad ones get caught cheating. But when it comes to being honest with yourself it’s a whole other ball game. Your self esteem will instantly plummet; you’ll get sick of ‘encouraging’ comments and really wish you could re-write the past.
Sadly re-writing the past is a slight impossibility and no amount of chocolate will make it better. Besides you will just end up fat and let’s face it, no one wants to be a fat ugly journalist.
So it seems the dream job will have to hang on for a few months, while something a bit more important takes priority.
At this rate I will be paying somebody to write this essay for me, the real reason for having to turn Cosmo down, before anyone gets ideas about my unnamed love child…which by the way will either be called Hitler or Chardonnay.
Love rules
I never thought of myself as old fashioned, but in light of recent events I’m beginning to think my views on relationships are not only unrealistic, they’re also about as modern as bed pans.
Imagine this situation; you meet a guy 8 months ago, the pair of you go away for your birthday (which your parents pay for) and on this vacation he proposes and you say yes.
Now, is this romantic or is this sheer madness?
Perhaps if you had been living with your ‘now titled fiancé’ this may be easier to justify, similarly if you had been dating him for over 18 months that may be ok too. But if you were both living at your parents’ home, your parents had never met and your history of men and relationships wasn’t 100% faithful, would you think this was a tad daft?
This is where captain sensible comes in. I think this is nuts.
I have two friends who did get married early this year and they are the most loved up goons you’ll ever meet. They met at uni three years ago, the pair were inseparable-and if their sex noises were anything to go by-they will be happy for a long time to come.
If you love someone and want to spend the rest of your life with them, then do it. If you’re not 100% sure then don’t. It’s as simple as ABC.
Besides, you don’t want the guilt of increasing the population of children that were created due to the reply, ‘well I guess we should sleep together this year.’
Find a guy, date him, meet his parents, move in together, get married, have babies, spend the rest of your lives together and die happy.
Why should a girl have to settle for less?
Imagine this situation; you meet a guy 8 months ago, the pair of you go away for your birthday (which your parents pay for) and on this vacation he proposes and you say yes.
Now, is this romantic or is this sheer madness?
Perhaps if you had been living with your ‘now titled fiancé’ this may be easier to justify, similarly if you had been dating him for over 18 months that may be ok too. But if you were both living at your parents’ home, your parents had never met and your history of men and relationships wasn’t 100% faithful, would you think this was a tad daft?
This is where captain sensible comes in. I think this is nuts.
I have two friends who did get married early this year and they are the most loved up goons you’ll ever meet. They met at uni three years ago, the pair were inseparable-and if their sex noises were anything to go by-they will be happy for a long time to come.
If you love someone and want to spend the rest of your life with them, then do it. If you’re not 100% sure then don’t. It’s as simple as ABC.
Besides, you don’t want the guilt of increasing the population of children that were created due to the reply, ‘well I guess we should sleep together this year.’
Find a guy, date him, meet his parents, move in together, get married, have babies, spend the rest of your lives together and die happy.
Why should a girl have to settle for less?
Tuesday, 5 October 2010
A little trip north
They say that home is where the heart is and well if that is the case, I should have two hearts.
I’ve always lived in Surrey and apart from three amazing years at Chester University the south has always been my home. This forms the basis of my little adventure down memory lane and with a few new experiences thrown in, will be one holiday I won’t forget in a hurry.
Fresher’s week at uni is every students dream and every graduate’s nightmare, so if you are neither student nor graduate this week is a free pass to party and re-live those university years. This is precisely what two of my ex-housemates and I did last Wednesday.
After packing bags, shoes and student friendly outfits I headed to Oxford, the first destination and homeland of the designated driver Becky. As tales of woe go this one was a good start to what was guaranteed to be four days of politely put hell. My car had broken down so I had to take the train to Oxford, been sent in totally the wrong direction by a bearded member of national rail, scuffed my new boots, engrossed myself in a copy of ‘Reveal’ and three hours later I was standing outside Oxford station in the pouring rain. A journey that was meant to take just under an hour had in fact tripled.
However, the sight of Becky in her BMW (and who said money was an object) was enough to lift my spirits and put us back on the road in the direction of the M6 and off to Chester.
We had decided to make a slight de-tour once we got north and headed to Shrewsbury to pick up Amy. Not only did this allow us quality girly time, but it also meant we could get ready in a clean and safe environment. This was something we knew that Simon (our beloved friend and now master student aka our hotel manager for the next few days) was less likely to give us.
Once we were scrubbed, straightened and on the way to CH1 we started to debate on just how cool we really were. Were we too old to be having our forth freshers week or should we be making the most of it, kissing every child in sight and having lots of unprotected sex?
The first night out (Wednesday) was to the new student destination D and E. To the students it’s called Destiny and Elite and to the locals it’s called Desperate and Easy, glad to see that the folk of Chester haven’t lost their classiness. This was great, hours queuing to get served, sweaty children and more VK’s than water. It wasn’t Brannies by a long shot, but it wasn’t far off.
We then bundled on a vomit coated bus and headed to back to Simons and bed. Now it is important to remember that we were not the only friends crashing at Simons, we were the only girls, but with a ratio of two men to women how bad could it really be? This is the point where I hold me head up high and smile at the thought of the other five squished into a bed and myself on the floor and slumming it as any student should. Bed sharing is something I’ve never enjoyed doing and this is no secret.
So our first night had been completed, we were feeling a little worse for wear, but our hearts and minds were strong and our urge for Pizza Hut buffet was to unite us all.
There is something magical about Pizza Hut buffet, every time I think of it I instantly think of Thursday mornings, scrolling through the previous nights photos, embarrassing stories and hiding from your previous conquests on the table opposite you. In short Pizza Hut hadn’t change, but we definitely had.
With our bellies full we headed back to Castle de Clague for hangover catch ups and to start making plans for another fun-filled night. Either way, the plans must have been slightly tainted because by 12:30 am on Friday morning we were back in our beds and snoring. Turns out all this ‘trying’ to be students is harder than it looks, thankfully this time us girlies had found a empty room complete with bed to sleep in. This meant the added bonus of no more floor to sleep on and the disadvantage of spooning with Becky and Amy.
Now, I hate moaning and really can’t stand people who do. But as with many contradictory things here goes nothing. Feminism should be made illegal, bed sharing should be made illegal and last but not least duvet hogging should be made illegal.
Allegedly I hog the duvet, kick in my sleep, continuously move and am probably not far off talking/ singing/ reciting Chaucer too. Yes, I am hell to share a bed with and it was due to this reason that I spent Thursday/ Friday night sleeping on the floor.
So after another interesting night sleep we waved Amy off and set about making plans for our final day in Chester. Top of the list was to have lunch with Kate, who had been my accomplice since we met on our English and Journalism course back September 2007.
Once Becky and I had dragged ourselves out of bed (see what I mean about contradictory) we ventured down to the Bouv. The Bouv is the shrine for second and third years. First years don’t really know about it and by third year you have memorized the menu, well maybe not everyone but certainly the members of 6 West Lorne 2009. After the worlds largest Toad in the Hole we decided to do the first of two things we had never done at uni before. Go to Ikea.
Ikea, it’s Swedish, it’s cheap and it can instantly lift any mood. More effective than alcohol and you get a free pencil, what more could you want? So the four of us Becky, Kate, Matt (poor innocent victim and friend of ours and Simons) and I pilled into Beckys black-mobile and headed west.
I am still unsure why this vast blue and yellow shop has so much mood control, but what I can say is that Matt bought an entire new room and Kate and I bought two matching cuddly rabbits.
Yes, Ikea is Toy R Us for adults. A few hours later Becky, Matt, Kate, myself and our two aptly named bunnies Rodger and Henry set sail back to Chester and our final night out.
As with any few days away/ holiday/ well earned time out, it would be rude not to end things with a bang. So for our last night we trekked it down to Chester SU, our own little SU and the one place where you could do pretty much anything and get away with it.
Due to it being the last night of freshers we (Simon, Becky and I) were prepared to queue and had accepted that we were not going to be getting inside in any hurry. This only added to the moment and surrounded by people from our year who had also come back to taste the glory, we laughed, talked and caught up on the four months that had past by. We were like celebrities in our own world, we knew where we were, we knew everyone and nothing could ruin our night.
Not even the moaning freshers demanding that our queue-pushing friends get to the back of the line could wipe the smiles off our faces. We were home.
The SU may have had a new lick of paint and may have bought up half of Ikea, but the same cheeky bar staff still strutted the counter, the floor still stick to our shoes and the DJ still sucked. It had finally paid off to know the men in high places and it left me itching to text and say thanks, followed by one seriously over due kiss.
I guess the fact that I fell/was pushed down the concrete stairs outside the SU, cracked my head open and woke up in hospital was probably a good thing. It certainly saved me a lot of phone credit that night.
All in all that last day we had managed the two things we had never done throughout our university experience, go to Ikea and go to A and E. Neither are really things to shout about, but both add to the beauty of our first trip back to Chester.
The drive back was so painful there are no words to sum it up and no matter how many ‘head banger’ nicknames get revealed I will always owe a huge amount to Becky. So here you go Becs, your own mention in my crazy little blog of wonder…thank you. It’s not easy to stick by someone when the are an uber pain in the arse or when they hog the duvet, but Miss Connell out did herself that night. She is a star in our tiny little world and a true friend.
So that brings me to the end of our little adventure back to Chester and I have probably missed loads out. The next step is to upload all the photos and see how much of a state we all really were. I had a fantastic time and will definitely move back to Chester one day.
I’ve always lived in Surrey and apart from three amazing years at Chester University the south has always been my home. This forms the basis of my little adventure down memory lane and with a few new experiences thrown in, will be one holiday I won’t forget in a hurry.
Fresher’s week at uni is every students dream and every graduate’s nightmare, so if you are neither student nor graduate this week is a free pass to party and re-live those university years. This is precisely what two of my ex-housemates and I did last Wednesday.
After packing bags, shoes and student friendly outfits I headed to Oxford, the first destination and homeland of the designated driver Becky. As tales of woe go this one was a good start to what was guaranteed to be four days of politely put hell. My car had broken down so I had to take the train to Oxford, been sent in totally the wrong direction by a bearded member of national rail, scuffed my new boots, engrossed myself in a copy of ‘Reveal’ and three hours later I was standing outside Oxford station in the pouring rain. A journey that was meant to take just under an hour had in fact tripled.
However, the sight of Becky in her BMW (and who said money was an object) was enough to lift my spirits and put us back on the road in the direction of the M6 and off to Chester.
We had decided to make a slight de-tour once we got north and headed to Shrewsbury to pick up Amy. Not only did this allow us quality girly time, but it also meant we could get ready in a clean and safe environment. This was something we knew that Simon (our beloved friend and now master student aka our hotel manager for the next few days) was less likely to give us.
Once we were scrubbed, straightened and on the way to CH1 we started to debate on just how cool we really were. Were we too old to be having our forth freshers week or should we be making the most of it, kissing every child in sight and having lots of unprotected sex?
The first night out (Wednesday) was to the new student destination D and E. To the students it’s called Destiny and Elite and to the locals it’s called Desperate and Easy, glad to see that the folk of Chester haven’t lost their classiness. This was great, hours queuing to get served, sweaty children and more VK’s than water. It wasn’t Brannies by a long shot, but it wasn’t far off.
We then bundled on a vomit coated bus and headed to back to Simons and bed. Now it is important to remember that we were not the only friends crashing at Simons, we were the only girls, but with a ratio of two men to women how bad could it really be? This is the point where I hold me head up high and smile at the thought of the other five squished into a bed and myself on the floor and slumming it as any student should. Bed sharing is something I’ve never enjoyed doing and this is no secret.
So our first night had been completed, we were feeling a little worse for wear, but our hearts and minds were strong and our urge for Pizza Hut buffet was to unite us all.
There is something magical about Pizza Hut buffet, every time I think of it I instantly think of Thursday mornings, scrolling through the previous nights photos, embarrassing stories and hiding from your previous conquests on the table opposite you. In short Pizza Hut hadn’t change, but we definitely had.
With our bellies full we headed back to Castle de Clague for hangover catch ups and to start making plans for another fun-filled night. Either way, the plans must have been slightly tainted because by 12:30 am on Friday morning we were back in our beds and snoring. Turns out all this ‘trying’ to be students is harder than it looks, thankfully this time us girlies had found a empty room complete with bed to sleep in. This meant the added bonus of no more floor to sleep on and the disadvantage of spooning with Becky and Amy.
Now, I hate moaning and really can’t stand people who do. But as with many contradictory things here goes nothing. Feminism should be made illegal, bed sharing should be made illegal and last but not least duvet hogging should be made illegal.
Allegedly I hog the duvet, kick in my sleep, continuously move and am probably not far off talking/ singing/ reciting Chaucer too. Yes, I am hell to share a bed with and it was due to this reason that I spent Thursday/ Friday night sleeping on the floor.
So after another interesting night sleep we waved Amy off and set about making plans for our final day in Chester. Top of the list was to have lunch with Kate, who had been my accomplice since we met on our English and Journalism course back September 2007.
Once Becky and I had dragged ourselves out of bed (see what I mean about contradictory) we ventured down to the Bouv. The Bouv is the shrine for second and third years. First years don’t really know about it and by third year you have memorized the menu, well maybe not everyone but certainly the members of 6 West Lorne 2009. After the worlds largest Toad in the Hole we decided to do the first of two things we had never done at uni before. Go to Ikea.
Ikea, it’s Swedish, it’s cheap and it can instantly lift any mood. More effective than alcohol and you get a free pencil, what more could you want? So the four of us Becky, Kate, Matt (poor innocent victim and friend of ours and Simons) and I pilled into Beckys black-mobile and headed west.
I am still unsure why this vast blue and yellow shop has so much mood control, but what I can say is that Matt bought an entire new room and Kate and I bought two matching cuddly rabbits.
Yes, Ikea is Toy R Us for adults. A few hours later Becky, Matt, Kate, myself and our two aptly named bunnies Rodger and Henry set sail back to Chester and our final night out.
As with any few days away/ holiday/ well earned time out, it would be rude not to end things with a bang. So for our last night we trekked it down to Chester SU, our own little SU and the one place where you could do pretty much anything and get away with it.
Due to it being the last night of freshers we (Simon, Becky and I) were prepared to queue and had accepted that we were not going to be getting inside in any hurry. This only added to the moment and surrounded by people from our year who had also come back to taste the glory, we laughed, talked and caught up on the four months that had past by. We were like celebrities in our own world, we knew where we were, we knew everyone and nothing could ruin our night.
Not even the moaning freshers demanding that our queue-pushing friends get to the back of the line could wipe the smiles off our faces. We were home.
The SU may have had a new lick of paint and may have bought up half of Ikea, but the same cheeky bar staff still strutted the counter, the floor still stick to our shoes and the DJ still sucked. It had finally paid off to know the men in high places and it left me itching to text and say thanks, followed by one seriously over due kiss.
I guess the fact that I fell/was pushed down the concrete stairs outside the SU, cracked my head open and woke up in hospital was probably a good thing. It certainly saved me a lot of phone credit that night.
All in all that last day we had managed the two things we had never done throughout our university experience, go to Ikea and go to A and E. Neither are really things to shout about, but both add to the beauty of our first trip back to Chester.
The drive back was so painful there are no words to sum it up and no matter how many ‘head banger’ nicknames get revealed I will always owe a huge amount to Becky. So here you go Becs, your own mention in my crazy little blog of wonder…thank you. It’s not easy to stick by someone when the are an uber pain in the arse or when they hog the duvet, but Miss Connell out did herself that night. She is a star in our tiny little world and a true friend.
So that brings me to the end of our little adventure back to Chester and I have probably missed loads out. The next step is to upload all the photos and see how much of a state we all really were. I had a fantastic time and will definitely move back to Chester one day.
Saturday, 18 September 2010
Knights in white satin
I think you can always tell a good article by how quickly it takes the reader to go and write a similar piece themselves. Having recently applied on-line for the Cath Kidston catalogue I am now bombarded with magazines full of beautiful bits and bobs. Anyway, in the back of the latest magazine was an interview with an artist called Rob Ryan and one of the questions was “People have this idea about romance…” His answer was short and sweet, “To me, romance is seeing an 80-year-old couple…staying together…it’s about the long haul.”
It then took me a grand total of three minutes before I whipped out my laptop and began writing about romance.
Romance. The sheer thought makes me crave roses, chocolate and long country walks and if Jane Austen taught me anything it’s that on occasions getting your petticoat dirty will make Mr. Darcy smile that little bit more.
However, I do think Rob Ryan has a point. I remember walking along Chester river a few years back with an old friend and as we sat on an iron bench and watched the world go by an old couple walked past us arm in arm. My friend then told me his biggest fear was growing old. This seemed so contradictory as there seemed nothing scary about this old couple, two people couldn’t have looked more in love and happy if they tried. This couple summed up what romance was and it appears Rob Ryan saw the same couple.
That is another associating world-wind-word, love. The two are so closely linked it makes it hard to believe that you can have romance without love. I remember many a night when the stars have been out, the world has been silent and it has just been myself and a guy kissing under a full moon. But there was never any love there; even to this day there is no love there, just romantic situations that should have been shared with someone else.
I don’t think it helps that my parents have been together since they were kids, which means my personal expectations of romance are far more imaginary than most peoples. In my mind you find your soul mate, other half, spouse and that’s it, you two are set for life. Obviously there is more than one right person for everyone, or else the only reason these 80-year-old couples are so romantic, will be because they have spent there entire lives looking for each other. But maybe that’s why so many people get divorced?!
There is a quote from a film that says “I think attraction is often mistaken for love” but can’t remember the film…it was clearly a classic. Anyway, I think this quote is true and lust can disguise the obvious and why get involved with the viscous cycle of romance and love when you can save yourself from getting hurt and just play pretend.
Love is everything the world says it is, heart wrenching, hard work and beyond all, will make every emotion in your body go loopy. I fell in love once and he broke my heart, twice.
However, the memory of this old couple is worth a million more heart breaks and there is no reason why romance can’t be present when you’re 21, 30 or 80-years-old.
Until then dream of your prince, riding on his white stallion, ready and waiting to wrap you in his arms and whisk you off into the sunset…
It then took me a grand total of three minutes before I whipped out my laptop and began writing about romance.
Romance. The sheer thought makes me crave roses, chocolate and long country walks and if Jane Austen taught me anything it’s that on occasions getting your petticoat dirty will make Mr. Darcy smile that little bit more.
However, I do think Rob Ryan has a point. I remember walking along Chester river a few years back with an old friend and as we sat on an iron bench and watched the world go by an old couple walked past us arm in arm. My friend then told me his biggest fear was growing old. This seemed so contradictory as there seemed nothing scary about this old couple, two people couldn’t have looked more in love and happy if they tried. This couple summed up what romance was and it appears Rob Ryan saw the same couple.
That is another associating world-wind-word, love. The two are so closely linked it makes it hard to believe that you can have romance without love. I remember many a night when the stars have been out, the world has been silent and it has just been myself and a guy kissing under a full moon. But there was never any love there; even to this day there is no love there, just romantic situations that should have been shared with someone else.
I don’t think it helps that my parents have been together since they were kids, which means my personal expectations of romance are far more imaginary than most peoples. In my mind you find your soul mate, other half, spouse and that’s it, you two are set for life. Obviously there is more than one right person for everyone, or else the only reason these 80-year-old couples are so romantic, will be because they have spent there entire lives looking for each other. But maybe that’s why so many people get divorced?!
There is a quote from a film that says “I think attraction is often mistaken for love” but can’t remember the film…it was clearly a classic. Anyway, I think this quote is true and lust can disguise the obvious and why get involved with the viscous cycle of romance and love when you can save yourself from getting hurt and just play pretend.
Love is everything the world says it is, heart wrenching, hard work and beyond all, will make every emotion in your body go loopy. I fell in love once and he broke my heart, twice.
However, the memory of this old couple is worth a million more heart breaks and there is no reason why romance can’t be present when you’re 21, 30 or 80-years-old.
Until then dream of your prince, riding on his white stallion, ready and waiting to wrap you in his arms and whisk you off into the sunset…
Tuesday, 7 September 2010
Mr Men
I have a theory about men. There are two types of them ones who are afraid of life and ones who are afraid of women.
Now is the time to ignore all stereotyping, previous experiences, general beliefs and just go with this idea for the moment…
The first group of men are terrified of the future and anything that involves change. Although they make plans to have a career, own such-an-such a car and live in a particular neighbourhood, chances are they won’t have a mortgage for another 20 years. In fact, they will probably have the same job and life as they did when they were 17 till they’re 70.
However, all is not lost for the non-committal man (as he is guaranteed to be) for he will have the power to seduce any woman who falls within his three meter radius. This may seem like total bliss to a non-changing man, every night a different woman, no strings and nine times out of ten no condom either.
The only real struggle is letting a girl go. Once the woman has made it clear to man number one that she is interested, man has a very tough decision to make-one which will no doubt decrease his brain cells by 50%-getting serious with this woman means potentially making future plans.
And worse yet, this would result in only being with one woman…and man knows that’s not enough, besides it would result in wasting their best asset.
Yes, the life for this one is easy and besides who would want to change it when it’s this good. There is a reason why this man will only use the mirror to do his hair in.
This vanity juxtaposes man number two, who will only look in a mirror accidently and even then never feel satisfied with what he sees. But who cares about physical appearances when there is so much life in the big wide world.
The increasing pessimism of this man means no woman will ever get a look in. If a woman manages to sneak through the net (most likely the girl next door) she better be ready for a relationship governed by rules and regulations and once a month sex (guaranteed to be missionary.)
In hindsight this loving, tender and doting male should not be far off perfect. He will rarely step out of line and apologises like there’s no tomorrow.
However, this is only because he is terrified of women. He has heard about their monthly fits, chocolate obsessions and raging hormones and what is there to like. If it wasn’t for his mother pressurising him to settle down he would still be single.
Plus if he treats his woman like a queen he won’t get on the wrong side of her. Right?
But holding hands aside, man number twos worse trait is his lack of cognition. Every decision made is controlled by his fear not to enrage woman. As a result a simple answer to the question ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ turns into ‘Don’t worry darling- ill make it for you-don’t you worry pumpkin bottom-I know how you like it-go put Friends on and ill give you a foot massage once I’m back.’
The once man (N.b slightly less manly than man number one) has turned into a mouse. This turn of events ironically ends in woman cheating on man number two with the likes of man number one. Consequently rendering man number two heartbroken and even more afraid of woman and the circle of life continues.
So perhaps there is some stereotyping and generalisations thrown in there and perhaps I have dated too many football captains to know they will always choose legs over brains. But at the end of the day the question is, are men all the same? There’s no correct answer to that one, but what I do know, is that life would be stupidly boring if they were.
Now is the time to ignore all stereotyping, previous experiences, general beliefs and just go with this idea for the moment…
The first group of men are terrified of the future and anything that involves change. Although they make plans to have a career, own such-an-such a car and live in a particular neighbourhood, chances are they won’t have a mortgage for another 20 years. In fact, they will probably have the same job and life as they did when they were 17 till they’re 70.
However, all is not lost for the non-committal man (as he is guaranteed to be) for he will have the power to seduce any woman who falls within his three meter radius. This may seem like total bliss to a non-changing man, every night a different woman, no strings and nine times out of ten no condom either.
The only real struggle is letting a girl go. Once the woman has made it clear to man number one that she is interested, man has a very tough decision to make-one which will no doubt decrease his brain cells by 50%-getting serious with this woman means potentially making future plans.
And worse yet, this would result in only being with one woman…and man knows that’s not enough, besides it would result in wasting their best asset.
Yes, the life for this one is easy and besides who would want to change it when it’s this good. There is a reason why this man will only use the mirror to do his hair in.
This vanity juxtaposes man number two, who will only look in a mirror accidently and even then never feel satisfied with what he sees. But who cares about physical appearances when there is so much life in the big wide world.
The increasing pessimism of this man means no woman will ever get a look in. If a woman manages to sneak through the net (most likely the girl next door) she better be ready for a relationship governed by rules and regulations and once a month sex (guaranteed to be missionary.)
In hindsight this loving, tender and doting male should not be far off perfect. He will rarely step out of line and apologises like there’s no tomorrow.
However, this is only because he is terrified of women. He has heard about their monthly fits, chocolate obsessions and raging hormones and what is there to like. If it wasn’t for his mother pressurising him to settle down he would still be single.
Plus if he treats his woman like a queen he won’t get on the wrong side of her. Right?
But holding hands aside, man number twos worse trait is his lack of cognition. Every decision made is controlled by his fear not to enrage woman. As a result a simple answer to the question ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ turns into ‘Don’t worry darling- ill make it for you-don’t you worry pumpkin bottom-I know how you like it-go put Friends on and ill give you a foot massage once I’m back.’
The once man (N.b slightly less manly than man number one) has turned into a mouse. This turn of events ironically ends in woman cheating on man number two with the likes of man number one. Consequently rendering man number two heartbroken and even more afraid of woman and the circle of life continues.
So perhaps there is some stereotyping and generalisations thrown in there and perhaps I have dated too many football captains to know they will always choose legs over brains. But at the end of the day the question is, are men all the same? There’s no correct answer to that one, but what I do know, is that life would be stupidly boring if they were.
Saturday, 4 September 2010
Saturday night
Today was my first Saturday off in weeks and how did I choose to spend it…tidying the house and watching episode after episode of The Hills. It is official I have no life.
Domestic goddess aside it has been a good day. My parents are away and my brother has been at football all day, leaving me to have the laziest day of pampering and general female-ness. I expected the world of full-time work to be different, but I didn’t expect there to be so little time to keep oneself looking female.
So once the eyebrows had been tackled, nails buffed and legs stripped of about three layers of skin, I was back to my female self again. Men have it so easy it is unfair; they simply roll out of bed and put on the nearest (and cleanest) clothes.
Talking of men…apparently there are some nice ones out there. Enough said (she smiles.)
Domestic goddess aside it has been a good day. My parents are away and my brother has been at football all day, leaving me to have the laziest day of pampering and general female-ness. I expected the world of full-time work to be different, but I didn’t expect there to be so little time to keep oneself looking female.
So once the eyebrows had been tackled, nails buffed and legs stripped of about three layers of skin, I was back to my female self again. Men have it so easy it is unfair; they simply roll out of bed and put on the nearest (and cleanest) clothes.
Talking of men…apparently there are some nice ones out there. Enough said (she smiles.)
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