Hello blog buddies! It's been a while...
I feel as though I am constantly apologising for not being a regular blogger - to be honest, you probably don't really care - but I have been away in Bella Italia (the country, not the restaurant) seeing the sights, eating the food, watching grown men sit in the middle of town drinking a nice bottle of vino on their own...it's been lovely. But, back to bloggy business (or blog-ness. Blogisness? No, that doesn't work. I'll stop adding blog to stuff.) This week we're talking about saftey and security - tell me if it gets just too exciting for words, won't you?
In my first year of uni I was staying in halls - very original, I know. One night, we were hanging out in the kitchen, possibly having a party, and, to cut a long story short, my purse got stolen. I should clarify; no one ran in with a gun and grabbed my bag or anything like that, I was partially at fault. I absent-mindedly left my bag in the kitchen when I went to bed, and in the morning my housemate found it jammed behind the freezer with all of its contents gone. It wasn't the best moment of my life.
At first I thought it was someone playing a joke (and I did have a housemate who would have done that. There's one in every flat, isn't there?) but after cancelling all my cards and reporting it to the police (pretty much so I wouldn't have to fork out £40 for a new student ID) I never found out who took it. I had my suspicions it was probably a friend of a housemate, who either didn't know about it, or knew but didn't like me enough to tell me (Standard) but I never got it back, I never found out who it was for sure, and I never got back all those points I had saved on my Waterstones card. That was the real loss, it was heart-breaking.
Now, you would think that after all that I am like some sort of security badger, always locking the doors and hiding my stuff, writing my name on all my food in the fridge, but I'm not. Apparently, experience has taught me nothing. The other day I was leaving the house with my housemate Jamie and she was surprised I didn't lock the door. She had to show me how to do it because it never occurred to me before. And I've been living here 2 months.
This is all a lengthy way of getting to my point but here it is: I like to trust people. I know that, on one level, people suck. They may nick your purse or pinch your toilet roll from the bathroom and keep it in their room (this actually happened to me yesterday - why? Why?) but I can't help it. I don't like being suspicious because all this suspicion and street-savvy shrewdness stems from fear, and I don't want to be afraid of people. Is Batman afraid of people? No, he's the Dark Knight, he can kick their arses if he wants to. I bet he doesn't even have a lock on the Bat Cave because, well, it's a cave. And in all things, we should try to be like Batman. That's just a law.
In Cyprus, they can tell the tourists by seeing who locks their cars and who doesn't, because the locals trust each other. In Jam and Jerusalem (which, by the way, is an awesome TV program) they don't lock their doors, people just walk in. I like that. I want that to be like life! We live in a society where we don't trust anyone, and because of that, it's never going to get better. I would much rather be open to people, to not be guarded or suspicious of them, because if I were they might give me a reason to be suspicious. And yes, my purse got stolen, but I got a new one. I even got a new Waterstones card, it's not quite the same but I'll cope.
And actually, I started locking my bedroom door this year and then, at the airport a week ago, I realised I'd left my passport in my room and no one could get it and bring it down for me because my room was locked. It cost me (ok, my dad) £234 to switch my flights to a later one so I could go back and get it. I was sensible and shrewd and it still ended up biting me in the arse. When we lock our doors or guard ourselves against people, it feels like we're walling ourselves off from them. And when my purse got stolen, my boyfriend got me a new one, and my housemates took me to the Police station and made sure I was ok (the one who I thought was taking it for a laugh even missed a job interview to help me out) and last week my friend (who has the same name as Jake so we'll call him...Bafter...sure.) got up in the early hours of the morning to get me from the station and take me back so I wouldn't miss the next flight. People are actually quite nice when you let them in and, I know I know, you shouldn't go asking for trouble but wouldn't you rather live like Batman or a Cyprian? He's got gadgets and the weather in Cyprus is lovely. Good times all round.
Saturday 5 November 2011
Sunday 16 October 2011
Greetings, Earthlings.
Hey kids. How y'all doing?
Note to self: can't get away with country and western vibe. Let's move on, shall we?
As I am being dragged, reluctantly, into adulthood, there's this one social thing that I can't quite figure out. And as you know, I am usually a self-functioning normal person in society (ahem) but I just can't seem to get this right. So, I say we just get rid of the whole thing. What do you reckon? Ok, I'll tell you what it is first.
Greetings.
Say you're meeting someone for the first time, or someone you haven't seen for ages, or even, someone who you kind of know but don't really so every time you see them you have to do an official greeting every time. After you do the whole 'Hi I'm CJ.' 'Hi I'm Gladys' thing, or the 'Hey! How are youuuuu?' bit, I ask you, demand of you, WHAT DO YOU DO NEXT? There are so many options and none of them particularly appeal.
The handshake: too formal and (sorry mini-feminist who lives in my brain) girls can't pull off a handshake. It's weird. Then we have the hug: not formal enough for some people (I am not one of them. I am a hugger. A hug goblin if you will.) and a really good hug (which it would have to be because I am an excellent hugger and will not be deemed anything less, not by stranger nor friend) might be a bit up close and personal for people who haven't yet worked out I'm weird. And then there's the weird 'are we close enough friends to hug yet? We've never hugged before...' occurrence, which is even worse if one of you says 'Meh, Let's go for a hug!' and the other says 'Get off me, you weirdo.' Which has totally never happened to me...
But let's not even get started on the cheek kiss thing. We're not french, we're english. I don't say that to be racist. I quite like the french. Red Wine? Beret? Lovely. But english people can't pull it off, unless you're pretty posh/pretentious (which, admittedly, sometimes I like to have a go at) even then, do you go for one kiss, both cheeks? Repeat? What follows is a desperate, awkward head-butting session with a distant family member, and an even more awkward attempt to carry on as if nothing happened. I am not mature enough for the cheek kiss greeting, nor do I wish to allow it from anyone other than a well-meaning aunt. If we don't share genes, I don't want yours slobbered over my face. I know I have no social boundaries, but even if there're no lewd intentions, even if it's just your way of saying hi, if I wanted to kiss you, I would need dinner first. I am a lady (and pretty greedy). Otherwise, stay off of my face.
I feel like I should end by saying that I actually am a wonderful, approachable person. Darling, it's not you, it's me. And normally I hate rules. But we need some sort of legitimate system of recognising when to do what and with who (Bingo?) Or else, let's just chuck all the pleasantries out of the window and, if necessary, go for a high five.
Note to self: can't get away with country and western vibe. Let's move on, shall we?
As I am being dragged, reluctantly, into adulthood, there's this one social thing that I can't quite figure out. And as you know, I am usually a self-functioning normal person in society (ahem) but I just can't seem to get this right. So, I say we just get rid of the whole thing. What do you reckon? Ok, I'll tell you what it is first.
Greetings.
Say you're meeting someone for the first time, or someone you haven't seen for ages, or even, someone who you kind of know but don't really so every time you see them you have to do an official greeting every time. After you do the whole 'Hi I'm CJ.' 'Hi I'm Gladys' thing, or the 'Hey! How are youuuuu?' bit, I ask you, demand of you, WHAT DO YOU DO NEXT? There are so many options and none of them particularly appeal.
The handshake: too formal and (sorry mini-feminist who lives in my brain) girls can't pull off a handshake. It's weird. Then we have the hug: not formal enough for some people (I am not one of them. I am a hugger. A hug goblin if you will.) and a really good hug (which it would have to be because I am an excellent hugger and will not be deemed anything less, not by stranger nor friend) might be a bit up close and personal for people who haven't yet worked out I'm weird. And then there's the weird 'are we close enough friends to hug yet? We've never hugged before...' occurrence, which is even worse if one of you says 'Meh, Let's go for a hug!' and the other says 'Get off me, you weirdo.' Which has totally never happened to me...
But let's not even get started on the cheek kiss thing. We're not french, we're english. I don't say that to be racist. I quite like the french. Red Wine? Beret? Lovely. But english people can't pull it off, unless you're pretty posh/pretentious (which, admittedly, sometimes I like to have a go at) even then, do you go for one kiss, both cheeks? Repeat? What follows is a desperate, awkward head-butting session with a distant family member, and an even more awkward attempt to carry on as if nothing happened. I am not mature enough for the cheek kiss greeting, nor do I wish to allow it from anyone other than a well-meaning aunt. If we don't share genes, I don't want yours slobbered over my face. I know I have no social boundaries, but even if there're no lewd intentions, even if it's just your way of saying hi, if I wanted to kiss you, I would need dinner first. I am a lady (and pretty greedy). Otherwise, stay off of my face.
I feel like I should end by saying that I actually am a wonderful, approachable person. Darling, it's not you, it's me. And normally I hate rules. But we need some sort of legitimate system of recognising when to do what and with who (Bingo?) Or else, let's just chuck all the pleasantries out of the window and, if necessary, go for a high five.
Saturday 15 October 2011
Rise of the Kindness Ninjas
Hello Blog Friends :)
Ok, so a lot of the social boundaries that we've been breaking have been, how shall I say this, of a bit of the two-fingers-to-you-and-your-personal-hygiene variety. And that's great, expect a lot more of that. Trust me, we've only just begun. But this one is something genuinely close to my heart as something we need to get out there and change. We're trying to start a revolution here, guys, might as well make it a cool lovely one.
I don't know how many you of are, like myself, Jesus Nerds (that's both liking Jesus, and generally nerdy things, and combining the two to be a nerd about Jesus - it works on so many levels) but something that always comes up in church every now and again (and frankly, not enough) is this thing called 'Random acts of kindess'. Heard of it? Maybe not, and I'll tell you why.
The idea behind random acts of kindness is that, whether on behalf of the J-man or just to be quite nice, you do something unabashedly, unashamedly kind for someone. It could be someone you know or a stranger. You could give a chocolate bar to a homeless person, or do your housemate's washing up. Jesus told us to feed the poor, mourn with those who mourn and generally save the world, and Mark Twain told us 'The best way to cheer yourself up is to cheer somebody else up.' So, this is for Christians and Atheists alike. All in the name of spreading the joy and making the world just that little bit nicer. Lovely.
However, the thing that makes it EXTRA lovely (and let's be honest, completely awesome) is if it's done secretly and steathily so no one knows it's you. Hence, the rise of the Kindness Ninjas. Have you ever met anyone who's a ninja? No. And if you have, you don't realise it. Why? Because Ninjas are secretive and cool. Fact. Thus, my friends, we must become like ninjas in our pursuit of joy-spreading. Joey Tribiani once said there's no such thing as a selfless good deed, so we must do what Phoebe couldn't and prove him wrong. Take pride out of the equation. It also works if, like me, you're not too good at actually being nice to people because it's lame and squirmy. Problem solved.
And the reason Kindness Ninja-ing is breaking social boundaries is because people simply don't do it. I've been known to do a 'stealth lovely' and it's either gone completely unnoticed or people say 'who washed my car for me? That's creepy...' because people don't expect people to be nice for the sake of it, without anything in it for them. How sad is that? Doesn't that need changing?
So go forth, you bloggy hunks of beauty. Write a lovely note to a friend and post it anonymously, stop someone in the street and give them some flowers, you could even K-ninja it up for people in the developing world and switch your mum's tea bags for fairtrade ones and see if she notices (mine didn't, now there are happier people in Africa. That's a fact.) Just remember, be nice, but don't tell anyone. It's a secret...
Ok, so a lot of the social boundaries that we've been breaking have been, how shall I say this, of a bit of the two-fingers-to-you-and-your-personal-hygiene variety. And that's great, expect a lot more of that. Trust me, we've only just begun. But this one is something genuinely close to my heart as something we need to get out there and change. We're trying to start a revolution here, guys, might as well make it a cool lovely one.
I don't know how many you of are, like myself, Jesus Nerds (that's both liking Jesus, and generally nerdy things, and combining the two to be a nerd about Jesus - it works on so many levels) but something that always comes up in church every now and again (and frankly, not enough) is this thing called 'Random acts of kindess'. Heard of it? Maybe not, and I'll tell you why.
The idea behind random acts of kindness is that, whether on behalf of the J-man or just to be quite nice, you do something unabashedly, unashamedly kind for someone. It could be someone you know or a stranger. You could give a chocolate bar to a homeless person, or do your housemate's washing up. Jesus told us to feed the poor, mourn with those who mourn and generally save the world, and Mark Twain told us 'The best way to cheer yourself up is to cheer somebody else up.' So, this is for Christians and Atheists alike. All in the name of spreading the joy and making the world just that little bit nicer. Lovely.
However, the thing that makes it EXTRA lovely (and let's be honest, completely awesome) is if it's done secretly and steathily so no one knows it's you. Hence, the rise of the Kindness Ninjas. Have you ever met anyone who's a ninja? No. And if you have, you don't realise it. Why? Because Ninjas are secretive and cool. Fact. Thus, my friends, we must become like ninjas in our pursuit of joy-spreading. Joey Tribiani once said there's no such thing as a selfless good deed, so we must do what Phoebe couldn't and prove him wrong. Take pride out of the equation. It also works if, like me, you're not too good at actually being nice to people because it's lame and squirmy. Problem solved.
And the reason Kindness Ninja-ing is breaking social boundaries is because people simply don't do it. I've been known to do a 'stealth lovely' and it's either gone completely unnoticed or people say 'who washed my car for me? That's creepy...' because people don't expect people to be nice for the sake of it, without anything in it for them. How sad is that? Doesn't that need changing?
So go forth, you bloggy hunks of beauty. Write a lovely note to a friend and post it anonymously, stop someone in the street and give them some flowers, you could even K-ninja it up for people in the developing world and switch your mum's tea bags for fairtrade ones and see if she notices (mine didn't, now there are happier people in Africa. That's a fact.) Just remember, be nice, but don't tell anyone. It's a secret...
Tuesday 4 October 2011
Under the Influence
Hello Friends,
I'd like to point out this is 2 blogs in 2 days - that is the level of dedication I have to you all (or it might have something to do with the fact I have a massive textbook next to me and no inclination to read it...) but still, 2 days in a row of bloggy fun, Hooray!
Have you ever had one of those moments when you realise that you're doing something completely out of character and you've no idea why? Or have you stopped to think 'Why did I do this? Why did I choose this?' I don't mean massive, life-altering decisions (although it would be a good idea to think those through too) I mean little things like 'Why did I pick this sandwich?' or 'When did I start wearing grey nail varnish? I hate grey...'
I ask because recently it's been happening to me a lot. It all started when I was in the bath in my parents house and was reaching for the shampoo. However, I stopped myself when I saw that it was a 2-in-1 and not a separate shampoo and conditioner situation. And I suddenly thought 'I've been living here for years, we always have 2-in-1, why am I suddenly against it?'
I know this is thrilling so far, but let me explain. In my first year at uni, I went on an ASDA trip with some girls who were lovely but I didn't know very well. One of the girls....Suzie...was buying shampoo and went to pick up a 2-in-1 when another one said 'Oh, I don't think that works as well as using shampoo, and then conditioner.' A completely innocent occurrence. Suzie bought separate bottles, her hair looked lovely, everyone was happy. But I realised that from that point onwards, and never before, I stopped getting 2-in-1s and it wasn't until I was in this bath 2 years later that I realised how much one girl's non-chalant comment had changed my opinion.
Now, if you've read any of these blogs before, you know that I am a very lazy, and, let's say it, disgusting person. That's who I am, for better or worse (mostly worse). I've gone days without showering but I suddenly freeze when there's only a 2-in-1 shampoo in the bathroom - what's up with that?
I'm not saying that those girls did some jedi mind trick on me, and now I'm sane again. They're lovely, well-meaning girls and I think that's what influenced me. Because they're quite pretty and lovely and friendly, somewhere in my head I said 'I want to be a pretty lovely friendly person. Pretty lovely friendly people use separate shampoo and conditioners. Ergo, bye bye 2-in-1'
Ok, I don't think my subconscious used the word 'ergo' but you get my point. The people we're with have a scary amount of influence on us, even right down to the little things. How we dress, what we joke about, what modules we pick on our courses are, in some way or another, affected by our friends, people we want to be around or be like. And I'm not saying that's a bad thing, but then it makes you wonder who's influencing me? And how much should we be caring what other people think? I would have thought that in a heartbeat I would have said 'Not one jot. Other people suck. Bit of me and a lot more of Jesus and you can leave the rest, ta.' But we are always being shaped, whether we like it or not, so should we then be trying to get shaped by people worth emulating?
And who am I influencing and how? To think that I'm rubbing off on someone (bingo) is quite a responsibility to be an awesome person to be like. What if my little blog is turning everyone who reads it into non-showering, fart happy boundary-breakers? Now there's a cool and scary thought...
I'd like to point out this is 2 blogs in 2 days - that is the level of dedication I have to you all (or it might have something to do with the fact I have a massive textbook next to me and no inclination to read it...) but still, 2 days in a row of bloggy fun, Hooray!
Have you ever had one of those moments when you realise that you're doing something completely out of character and you've no idea why? Or have you stopped to think 'Why did I do this? Why did I choose this?' I don't mean massive, life-altering decisions (although it would be a good idea to think those through too) I mean little things like 'Why did I pick this sandwich?' or 'When did I start wearing grey nail varnish? I hate grey...'
I ask because recently it's been happening to me a lot. It all started when I was in the bath in my parents house and was reaching for the shampoo. However, I stopped myself when I saw that it was a 2-in-1 and not a separate shampoo and conditioner situation. And I suddenly thought 'I've been living here for years, we always have 2-in-1, why am I suddenly against it?'
I know this is thrilling so far, but let me explain. In my first year at uni, I went on an ASDA trip with some girls who were lovely but I didn't know very well. One of the girls....Suzie...was buying shampoo and went to pick up a 2-in-1 when another one said 'Oh, I don't think that works as well as using shampoo, and then conditioner.' A completely innocent occurrence. Suzie bought separate bottles, her hair looked lovely, everyone was happy. But I realised that from that point onwards, and never before, I stopped getting 2-in-1s and it wasn't until I was in this bath 2 years later that I realised how much one girl's non-chalant comment had changed my opinion.
Now, if you've read any of these blogs before, you know that I am a very lazy, and, let's say it, disgusting person. That's who I am, for better or worse (mostly worse). I've gone days without showering but I suddenly freeze when there's only a 2-in-1 shampoo in the bathroom - what's up with that?
I'm not saying that those girls did some jedi mind trick on me, and now I'm sane again. They're lovely, well-meaning girls and I think that's what influenced me. Because they're quite pretty and lovely and friendly, somewhere in my head I said 'I want to be a pretty lovely friendly person. Pretty lovely friendly people use separate shampoo and conditioners. Ergo, bye bye 2-in-1'
Ok, I don't think my subconscious used the word 'ergo' but you get my point. The people we're with have a scary amount of influence on us, even right down to the little things. How we dress, what we joke about, what modules we pick on our courses are, in some way or another, affected by our friends, people we want to be around or be like. And I'm not saying that's a bad thing, but then it makes you wonder who's influencing me? And how much should we be caring what other people think? I would have thought that in a heartbeat I would have said 'Not one jot. Other people suck. Bit of me and a lot more of Jesus and you can leave the rest, ta.' But we are always being shaped, whether we like it or not, so should we then be trying to get shaped by people worth emulating?
And who am I influencing and how? To think that I'm rubbing off on someone (bingo) is quite a responsibility to be an awesome person to be like. What if my little blog is turning everyone who reads it into non-showering, fart happy boundary-breakers? Now there's a cool and scary thought...
Monday 3 October 2011
Put it away, Love
Hello, long time no speak!
I must apologise for my delayed absence from the bloggisphere (I'm not sure if I like this word - thoughts?). Over the last few weeks I've been settling back into crazy busy student life (ok, I've been watching Doctor Who in my jammies and occasionally drinking wine but, to be fair, that pretty much sums up student life). Still, that's no excuse, forgive me, and let's get started, shall we?
Firstly, as I returned to uni, I realised that a couple of my friends here are avid readers of my blog - they're starting me a fan club - how cool is that? One friend in particular is called Percy who was pleading and begging to get a mention. I was like 'Percy, you haven't broken any social boundaries - I have to stick to the theme!' To which he replied 'Ok' and started going around and feeling up people's faces at a Christian Union BBQ. Now, I know it was on purpose, but you have to admire that kind of dedication to my little blog. Well done, Percy, I salute you. Now, back to business.
Over the last few days we've been having a bit of an indian summer. Apparently it's not an official indian summer because it wasn't cold enough before but, the point is, it's been bloody hot. Today, however, seems to be cooling down the world a bit and, although I love eating breakfast outside on the decking (yes, my student house has decking - suck it, losers!) I for one am glad to see the end of the summer for one reason: no more topless fat guys.
Now, I know I am the no-social-boundaries super nerd. I know I should be saying 'You don't want to wear a shirt? Don't wear one! Society is trying to keep you down, my brother, fight back with your sweaty man boobs.' However, I think you'll agree the term 'sweaty man boobs' does really argue my point for me - why is it always the biffers who think they are adonises, and yet I never see Tom Hardy wandering the streets of Hatfield shirtless?
I know, I know, men are not there for me to judge and leer after, and this isn't really my point. It's just that after a few days of staring at man flab, my friend Christina was also at the end of her tether and said 'you wouldn't see a girl walking around like that' to which I replied (as Christina is quite a gorgeous looking girl) 'yeah, well, if you did, they'd probably like it anyway.'
Again, you're probably expecting me to fight for the right of women to walk around in a similar fashion, and I'm all for equality, really, but I reckon this is one social boundary that actually needs tightening. Even if it's a relatively attractive guy walking around without a shirt, it's still somehow unnerving. You know you end up staring where the t shirt should be instead of the face, it's like a car crash, you can't look away. And 9 times out of 10 it's not an attractive man and you really, really want to look away. Really.
Thus, I am issuing a demand (I feel like I have the right to) Menfolk, I don't care how hot it is, and I'm sure it doesn't actually make that much of a difference, I declare that anything from pectorals to thighs must be covered at all times. If we have to keep it in our bras, so do you fellas. Fair's fair.
I must apologise for my delayed absence from the bloggisphere (I'm not sure if I like this word - thoughts?). Over the last few weeks I've been settling back into crazy busy student life (ok, I've been watching Doctor Who in my jammies and occasionally drinking wine but, to be fair, that pretty much sums up student life). Still, that's no excuse, forgive me, and let's get started, shall we?
Firstly, as I returned to uni, I realised that a couple of my friends here are avid readers of my blog - they're starting me a fan club - how cool is that? One friend in particular is called Percy who was pleading and begging to get a mention. I was like 'Percy, you haven't broken any social boundaries - I have to stick to the theme!' To which he replied 'Ok' and started going around and feeling up people's faces at a Christian Union BBQ. Now, I know it was on purpose, but you have to admire that kind of dedication to my little blog. Well done, Percy, I salute you. Now, back to business.
Over the last few days we've been having a bit of an indian summer. Apparently it's not an official indian summer because it wasn't cold enough before but, the point is, it's been bloody hot. Today, however, seems to be cooling down the world a bit and, although I love eating breakfast outside on the decking (yes, my student house has decking - suck it, losers!) I for one am glad to see the end of the summer for one reason: no more topless fat guys.
Now, I know I am the no-social-boundaries super nerd. I know I should be saying 'You don't want to wear a shirt? Don't wear one! Society is trying to keep you down, my brother, fight back with your sweaty man boobs.' However, I think you'll agree the term 'sweaty man boobs' does really argue my point for me - why is it always the biffers who think they are adonises, and yet I never see Tom Hardy wandering the streets of Hatfield shirtless?
I know, I know, men are not there for me to judge and leer after, and this isn't really my point. It's just that after a few days of staring at man flab, my friend Christina was also at the end of her tether and said 'you wouldn't see a girl walking around like that' to which I replied (as Christina is quite a gorgeous looking girl) 'yeah, well, if you did, they'd probably like it anyway.'
Again, you're probably expecting me to fight for the right of women to walk around in a similar fashion, and I'm all for equality, really, but I reckon this is one social boundary that actually needs tightening. Even if it's a relatively attractive guy walking around without a shirt, it's still somehow unnerving. You know you end up staring where the t shirt should be instead of the face, it's like a car crash, you can't look away. And 9 times out of 10 it's not an attractive man and you really, really want to look away. Really.
Thus, I am issuing a demand (I feel like I have the right to) Menfolk, I don't care how hot it is, and I'm sure it doesn't actually make that much of a difference, I declare that anything from pectorals to thighs must be covered at all times. If we have to keep it in our bras, so do you fellas. Fair's fair.
Tuesday 20 September 2011
Real Men Don't Dance?
Sup, my Blog Brothers and Sisters?
Ok, that was my attempt at being gangster...I'll stop. Moving on...
I have a friend called...Graham...who is a rather epic drummer and a few days ago we all jollied over to Brighton to hear him play in this strange but quite awesome experimental Jazz band (I know, check out how cool I am.) When Graham's band were finished, with such hits as 'Here comes the onslaught, let's make love' and, my personal favourite, 'Grow, Kill, Grow', the headliners came on, who were this samba percussion type situation (I'm not advertising them well, they were very good) and, as much as you think experimental jazz and samba don't mix, it was a great night and fun times were had by all.
When the samba drums get going, it brings out the urge to dance in people in a way that Michael Buble never quite manages - you end up thinking you're cool and you've got the moves...you haven't. So, Polly, Jake and I were quite happy having a sit and having a giggle at the woman with, ahem, all the moves and no bra...when out of nowhere, our friends Laya and Neil jump up and start going for it. Laya is another drummer so she has great rhythm and is just generally one of those people who look effortlessly cool whatever they do...Neil is not one of those people. But, God love him, he gives it a bloody good go.
And Neil kept going for the entire set. I got up and had a bit of a boogie with him, and other women in the bar dotted in and out, but, apart from this one brazilian guy who was, frankly, mentally unstable, Neil was the only man up there doing his thing. And you find it in all sorts of occassions where we're all too shy or self-conscious to just have fun, and this is guys and girls. Girls do the whole 'I want to dance, maybe I will if my friends all do too and we can dance the same way...' thing, but blokes tend to just sit there with their arms folded. Not Neil.
In fact, I would go so far as to say that this is my favourite thing about Neil, and he's a fairly lovable kid anyway. Guys have a hard time feeling confident dancing, I guess it isn't very 'Manly' but Neil has no qualms, no doubts, no shame about getting down with the kids, he just has fun. And to me, I'd much rather hang out with guys like that than ones who are all 'I'm too cool and angsty for fun, I'm just gonna sit here in my skinny jeans and my Ray Bans and be better than you all'. That's not being manly, or even likable. And yes, his girlfriend picks his clothes, and there's not much evidence that I can see that he's started shaving yet...but in those moments, when he's bouncing around and waving his arms about like a numpty, my friend Neil is all man, my friends. And you have not lived until you've attempted to salsa with him without any regards to timing or basic rhythm.
Ok, that was my attempt at being gangster...I'll stop. Moving on...
I have a friend called...Graham...who is a rather epic drummer and a few days ago we all jollied over to Brighton to hear him play in this strange but quite awesome experimental Jazz band (I know, check out how cool I am.) When Graham's band were finished, with such hits as 'Here comes the onslaught, let's make love' and, my personal favourite, 'Grow, Kill, Grow', the headliners came on, who were this samba percussion type situation (I'm not advertising them well, they were very good) and, as much as you think experimental jazz and samba don't mix, it was a great night and fun times were had by all.
When the samba drums get going, it brings out the urge to dance in people in a way that Michael Buble never quite manages - you end up thinking you're cool and you've got the moves...you haven't. So, Polly, Jake and I were quite happy having a sit and having a giggle at the woman with, ahem, all the moves and no bra...when out of nowhere, our friends Laya and Neil jump up and start going for it. Laya is another drummer so she has great rhythm and is just generally one of those people who look effortlessly cool whatever they do...Neil is not one of those people. But, God love him, he gives it a bloody good go.
And Neil kept going for the entire set. I got up and had a bit of a boogie with him, and other women in the bar dotted in and out, but, apart from this one brazilian guy who was, frankly, mentally unstable, Neil was the only man up there doing his thing. And you find it in all sorts of occassions where we're all too shy or self-conscious to just have fun, and this is guys and girls. Girls do the whole 'I want to dance, maybe I will if my friends all do too and we can dance the same way...' thing, but blokes tend to just sit there with their arms folded. Not Neil.
In fact, I would go so far as to say that this is my favourite thing about Neil, and he's a fairly lovable kid anyway. Guys have a hard time feeling confident dancing, I guess it isn't very 'Manly' but Neil has no qualms, no doubts, no shame about getting down with the kids, he just has fun. And to me, I'd much rather hang out with guys like that than ones who are all 'I'm too cool and angsty for fun, I'm just gonna sit here in my skinny jeans and my Ray Bans and be better than you all'. That's not being manly, or even likable. And yes, his girlfriend picks his clothes, and there's not much evidence that I can see that he's started shaving yet...but in those moments, when he's bouncing around and waving his arms about like a numpty, my friend Neil is all man, my friends. And you have not lived until you've attempted to salsa with him without any regards to timing or basic rhythm.
Tuesday 13 September 2011
PDA: Public Displays of Annoyance
Hello Bloggies
I'm not going to lie to you, today's blog may be coming from a slightly irritable place. I've been up since 4am, in and out of the bathroom throwing up and what not, and thus I am a little bit, shall we say, cranky? I tell you this in the spirit of full disclosure, in case the rest of this blog sounds a bit harsh, I'm very sorry. I'm not bitter....
Now, let's put that out of our minds as we talk about, shockingly, something not related to bad personal hygiene (apparently it's been a bit 'fart heavy' recently - sorry guys). Let's talk about lurrrrrve. Or, more specifically, people in love, in my face.
I consider myself quite a romantic person, not in a romcom cheese kind of way but, you know, the cool indie film kind of way. More like Juno and the TicTacs thing rather than The Notebook or something. This needs to be said so that you know, I'm not down on love. Or doing lovely romantic things together, or for each other. Or holding hands or cuddles - I love all that crap. What I do not love, however, is being able to see it. Unless it's my actual boyfriend in which case looking at the romantic stuff he does for me is probably mandatory...and lovely and stuff.
My problem lies with PDA (Public Displays of Affection). To clarify, the term PDA accounts for snuggling, kissing, play fighting, and general 'acting in love' *salutes* (E.g. making 'isn't my boyfriend so dreamy?' eyes). Also, as we do live in a technological age, I'd like to add in any lovey-dovey facebook wall posts to the mix. When you're saying 'I love my baby' *voms* on your status, OTHER PEOPLE CAN READ THAT. And they don't want to know! Tell your 'Baby' *voms again* in person, and by the way, don't do it in a secret couples 'code', we can all guess what you're saying and who you're saying it about. You're not James Bond.
Ok, this all sounds very bitter, but I have a plethora of reasons to 'have beef' as it were, with the PDA. For one, it's lame and icky and cheesy. Let me explain, I love to hear occasionally, my friends telling me the odd sweet thing that their boyfriend/girlfriend has done for them. It's nice to know that they're happy and in love and everything's grand. Otherwise I worry. Yet, to see it makes me want to stab them. We don't realise that when we're alone, all the lovely little in-jokes and ways of acting around each other seem cute and originial, in public, they're not. It's sickening.
The second reason, and perhaps the least bitter and most sane one, is that there are very few occasions when you're in a group and everyone is a) in a good mood or b) young and in love. If you're single, and you're trying to have a conversation with your best friend whilst her boyfriend is licking her face, that's not fun! That's the opposite of fun for you. I have a friend who actively avoids spending time with certain couples, because seeing people all happy and settled just reminds her that she isn't. And if you're in a couple but, say, it's long distance or things aren't going well or you're just plain in a bad mood, you don't want to see that in front of you because it just feels like the world is showing off, and holding up a big neon sign that says "HEY! HEY! LOOK HOW MUCH IN LOVE WE ARE. WE'RE MORE IN LOVE BECAUSE WE'RE NOT AFRAID TO SHOW IT!" You're not, you're a pair of douche bags.
Ok, maybe that bit was harsh...sorry...but the thing I've noticed is that couples are in 1 of 3 categories. They're either Pro PDA, Anti PDA or say they're anti PDA but actually they're just as bad as the first group. These people are the most annoying of all. My sister's fiance is the one who gave me the idea to do this blog. However, Blanche wanted me to do a pro one - she literally has no shame. Which is, you know, wonderful to see her all over my big sister. I love to see them make out, and call each other 'Baby' more times than Justin Bieber. Really. Blanche is in group 1. Grace, however, is in group 3. She is just as bad as Blanche, if not worse, but when she heard us discussing it she was like 'Oh yeah do one about Blanche. She's terrible'
Believe it or not, I don't want to moan. I'm well aware that sometimes you don't know when you're doing it, or you'd act the same with anyone else so it doesn't feel like PDA or your lover person does something so amazingly wonderful that you have to show your appreciation there and then. I get that. We're only human. Just try and work out a way of being subtle or wait til you get home, and then we can all be friends and I won't have to shoot you in the face. Everyone wins.
I'm not going to lie to you, today's blog may be coming from a slightly irritable place. I've been up since 4am, in and out of the bathroom throwing up and what not, and thus I am a little bit, shall we say, cranky? I tell you this in the spirit of full disclosure, in case the rest of this blog sounds a bit harsh, I'm very sorry. I'm not bitter....
Now, let's put that out of our minds as we talk about, shockingly, something not related to bad personal hygiene (apparently it's been a bit 'fart heavy' recently - sorry guys). Let's talk about lurrrrrve. Or, more specifically, people in love, in my face.
I consider myself quite a romantic person, not in a romcom cheese kind of way but, you know, the cool indie film kind of way. More like Juno and the TicTacs thing rather than The Notebook or something. This needs to be said so that you know, I'm not down on love. Or doing lovely romantic things together, or for each other. Or holding hands or cuddles - I love all that crap. What I do not love, however, is being able to see it. Unless it's my actual boyfriend in which case looking at the romantic stuff he does for me is probably mandatory...and lovely and stuff.
My problem lies with PDA (Public Displays of Affection). To clarify, the term PDA accounts for snuggling, kissing, play fighting, and general 'acting in love' *salutes* (E.g. making 'isn't my boyfriend so dreamy?' eyes). Also, as we do live in a technological age, I'd like to add in any lovey-dovey facebook wall posts to the mix. When you're saying 'I love my baby' *voms* on your status, OTHER PEOPLE CAN READ THAT. And they don't want to know! Tell your 'Baby' *voms again* in person, and by the way, don't do it in a secret couples 'code', we can all guess what you're saying and who you're saying it about. You're not James Bond.
Ok, this all sounds very bitter, but I have a plethora of reasons to 'have beef' as it were, with the PDA. For one, it's lame and icky and cheesy. Let me explain, I love to hear occasionally, my friends telling me the odd sweet thing that their boyfriend/girlfriend has done for them. It's nice to know that they're happy and in love and everything's grand. Otherwise I worry. Yet, to see it makes me want to stab them. We don't realise that when we're alone, all the lovely little in-jokes and ways of acting around each other seem cute and originial, in public, they're not. It's sickening.
The second reason, and perhaps the least bitter and most sane one, is that there are very few occasions when you're in a group and everyone is a) in a good mood or b) young and in love. If you're single, and you're trying to have a conversation with your best friend whilst her boyfriend is licking her face, that's not fun! That's the opposite of fun for you. I have a friend who actively avoids spending time with certain couples, because seeing people all happy and settled just reminds her that she isn't. And if you're in a couple but, say, it's long distance or things aren't going well or you're just plain in a bad mood, you don't want to see that in front of you because it just feels like the world is showing off, and holding up a big neon sign that says "HEY! HEY! LOOK HOW MUCH IN LOVE WE ARE. WE'RE MORE IN LOVE BECAUSE WE'RE NOT AFRAID TO SHOW IT!" You're not, you're a pair of douche bags.
Ok, maybe that bit was harsh...sorry...but the thing I've noticed is that couples are in 1 of 3 categories. They're either Pro PDA, Anti PDA or say they're anti PDA but actually they're just as bad as the first group. These people are the most annoying of all. My sister's fiance is the one who gave me the idea to do this blog. However, Blanche wanted me to do a pro one - she literally has no shame. Which is, you know, wonderful to see her all over my big sister. I love to see them make out, and call each other 'Baby' more times than Justin Bieber. Really. Blanche is in group 1. Grace, however, is in group 3. She is just as bad as Blanche, if not worse, but when she heard us discussing it she was like 'Oh yeah do one about Blanche. She's terrible'
Believe it or not, I don't want to moan. I'm well aware that sometimes you don't know when you're doing it, or you'd act the same with anyone else so it doesn't feel like PDA or your lover person does something so amazingly wonderful that you have to show your appreciation there and then. I get that. We're only human. Just try and work out a way of being subtle or wait til you get home, and then we can all be friends and I won't have to shoot you in the face. Everyone wins.
Monday 5 September 2011
Ok, you can look now...
In light of noticing I have a few readers of a more sensitive soul, (ahem, Pat) I thought I'd write about a social boundary-breaking experience that doesn't even mention farting, or IBS or bad personal hygiene of any kind (well, there might be a bit but I'll try...) I've even chosen LARGE font so that if something gross does come up (Bingo?) I can put it in teeny tiny font so you can skip over those bits. [ Just so you know this is a one blog only deal. I'm kind, but I'm not a saint. ]
A few weeks ago, if you'll recall, I disappeared from the bloggisphere to go to a festival for ten days. Don't pretend like you don't remember - I know you missed me. In fact, I actually went to 2 festivals back to back in the same field. For the first 5 days I was working in a cafe at Soul Survivor, a christian festival for young people. Then I stayed on for Momentum which is a similar festival for students and old, mature, wise people (ahem). Anyhoo...on the first night in the Cafe I was put on a team with 4 other girls, one of whom I knew from last year, but basically I didn't know these people. This is a very important bit to remember. Just so you're aware.
So, I'm chatting to these girls and it turns out one of them (who we'll call...Hayley? Hayley.) had just got back from Uganda and was going to Leeds Uni in September. This was fun and exciting because A) My friend 'Hannah' had just been to Uganda (and I had just watched The Last King of Scotland so I knew loads about Uganda thank you very much) and B) My friend 'Oliver' was at Leeds Uni. I thought - well she sounds lovely: NEW FRIEND ALERT! [And I don't make new friends easily - I'm very choosy] and I introduced her to Oliver and all t'others and fun times were had. Hooray.
But why am I telling you this? Well, Hayley and OIiver and I were talking at the end of the first evening shift and she made some comment along the lines of 'I wish I were also staying for Momentum' and I, having only met her 5 hours prior (and being the NSB Super Nerd that I am) exclaimed 'Stay for Momentum!!!' to which she replied 'No one else I know is staying...' and I came back with 'Camp with us! YOU CAN SLEEP IN MY TENT!'
I'd known her 5 hours...
Yet more remarkable than my desperate outburst was that Hayley didn't phone security, and, as Soul Survivor continued, we got to know her more and more and then - same old, same old - we found out how awesome she was, she found out how awesome we are, one thing lead to another and she decided to stay for Momentum. Yay.
Now all of this sounds like one long, and slightly drivelly, girl crush love letter...sorry...but I have an actual point. If I, or any one of my friends, were a 'normal' person, no one would have felt comfortable inviting a random stranger to essentially live with us for 5 days. And Hayley must be pretty cool too in order to agree to stay. And we're massive weirdos. I wouldn't have camped with us. We have stupid/wildly inappropriate games we play regularly called 'Knife, Fork or Spoon' and, the classic: 'Penis or Other?'
So my point is that we get so stuck in labels in relationships and stupid details like how long we've known a person and how well we know them and whether or not we can tell them this or that because of these silly details and it's (sorry Mum) bollocks. I tell most people I meet anything they want to know about me. Yes, I have no shame and perhaps should have a bit more...and Yes, we met Hayley at a christian festival and not Glastonbury or anything, but she still could have been a murderous, rapey, drug dealer (less likely...but possible...) but we made a lovely new friend. She has a new friend at Uni to share a cupcake and a crossword with, ergo, everyone wins! Another social boundary broken, and not a fart in sight (oops, nearly made it).
P.S. (Pan, don't read on) Whilst writing this entry, my sister 'Grace' (who also made me start this blog - you're welcome) told me she read "Big Girls Don't Fart" out loud to her fiance 'Blanche' on a crowded train, which did greatly amuse me until Dad came in and topped it by informing me that he and mum went to Pilates, he stood at the front of the group and went into the first stretch and farted in front of everyone. I love my family.
A few weeks ago, if you'll recall, I disappeared from the bloggisphere to go to a festival for ten days. Don't pretend like you don't remember - I know you missed me. In fact, I actually went to 2 festivals back to back in the same field. For the first 5 days I was working in a cafe at Soul Survivor, a christian festival for young people. Then I stayed on for Momentum which is a similar festival for students and old, mature, wise people (ahem). Anyhoo...on the first night in the Cafe I was put on a team with 4 other girls, one of whom I knew from last year, but basically I didn't know these people. This is a very important bit to remember. Just so you're aware.
So, I'm chatting to these girls and it turns out one of them (who we'll call...Hayley? Hayley.) had just got back from Uganda and was going to Leeds Uni in September. This was fun and exciting because A) My friend 'Hannah' had just been to Uganda (and I had just watched The Last King of Scotland so I knew loads about Uganda thank you very much) and B) My friend 'Oliver' was at Leeds Uni. I thought - well she sounds lovely: NEW FRIEND ALERT! [And I don't make new friends easily - I'm very choosy] and I introduced her to Oliver and all t'others and fun times were had. Hooray.
But why am I telling you this? Well, Hayley and OIiver and I were talking at the end of the first evening shift and she made some comment along the lines of 'I wish I were also staying for Momentum' and I, having only met her 5 hours prior (and being the NSB Super Nerd that I am) exclaimed 'Stay for Momentum!!!' to which she replied 'No one else I know is staying...' and I came back with 'Camp with us! YOU CAN SLEEP IN MY TENT!'
I'd known her 5 hours...
Yet more remarkable than my desperate outburst was that Hayley didn't phone security, and, as Soul Survivor continued, we got to know her more and more and then - same old, same old - we found out how awesome she was, she found out how awesome we are, one thing lead to another and she decided to stay for Momentum. Yay.
Now all of this sounds like one long, and slightly drivelly, girl crush love letter...sorry...but I have an actual point. If I, or any one of my friends, were a 'normal' person, no one would have felt comfortable inviting a random stranger to essentially live with us for 5 days. And Hayley must be pretty cool too in order to agree to stay. And we're massive weirdos. I wouldn't have camped with us. We have stupid/wildly inappropriate games we play regularly called 'Knife, Fork or Spoon' and, the classic: 'Penis or Other?'
So my point is that we get so stuck in labels in relationships and stupid details like how long we've known a person and how well we know them and whether or not we can tell them this or that because of these silly details and it's (sorry Mum) bollocks. I tell most people I meet anything they want to know about me. Yes, I have no shame and perhaps should have a bit more...and Yes, we met Hayley at a christian festival and not Glastonbury or anything, but she still could have been a murderous, rapey, drug dealer (less likely...but possible...) but we made a lovely new friend. She has a new friend at Uni to share a cupcake and a crossword with, ergo, everyone wins! Another social boundary broken, and not a fart in sight (oops, nearly made it).
P.S. (Pan, don't read on) Whilst writing this entry, my sister 'Grace' (who also made me start this blog - you're welcome) told me she read "Big Girls Don't Fart" out loud to her fiance 'Blanche' on a crowded train, which did greatly amuse me until Dad came in and topped it by informing me that he and mum went to Pilates, he stood at the front of the group and went into the first stretch and farted in front of everyone. I love my family.
Sunday 4 September 2011
Revenge of the Fart Flushers
Well, we're only 6 blogs in and I've already become controversial! How many cool writer points do I get? Check me out! (Boo, I've probably just lost some there, haven't I? Brilliant.) Apparently, my lovely cousin...Pimms (which by the way is a brilliant fake name for her as she's been known to enjoy a beverage or two) was reading out my blog - specifically "Big Girls Don't Fart" - to her manfriend (who we'll call Pat...Or Pan. He knows why.) When she'd finished reading, she turned to him and he had a bit of an uncomfortable look on his face. She asked him what the matter was and he said - and I quote (ok, not quote but get as near to a quote as I can) - 'Well, it's really well written and really funny [yay me] ...but man, do I feel sorry for Jake.'
It turns out that old Pat face is not a fan of the public fart. And not just female farting (which I suppose is a good thing as at least he's up for equality) but any farting of one human in front of another human. Ever. To the point which he will leave the room to fart, and expect Pimms to do the same. Even if he's a happily married man, he will never be comfortable enough to fart in front of his wife. This makes me sad.
And yet this is not even the biggest revelation to come out of that one little blog. Apart from the fact that I now know Pat doesn't like people to fart in front of him (and thus I try to do it as often as I can) I discovered, when telling this to my best friend Polly, that Polly is the same. But, further, Polly not only leaves the room to fart; she goes to the loo and flushes them! I have known, and been best friends with, Miss Polly Pepper for 6 years now and I never knew this about her. She claims she has never farted in front of me, or any of our friends, for the duration of our friendship. She had a boyfriend for 3 years and only farted in front of him once, and that was in her sleep. Polly and I have even shared a toilet before (not at the same time, but in the same cubicle. Just to clarify.) And yet she will not fart in front of me. She'll wee, but not fart. Madness.
Needless to say, I do not condone this behaviour. Some of the bigger Star Wars loving (and frankly, more awesome) ones of you will have noticed the episode 3 reference in the title of this blog. For those of you lesser Star Wars buffs (philistines!) episode 3 is called Revenge of the Sith. The Sith are, essentially, the baddies in Star Wars. Remember this for future reference: Jedis = good, Sith = bad. This is how strongly I am against fart flushers. They are fart Sith and frankly ridiculous. I love Polly...and Pat's quite nice too...but if they carry on this ludicrous behaviour I might have to light saber their asses. I mean it. Now I just need to get me a light saber...
It turns out that old Pat face is not a fan of the public fart. And not just female farting (which I suppose is a good thing as at least he's up for equality) but any farting of one human in front of another human. Ever. To the point which he will leave the room to fart, and expect Pimms to do the same. Even if he's a happily married man, he will never be comfortable enough to fart in front of his wife. This makes me sad.
And yet this is not even the biggest revelation to come out of that one little blog. Apart from the fact that I now know Pat doesn't like people to fart in front of him (and thus I try to do it as often as I can) I discovered, when telling this to my best friend Polly, that Polly is the same. But, further, Polly not only leaves the room to fart; she goes to the loo and flushes them! I have known, and been best friends with, Miss Polly Pepper for 6 years now and I never knew this about her. She claims she has never farted in front of me, or any of our friends, for the duration of our friendship. She had a boyfriend for 3 years and only farted in front of him once, and that was in her sleep. Polly and I have even shared a toilet before (not at the same time, but in the same cubicle. Just to clarify.) And yet she will not fart in front of me. She'll wee, but not fart. Madness.
Needless to say, I do not condone this behaviour. Some of the bigger Star Wars loving (and frankly, more awesome) ones of you will have noticed the episode 3 reference in the title of this blog. For those of you lesser Star Wars buffs (philistines!) episode 3 is called Revenge of the Sith. The Sith are, essentially, the baddies in Star Wars. Remember this for future reference: Jedis = good, Sith = bad. This is how strongly I am against fart flushers. They are fart Sith and frankly ridiculous. I love Polly...and Pat's quite nice too...but if they carry on this ludicrous behaviour I might have to light saber their asses. I mean it. Now I just need to get me a light saber...
Friday 26 August 2011
Perhaps the most GENIUS idea I've ever had
Hello Bloggies! First, an apology. I know you've been sitting at your laptops/smart phones/tablets with confused expressions on your faces. I know you've been distressed and inwardly crying out 'Where is the next blog? When is it coming?!' I know you've been dying for a tweet, a word, anything in the name of breaking social boundaries, general nerdiness *salute* or even just a weird gross joke or two. From the bottom of my heart, I apologise. I've spent 10 days in a field at a christian MUSIC festival and have not had access to you all. Sad times. However, camping brings out in me a whole new level of disgusting that I never knew I had, so prepare yourselves for many a blog that will leave you saying 'Seriously? She posted that on the internet?!' Good times.
So, grovelling out of the way, I thought, as part repentance, part gift to you, I would share with you the BEST IDEA IN THE HISTORY OF HUMAN KIND! Ok, maybe I'm getting ahead of myself, but I was quite pleased with my little discovery. As I may have mentioned/ranted before, I have this thing called POBS (or IBS to those of you who want beating with a large stick up a personal place) and the thing about POBS is you spend a lot of time on the loo; 'waiting on the Lord' as it were, or, to put it more crudely, waiting to poo.
So, enough sharing for one day...before I left for my christian MUSIC festival, I was sitting in the kitchen, with a cup of tea at that just beautiful temperature of hot, but drinkable, when I realised another round of 'waiting on the lord' was about to grace my life. Without thinking, I picked up my tea and started heading for the bathroom, when Jake asked, somewhat increduously 'Are you taking your tea to the loo with you?' I paused. I reflected. And said 'Yes. Yes I am.' What followed was perhaps the greatest thing of all time (apart from Jesus, Jane Austen, Batman, Star Wars and the Princess Bride...and cake) Ready? Well you should be because I've pretty much mentioned it already:
Tea on the Toilet
Now some of you are thinking 'What's the point?' and others are possibly thinking 'Well, of course! We've been doing that for years.' To the first group, answers are coming. To the second, well done. I salute you sir and/or madam. You have reached the promised land.
The reason why Tea Toilet Time is a beautiful, wise and wonderful thing, or at least, one reason of many, is time. More and more we are becoming these crazy busy people with responsibilities, worries and general stuff *salutes* to do. There's no time anymore to just sit and think, relax, breathe in a bit of life. Even when we have down time we're watching TV, listening to ITunes, reading a book, there're no little moments of calm nothingness, to simply be. Tea on the Toilet cuts through the madness because it gives you a quiet time without having to, if you'll pardon the pun, force it. Even if you don't have POBS, there are always those occasions where you know you're going to need the loo, but there'll be a long time waiting before anything occurs. Instead of leaving it until nature not only calls but texts, facebooks and starts banging down the front door, put the kettle on. Make a brew and have a sit until nature is ready to take its course. It even solves that awkward problem of 'Is there more coming or should I get up?' Who cares? Sit back and take another sip.
P.S. This blog is dedicated to my friend 'Hannah' as this may literally be the only way to make her stop. I've possibly saved her life now. I'm brilliant.
So, grovelling out of the way, I thought, as part repentance, part gift to you, I would share with you the BEST IDEA IN THE HISTORY OF HUMAN KIND! Ok, maybe I'm getting ahead of myself, but I was quite pleased with my little discovery. As I may have mentioned/ranted before, I have this thing called POBS (or IBS to those of you who want beating with a large stick up a personal place) and the thing about POBS is you spend a lot of time on the loo; 'waiting on the Lord' as it were, or, to put it more crudely, waiting to poo.
So, enough sharing for one day...before I left for my christian MUSIC festival, I was sitting in the kitchen, with a cup of tea at that just beautiful temperature of hot, but drinkable, when I realised another round of 'waiting on the lord' was about to grace my life. Without thinking, I picked up my tea and started heading for the bathroom, when Jake asked, somewhat increduously 'Are you taking your tea to the loo with you?' I paused. I reflected. And said 'Yes. Yes I am.' What followed was perhaps the greatest thing of all time (apart from Jesus, Jane Austen, Batman, Star Wars and the Princess Bride...and cake) Ready? Well you should be because I've pretty much mentioned it already:
Tea on the Toilet
Now some of you are thinking 'What's the point?' and others are possibly thinking 'Well, of course! We've been doing that for years.' To the first group, answers are coming. To the second, well done. I salute you sir and/or madam. You have reached the promised land.
The reason why Tea Toilet Time is a beautiful, wise and wonderful thing, or at least, one reason of many, is time. More and more we are becoming these crazy busy people with responsibilities, worries and general stuff *salutes* to do. There's no time anymore to just sit and think, relax, breathe in a bit of life. Even when we have down time we're watching TV, listening to ITunes, reading a book, there're no little moments of calm nothingness, to simply be. Tea on the Toilet cuts through the madness because it gives you a quiet time without having to, if you'll pardon the pun, force it. Even if you don't have POBS, there are always those occasions where you know you're going to need the loo, but there'll be a long time waiting before anything occurs. Instead of leaving it until nature not only calls but texts, facebooks and starts banging down the front door, put the kettle on. Make a brew and have a sit until nature is ready to take its course. It even solves that awkward problem of 'Is there more coming or should I get up?' Who cares? Sit back and take another sip.
P.S. This blog is dedicated to my friend 'Hannah' as this may literally be the only way to make her stop. I've possibly saved her life now. I'm brilliant.
Tuesday 9 August 2011
Big girls don't fart
Oooo it's two icky ones in a row, what a bargain!
This is one social thing that is always a little bit awkward: The Lady Fart. We all do it, everyone knows we do it, yet most girls hold in even a minor trump for fear of cries of "You are unclean! Away with you, Wench!" This fear is ridiculous, but not entirely unfounded. I'm a fairly confident public farter (Note to self: add that to CV) yet even yesterday, my boyfriend of 2 and a half years - who is well aware how disgusting I am - comes out with "But girls don't fart..." Maybe he was joking...and maybe I shouldn't have physically attacked him...but it's a common opinion that farting isn't "ladylike" [and again - what does that mean?! There isn't such a word as manlike!] I am here to say that not only do girls fart as much as boys, but sometimes even more...
You see, good internet friends, about 3 years ago I discovered I had this wonderful thing called IBS, which stands for irritable bowel syndrome. Now, before I knew what it was, I never thought about it but now I do know, all too well, what IBS is; I take offence to the name. The syndrome bit is fine. It's serious, it's medical-y. That's grand. And bowel is fine also because, well, that's what it is. But irritable?? When my mum nags me the minute I get home I'm irritable. When I have to make small talk with well-meaning, but infinitely dull, people I'm irritable. When my insides rage into self-destructive mode because I had too much mayonaise in my sandwich, I'm not irritable, I'm pissed off. And before you say it's the bowel that's irritable, no it isn't. My bowel hates me. And isn't afraid to show it. By the way, all this ranting is actually only a precursor to tell you that whenever I mention it again, I shall not refer to it as IBS, but POBS (Pissed Off Bowel Syndrome). Just so we're on the same page.
So, back to women folk. I mention POBS because women are more likely to get it than men, and so are much more likely to be farting all over the shop. And we shouldn't be afraid to because, if you have POBS, farting makes the evil insides happy again. Why should we stop being happy inside? I like being happy. Try it. It's fun.
And just to reassure everyone that I'm not bitter...or not entirely...I have found some wonderful ways of making excessive farting fun. Firstly, the "girls don't fart" thing. The first time I farted in front of my boyfriend, he smelt it and said "oh sorry, was that me?" It turns out old Jakeface often farts without realising, and thus everytime I farted, I'd follow it with an "Oh, Jake!" It was at least a year of our relationship before he found out. Genius. And he didn't work it out, I had to confess.
Also, I have discovered that if you own it, and make it your own, it's not as embarassing as much as it is hilarious. And I will do most things for a joke. Thus, when I won at cards the other night, and felt a Pissed Off Bowel movement coming on, I didn't sit quietly and hope it went away. That would have been horrible for me and no fun for everyone else because sitting silently is LAME. Instead, I proudly threw down my cards and said "Right, I'm going for a Victory Poo." Cue riotous, if slightly shocked, laughter and a empty-bowelled, happy CJ. Joy all around :)
Right, that's third-wheeling, showering, and farting boundaries smashed. I am on a roll.
This is one social thing that is always a little bit awkward: The Lady Fart. We all do it, everyone knows we do it, yet most girls hold in even a minor trump for fear of cries of "You are unclean! Away with you, Wench!" This fear is ridiculous, but not entirely unfounded. I'm a fairly confident public farter (Note to self: add that to CV) yet even yesterday, my boyfriend of 2 and a half years - who is well aware how disgusting I am - comes out with "But girls don't fart..." Maybe he was joking...and maybe I shouldn't have physically attacked him...but it's a common opinion that farting isn't "ladylike" [and again - what does that mean?! There isn't such a word as manlike!] I am here to say that not only do girls fart as much as boys, but sometimes even more...
You see, good internet friends, about 3 years ago I discovered I had this wonderful thing called IBS, which stands for irritable bowel syndrome. Now, before I knew what it was, I never thought about it but now I do know, all too well, what IBS is; I take offence to the name. The syndrome bit is fine. It's serious, it's medical-y. That's grand. And bowel is fine also because, well, that's what it is. But irritable?? When my mum nags me the minute I get home I'm irritable. When I have to make small talk with well-meaning, but infinitely dull, people I'm irritable. When my insides rage into self-destructive mode because I had too much mayonaise in my sandwich, I'm not irritable, I'm pissed off. And before you say it's the bowel that's irritable, no it isn't. My bowel hates me. And isn't afraid to show it. By the way, all this ranting is actually only a precursor to tell you that whenever I mention it again, I shall not refer to it as IBS, but POBS (Pissed Off Bowel Syndrome). Just so we're on the same page.
So, back to women folk. I mention POBS because women are more likely to get it than men, and so are much more likely to be farting all over the shop. And we shouldn't be afraid to because, if you have POBS, farting makes the evil insides happy again. Why should we stop being happy inside? I like being happy. Try it. It's fun.
And just to reassure everyone that I'm not bitter...or not entirely...I have found some wonderful ways of making excessive farting fun. Firstly, the "girls don't fart" thing. The first time I farted in front of my boyfriend, he smelt it and said "oh sorry, was that me?" It turns out old Jakeface often farts without realising, and thus everytime I farted, I'd follow it with an "Oh, Jake!" It was at least a year of our relationship before he found out. Genius. And he didn't work it out, I had to confess.
Also, I have discovered that if you own it, and make it your own, it's not as embarassing as much as it is hilarious. And I will do most things for a joke. Thus, when I won at cards the other night, and felt a Pissed Off Bowel movement coming on, I didn't sit quietly and hope it went away. That would have been horrible for me and no fun for everyone else because sitting silently is LAME. Instead, I proudly threw down my cards and said "Right, I'm going for a Victory Poo." Cue riotous, if slightly shocked, laughter and a empty-bowelled, happy CJ. Joy all around :)
Right, that's third-wheeling, showering, and farting boundaries smashed. I am on a roll.
Monday 8 August 2011
Go on, let's have a gross one
Ok, Guys, I've let you down. I promised an anything and everything blog full of breaking social norms, bodily functions; essentially the things you wouldn't mention to your Grandmother but it would be really funny to. And I realise that this is only the 3rd blog in so it's not like I've gone completely off track but I know myself well and for all my virtues, I'm not much of a starter-finisher. So we'll have a go :)
Firstly, as I write this now you have my solemn vow (although I'm not sure that's entirely necessary) that I am freshly showered, smelling lovely and just all the wonderful lady-like things one is expected to be [ side note: Have you ever noticed that a lot of the words that are describing what's 'feminine' are pretty pointless as they're just variations of female terms. Like 'Ladylike' and 'Girly' what does that even mean?! ] But I digress...the reason I tell you that I have showered is that an hour ago I couldn't have (without being a filthy liar - hehe pun) or yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that. You see, kids, being the massive skank that I am, I have not showered since thursday, today is monday. That's 5 days inclusive. And I didn't even realise this until yesterday when I noticed my hair was slightly greasy and decided to work out how long it had been. I was slightly shocked, but did I even shower that day? No. I couldn't be arsed.
The problem is that a few months ago I did this thing called 'The Water Challenge' which was set up by a charity called Tearfund, raising awareness of the issues of water and sanitation in the poorer parts of the world. Put simply, I lived for a week like someone would do in Africa, on only 10 litres of water a day. To give you a quick sense of perspective, in the west we tend to do 200 litres a day, 10 litres is like a minute in a power shower. So I didn't shower for a week (among other things like sticking to oven food and not using the washing machine) it wasn't pleasant, but I realised something. Aside from realising the incredible struggles that people go through every day for something as easy for us as pressing a button or turning a tap, on a more trivial note, I seem to have a very good natural body odour. So good in fact that some people didn't really notice my seven-day showerless stint. I even asked my friend - cue fake name invention with minimum thought - Jamie, who I can always trust to give her honest opinion (I love people like that!) how terrible I smelled and even she said she couldn't really tell.
The problem that I have, among many other vices that, don't worry, I am aware of, is that I'm completely lazy. Seriously. They should give me an award. Once, 'Hannah' and 'Jake' eg. best friend and boyfriend drove up for hours to visit me at uni and I didn't manage to get dressed before they got to me...at 8pm... So I am aware what being able to miss the odd 4 showers and get away with it means, I will do that. A lot. Don't judge me.
And when you think about it (albeit possibly stretching this too far to justify my disgusting ways) why not? I go to this christian Music festival every year, called Momentum, camping with my lovely churchy friends and the boys shower every day. At a festival. In a field. Do the girls? No. They call us skanky, and they may have a point, but for guys its a 5 minute shower, bit of hair gel and they're good to go. My boyfriend doesn't even use shampoo. For a girl it's shampoo, condition, shave, shower gel, maybe a cheeky foot pumice...and then trying to tame long wet hair into submission, let alone making it all pretty and dry, takes at least 45 minutes. Meanwhile the boys are off gallavanting and we're still stuck in the tent, trying to defy the laws of hair maintenance and, even physics, to attempt becoming goddesses with 4 kirby grips and a tin of mousse. It's not worth it. Life's too short. Pass me the dry shampoo and a baby wipe.
Firstly, as I write this now you have my solemn vow (although I'm not sure that's entirely necessary) that I am freshly showered, smelling lovely and just all the wonderful lady-like things one is expected to be [ side note: Have you ever noticed that a lot of the words that are describing what's 'feminine' are pretty pointless as they're just variations of female terms. Like 'Ladylike' and 'Girly' what does that even mean?! ] But I digress...the reason I tell you that I have showered is that an hour ago I couldn't have (without being a filthy liar - hehe pun) or yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that. You see, kids, being the massive skank that I am, I have not showered since thursday, today is monday. That's 5 days inclusive. And I didn't even realise this until yesterday when I noticed my hair was slightly greasy and decided to work out how long it had been. I was slightly shocked, but did I even shower that day? No. I couldn't be arsed.
The problem is that a few months ago I did this thing called 'The Water Challenge' which was set up by a charity called Tearfund, raising awareness of the issues of water and sanitation in the poorer parts of the world. Put simply, I lived for a week like someone would do in Africa, on only 10 litres of water a day. To give you a quick sense of perspective, in the west we tend to do 200 litres a day, 10 litres is like a minute in a power shower. So I didn't shower for a week (among other things like sticking to oven food and not using the washing machine) it wasn't pleasant, but I realised something. Aside from realising the incredible struggles that people go through every day for something as easy for us as pressing a button or turning a tap, on a more trivial note, I seem to have a very good natural body odour. So good in fact that some people didn't really notice my seven-day showerless stint. I even asked my friend - cue fake name invention with minimum thought - Jamie, who I can always trust to give her honest opinion (I love people like that!) how terrible I smelled and even she said she couldn't really tell.
The problem that I have, among many other vices that, don't worry, I am aware of, is that I'm completely lazy. Seriously. They should give me an award. Once, 'Hannah' and 'Jake' eg. best friend and boyfriend drove up for hours to visit me at uni and I didn't manage to get dressed before they got to me...at 8pm... So I am aware what being able to miss the odd 4 showers and get away with it means, I will do that. A lot. Don't judge me.
And when you think about it (albeit possibly stretching this too far to justify my disgusting ways) why not? I go to this christian Music festival every year, called Momentum, camping with my lovely churchy friends and the boys shower every day. At a festival. In a field. Do the girls? No. They call us skanky, and they may have a point, but for guys its a 5 minute shower, bit of hair gel and they're good to go. My boyfriend doesn't even use shampoo. For a girl it's shampoo, condition, shave, shower gel, maybe a cheeky foot pumice...and then trying to tame long wet hair into submission, let alone making it all pretty and dry, takes at least 45 minutes. Meanwhile the boys are off gallavanting and we're still stuck in the tent, trying to defy the laws of hair maintenance and, even physics, to attempt becoming goddesses with 4 kirby grips and a tin of mousse. It's not worth it. Life's too short. Pass me the dry shampoo and a baby wipe.
Saturday 6 August 2011
Reclaiming the 3rd Wheel (Because Del Boy's Reliant Robin was legendary)
We've all been caught in that situation. You're single, or your lover person is busy, and you think "Oh, I know, I'll go see what [insert couples' names here] are up to". Suddenly it's just you, and two other people who are very much in love and not afraid of showing it. You're an extra, a gooseberry, a third wheel.
But fear no more because the solution is here! I don't know if you're meant to use proper names on blogs so for privacy I'll make them up for people :) My boyfriend...Jake...and I have a running joke with our mutual best friend, let's call her Polly, that she's our official third wheel. Jake and I are known for being - how shall I say this? - less than couple-y in group situations because, let's face it, it's cheesy, not nice to the single people and just plain lame to be all lovey-dovey in front of people. For example, on new year's eve most people had a lovely kiss at midnight, we had a high five. Just as fun and no one feels sad. It's a win.
So as Polly is single at the moment and summer is that weird time when people aren't around all at once as they're off gallavanting, we decided to reclaim the third wheel status as a good, unpatronising and super fun thing; to make it a wonderful experience to be adopted as a couple's third wheel, and hang out with them without feeling awkward or sad inside. But not only did we hang out with Polly, we took her on a date!
We went to the cinema together, bought some beverages and, apart from a moment where Polly said "let's hold hands!" and then awkwardly realised that going in the middle meant she was holding Jake's hand and that was weird, it was ridiculously fun! Now we have our other best friend...Hannah...fighting for joint third wheel custody over us because her boyfriend is away and we're just really fun!
There you have it, first social boundary broken! Go forth, dear friends, and book a table for 3 (just make sure you all pay dutch because dinner for 3 is hard on the student wallet!)
But fear no more because the solution is here! I don't know if you're meant to use proper names on blogs so for privacy I'll make them up for people :) My boyfriend...Jake...and I have a running joke with our mutual best friend, let's call her Polly, that she's our official third wheel. Jake and I are known for being - how shall I say this? - less than couple-y in group situations because, let's face it, it's cheesy, not nice to the single people and just plain lame to be all lovey-dovey in front of people. For example, on new year's eve most people had a lovely kiss at midnight, we had a high five. Just as fun and no one feels sad. It's a win.
So as Polly is single at the moment and summer is that weird time when people aren't around all at once as they're off gallavanting, we decided to reclaim the third wheel status as a good, unpatronising and super fun thing; to make it a wonderful experience to be adopted as a couple's third wheel, and hang out with them without feeling awkward or sad inside. But not only did we hang out with Polly, we took her on a date!
We went to the cinema together, bought some beverages and, apart from a moment where Polly said "let's hold hands!" and then awkwardly realised that going in the middle meant she was holding Jake's hand and that was weird, it was ridiculously fun! Now we have our other best friend...Hannah...fighting for joint third wheel custody over us because her boyfriend is away and we're just really fun!
There you have it, first social boundary broken! Go forth, dear friends, and book a table for 3 (just make sure you all pay dutch because dinner for 3 is hard on the student wallet!)
Friday 5 August 2011
Oh..Hi there! Let's get started, shall we?
Alright Kids?
My sister said that if I want to be a brilliant writer and stuff I should start a blog and I'm always up for a shameless excuse to talk about me! People say they're entirely honest on Facebook and blogs etc or that they say everything they think but it struck me that no one is really that honest online are they??
For example; why does no one ever have a status about their certain time of the month? Or, at the risk of being crude, if they had a really good poo. Come on, we all think 'Oh, that was a good one' but no one ever says it, or at least I only do to a very select group of friends who understand that I have no social boundaries whatsoever.
But why are some things acceptable to be open about, and other things not? And why only with certain friends? I have a best friend who, if there is a long queue in the loos, we'll go into the same cubicle together (albeit with a courtesy back-turn) but try that with my other friend from uni and suddenly it's: 'No you're bloody well not!'
So that's what's going to be in this blog. All the things that we wish we could say, or never even thought too share, because we are afraid to. But life's too short to be shy and so many things in life are hilarious or thought-provoking, why not share them? Probably there'll be other things such as books, films, and a whole host of nerdy/christian merriment (yes I am one of those...a nerd...) So stick around, it's probably going to be gross, or I'll likely forget the original intention and just prattle on about star wars. Either way, let's have fun :)
My sister said that if I want to be a brilliant writer and stuff I should start a blog and I'm always up for a shameless excuse to talk about me! People say they're entirely honest on Facebook and blogs etc or that they say everything they think but it struck me that no one is really that honest online are they??
For example; why does no one ever have a status about their certain time of the month? Or, at the risk of being crude, if they had a really good poo. Come on, we all think 'Oh, that was a good one' but no one ever says it, or at least I only do to a very select group of friends who understand that I have no social boundaries whatsoever.
But why are some things acceptable to be open about, and other things not? And why only with certain friends? I have a best friend who, if there is a long queue in the loos, we'll go into the same cubicle together (albeit with a courtesy back-turn) but try that with my other friend from uni and suddenly it's: 'No you're bloody well not!'
So that's what's going to be in this blog. All the things that we wish we could say, or never even thought too share, because we are afraid to. But life's too short to be shy and so many things in life are hilarious or thought-provoking, why not share them? Probably there'll be other things such as books, films, and a whole host of nerdy/christian merriment (yes I am one of those...a nerd...) So stick around, it's probably going to be gross, or I'll likely forget the original intention and just prattle on about star wars. Either way, let's have fun :)
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