Celibacy Drawer

It's over. It's just all over. The final thread has been cut I can officially say that if it wasn't for the fact that I don't believe in god (and if I did I'm pretty sure we wouldn't get on), I could become a nun.
This weekend I made the terrible mistake of going on a clothing cull. I maliciously made my way through my wardrobe destroying the final pieces of slutty apparel and those dresses from uni that I've just held onto for far too long.
This however is not the miserable event that has led my contemplating the prospect of sore knees. I'm sure I am not the only girl who has THAT drawer. The place where you keep THAT underwear. The underwear that you buy when you start seeing someone, the underwear that you buy that may actually be seen by other people. It is essential to have this underwear, especially in the early stages of a relationship aka the lying stages. As far as he's concerned you always wear black lacy kickers and the idea that you actually own several pants with different Sesame Street characters on them never even enter his mind. The thing is these are terrible lies and if he actually saw your real underwear there is always a lot to learn. Food for example; I believe that my cookie monster pants provide a clear message 'you may only enter here if you have recently supplied or going to supply cookies'. Although it may also be this message that is keeping men out of my pants and eventually me coming out of them as my waist line stretches out the cookie monsters face so even he thinks it's one too many.
I don't think men's underwear has the same effect as women's. It doesn't provide helpful dietary information and it doesn't work to enhance their assets. A man doesn't go out and buy a nice lacy pair of boxes in order to seduce his female counter part, if he had any sense he would go out and buy the aforementioned cookies. Triangle man didn't quite get this. Triangle man and me were together for a while and during this time he went through a phase. The triangle went and purchased a pair of silk boxers. He strutted into the room rendering me confusingly blinded as the light reflected off them and I immediately started looking around for what was surely a landing spacecraft. He gave me a look that showed both he thought this was a good idea and he had no idea that pouty lips only really work on Angelina Jolie. I suddenly became aware of why this look had occurred as he stretched out the top of the elasticated waist and so my attention could be brought to the label that read 'Stallion'. He then proceeded to move to the bed sliding off quite spectacularly and landing with a bump on the floor. Men should just stick to a clean pair of black boxers.
Over time I have gathered a nice little collection of underwear that goes in the bottom drawer to be taken out when and if necessary. It has admittedly twindled over the years and now.... it is no more. As I looked at the last few items that remained several depressing thoughts occurred. 1) none of it actually fits any more. I am no longer a size 8. Whilst I could try and spin this to a good thing of an enhanced bra size I suspect it has more to do with cookie monsters stretching face. 2) It has been a long time since I have added to the drawer. 3) There is no reason to have the drawer. I have now filled the drawer with pyjamas. It is my celibacy drawer. No longer a place where virtue goes to die but now a place where any sense of my sexual self goes to die and instead I can be found on my sofa in a TMNT onsie trying to get to grips with the bible.

A very quick thought: Nice guys really do finish last

Throughout this blog I have shared some of the most embarrassing moments of my life. The point being that a) they happen so frequently they are shared without my consent anyway and b) I can hope to afford someone a laugh and a sense of kindred. This time however I did nothing to embarrass myself. There was no vomiting of any kind, my ass remained unmarked from nettles and his balls stayed intact and I’m sure perfectly able to have children.

My online dating profile seemed to work for a whole 2 seconds when I met Craig. We spoke for a while and then texted for a while. He was an architect. I don’t know where it comes from that that is hot but it seemed to strike a chord with me. Yes he spoke French and whilst I’m sure that most girls would be swooning at this, it sickened me that it stemmed from the fact that he used to live in France. Why would you choose to live in France... its full of French people!!

Every conversation that we had flowed with ease and I was actually looking forward to a date for once. As long as I in no way acted like myself it was sure to go well. I met Craig and the date was very easy, we chatted, we laughed and he proved to be in every way possible a great guy, just what a woman could want....... and I was in no way attracted to him.

He was a FRENCH SPEAKING ARCHITECT AND I WASN'T ATTRACTED TO HIM!!

I’m a disgusting person and the sad part is I’m pretty sure I am not the only one. The term ‘nice guys finish last’ is absolutely 100% true. Let’s have a look shall we......

I met one of my high school boyfriends in the nurse’s office. I had made a clumsy tit of myself falling over, he ran in to avoid being seen by the maths teacher that was currently hunting him down.

I once got stuck up a lamp post from being challenged to get to the top, drunkenly realising at the top it was a very long way down whilst he rode off on his motorbike laughing.... he came back ten minutes later but that laughter, leaving me up there and of course the whole motorbike thing well that was enough for me to consider having his babies.

Mr Darcy is more attractive in the first 236 pages of the book, before volume three hits when he gets all nice and changes himself for the woman he loves. NO, JUST NO DARCY. Remain your broody, dark insulting self and never ever change.

I’m a sick twisted person. I could happily sit here and tell you that what I really want in life is to be happy blah blah blah and it’s true it really is, however the side of my brain that is telling me this is getting beaten with a baseball bat by the other side of my brain.

So this rather short addition is not in any way to heal with laughter. There is nothing I can currently do on that front as my complete lack of social life has rendered me unable to participate. It does however give out an important message, nice guys be a bit of a bastard. It’s the only way you are going to get anywhere. And girls; we all know that the bad guys don’t want to commit but if you find one that does.......... give him to me or I will cut you!

"How would your friends describe you?"

A few months ago a friend and I made a pact; if we were still single by New Year then we would sign up to internet dating. As you may have noticed, it’s New Year. I also only have 5 months to get a date before my brother’s wedding. So I have once again started the barrel cleaning adventure that is online dating. After the turn out of my last attempt I have to admit to being a little nervous, however I refuse to be one of those people that moan about things without doing anything positive to change it. Those people present the opportunity for tea cup rim sharpening.

The actual matches and subsequent computerised conversation is one thing but the building of your profile is just exhausting. First you have to sift through a series of questions and suddenly try and answer for the opinions of others. When asked about yourself you can never tell the truth as they are all pre-prepared answers.

How would your friends describe you? - Honest, Friendly, Shy etc.

What about ‘none of the above’? My friends would describe me as ‘an averagely intelligent core wrapped in a geeky outer. Probably insane with a cynicism that may one day end the lives of several humans and the construction of a real life Death Star just for personal shits and giggles’.  And yet this option does not appear anywhere.

How would you describe your physical build? Athletic, Curvy etc.

A series of hot dog rolls placed both vertically and horizontal, that sometimes squidgy together forming a red zebra crossing.

Then you have to select what you are looking for in a partner. There was one question that got me stumped. How important is your partner’s physical appearance? Now if I say ‘Very’ I will probably end up with self obsessed Ken Dolls that are only on the site because the plastic factory blew up. They would probably also wonder why I am appearing in their section with my lack of hair extensions and what race I am considering my lack of orange tint. The conclusion most likely being that I am albino. On the other hand if I say ‘not at all’ I will end up with a series of men with teeth that resemble stone henge and use a rag on a stick to reach that ‘hard to get to’ places. I know beggars can’t be choosers but there is no such thing as a sexy marshmallow man.

Picture time. Why am I drunk in all these photos? The rest involve me in an array of fancy dress that may show an obsession with role play to an internet pervert. So I have to look through all my photos. Why do I have so many photos of Bonobo monkeys? Oh wait, that’s me? What happens to my nose when it’s in front of a camera? I don’t want to shock you but I may be Elmo’s mum.

The final profile prep is writing up things like your hobbies. Here comes the problem; I don’t have a lot of hobbies that don’t make me seem like a 12 year old boy or 50 year old woman but I do have this (my blog). Do I put it on there? How would I even go about explaining it considering its content? ‘If you would like to re-live the most embarrassing moments of my life for a risk assessment and find out the size of my ex-boyfriends penis then go crazy’...

Cycling and comics it is.  

"New year, new me"

I hate New Years Eve. It's just another day and yet it seems to have the ability to turn multitudes of people into bumbling idiots. Every year even the smartest of people start spouting tripe like "New year, new me". This usually lasts about a day when they realise that you can't control everything and Lindt tastes better than lettuce. Then the next year they will make the exact same resolutions like a retarded Duracell bunny. New Year can only really be useful in a time scale capacity. For example The Keeper of The Boy (my brother’s fiancé) is using it as a countdown to their wedding. This leaves me with 5 months to get a date, be prepared for hilarity! I’m using it as only 6.5 months until the summer holidays. The August pay day is the best. You basically get paid to do bugger all. I like to think of it as hazard pay. Teachers and lecturers need hazard pay. There is nothing more hazardous than battling the mine-field that is the emotional state of a teenager. Additionally there is the cataclysmic student breakdown when they realise that getting a degree is hard. This usually happens at the end of the 1st or 3rd semester.

"Well done you've figured out that getting a degree is hard, you're a fudging genius, no wonder you got onto this course".  Just before Christmas I said "no shit Sherlock" to three different students!

NYE is of course an opportunity to party. Many take this as a brushing off of last year’s troubles. I take it as a pre-war high. The cosmos is a bitch and will treat you like hell for the rest of your life no matter what you do on NYE, so you might as well be drunk whilst she screws you. I've spent exactly one NYE out in town, preferring private parties and the local pub with friends. NYE in town is ridiculous.

The night started with me and a few other girls attempting to squeeze into dresses. Whilst I do enjoy dressing nice, I much prefer the comfort of shorts or jeans, however I was informed that part of going out on NYE is lifting your ass into a dress that it’s sure to fall out of later. Out we went where the current boyfriend dragged us from bar to bar. There was no difference between these bars. All were crowded beyond capacity, playing music loud enough to make a deaf mans ears bleed, ready tp get you into debt with £9 drinks and leading to the one activity you can do; stand... and possibly gig on the spot a bit. What’s the fudging point? Sardines don’t sit in a tin thinking ‘Hell yeah, those humans don’t know what they’re missing’. But apparently someone believes that they do and enticed people with £3 entry. So I stand there gulping vodka while the boyfriend holds my ass in my dress before there is a tongue down my throat.

“What the fudge? Oh right that song that no-one knows the words to but everyone holds hands is playing, it must be New Year. That song really needs a better dance. Ewww I can taste Fosters. A Fosters tongue slug is how I see in the New Year, well that bodes well”.

As we trudge back home 3 hours later everyone is happy and screaming about what a great night it was.

“Have I missed something? I could have stood in my living room doing the exact same thing for a lot less money and then pay for the hit man to take out the guy who thought the sardines have a good life. I put it down to them being drunk. Light weights. And as for the boyfriend drinking Fosters, that’s practically water all he should be feeling is fully hydrated”.

This experience and others did however lead to a good game this year; NYE Bingo. 25 squares of NYE hilarity and embarrassment you are bound to see. A game for both enjoyment and judgement. Here are a few example squares to get you started on your own game.

1) A crying girl.  There’s always some girl crying. Her boyfriend has made a tit of himself, she’s still fat despite last year’s resolution or she’s so drunk that the alcohol is actually seeping from her eyes, it doesn’t matter which one as long as she’s crying. Usually snotting over her River Island ass-holder dress.

2) A man pissing outside. This is genius. Whilst it looks like a one-eyed worm wrapped in spam, you have to marvel at the penis’s accessibility. Whilst women have to wait in line on NYE surrounded by vomiting Oompah Lumpahs, and girls with frication burn on their knees, men manage to pee anywhere. And they do.

3) Vomit. Suddenly on NYE the streets become covered in vomit and the risk of tripping over a pea like marbles on a lino floor becomes increasingly likely. Why is there always pea’s in vomit? 

Feminism gone mad!

I would really hate to be a man. Not because of the unattractive genitalia that lights up at the first sign of side boob, (honestly it must need tranquillisers over the summer) but because you never know where you stand. You offer to help a girl carry something heavy and you never know if you are going to be branded a gentlemen or a sexist.

This week women have really pissed me off. I was sent a link on Facebook to someone’s blog in which they branded ‘love actually’ as a sexist movie. This in itself I think can definitely be considered a matter of opinion. The fact that this person then went on to describe the movie if you reversed all the roles as a genius stroke of woman empowerment, made me feel sorry for the opposite gender.

Now let’s be honest, quite often throughout this blog I have pointed out the failings of men but I think we can all agree that in a lot of the stories I’m the one who comes across as an idiot, (if you doubt this I suggest ready posts such as vomitgate and my of course the time I put impulse on my face). I am all for equal opportunities for women. I absolutely believe that it should be a woman’s choice if she wants to have kids or to carry on with her career, and if she does do so she should have as equal chance getting the top job as a man. However I do think a lot of the time we are our own worst enemy. Our expectations of men are very unclear. Under no circumstances are you to comment on Jessica Alba’s breasts, however also if you don’t hold the door open for me I will CUT YOU!!

We have blurred the lines of feminism so much I’m not even sure when I’m supposed to be mad anymore. It’s most upsetting for me as I’m very good at the mad part. The main part that annoyed me this week though was the backwardness of our argument. For example in this ‘love actually’ rant she recommended reversing the roles. If there is a male prime minister hitting on a younger secretary then it’s sexist, however if it’s the other way around then ‘well done girl’. If a man watches ‘Tomb raider’ for the sheer pleasure of Angelina Jolie’s arse in HD then its sexist. If I watch Australia for no other reason than to see Hugh Jackman with his top off then I’m a woman in touch with her sexuality. I honestly have no idea what the hell happened in that movie! How the hell are men supposed to act? How the hell am I supposed to act?

I’ve always considered myself to be an independent woman and also a bit of a feminist. I’m not a proper girly girl and I you won’t ever find me prancing around in a pretty dress waiting for a man to notice me. However I do like being a girl. Maybe I’m lucky coming from a family where men are (despite their faults) pretty gentlemanly. Even The Gay will open the wine and pour it. Is he being sexist by doing so? I don’t think so.

Men and woman are different. Accept it. Yes we should all get equal pay and equal rights. Everybody should no matter of their gender, race or sexual orientation, but don’t try and take away everything that makes us different. I don’t want to be a man. They have the strangest thought processes and they inflict pain on each other for fun. Look at me being sexist!! Is everybody seeing my point now? There are a shit load of things that women can do that men can’t and there are things that men can do that women can’t.

Let’s cut all this women empowerment crap and purposefully trying to prove something by putting cougars and bitches up on pedestals. Let’s not call a woman sleeping with her male secretary a god and a man sleeping with his female one an oppressor. We know in our heart of hearts they’d be lost without us and I bet if you think about it we’d be lost without them. After all we all have a father in some form. Get fucking used to it.                                                                       

"You're too pretty to use on-line dating"

Yes I am sure this is the case. My awesome beauty must also be the cause of why I am still single. Men are just so overwhelmed by my looks that they can’t ever stand it. It would continually make them ask the question ‘why is someone so beautiful with a guy like me’, and no one ever wants to live with that. What a load of fudge.

I’m not going to turn this into a case of me moaning about my own looks, I seriously believe that there is enough of that going on in the world. I find it amazing that we are always demonizing obesity before classing every girl that is below a size 12 anorexic. I will however make several cases in my defence of being ‘too attractive for online dating.

If I was attractive I would expect to be flirted with by hot guys. This has never happened. When I’m out there have been the odd occasions, the odd smiles and drinks. These have all some from one type of man; the fugly ones. Seriously, my ability to be chatted up by the young and the weird is incredible. This obviously does wonders for my self esteem. If we judge ourselves by the people we attract then my face is in no way symmetrical.

Any hope to improve my personal appearance also seems to be against me. I have given up on being fashionable in the beauty department after 2 serious life events.

So I spend money on some lovely velvet soft shower gel. A mix of flower blossoms, this wonderful new invention is supposed to turn into a mouse that will hydrate your body to know end. Let’s not laugh at this, skin is important and there’s nothing more off putting that stroking someone’s arm only to have to wash off flakes from your fingerprints. So I use the shower gel. Ooh tingly. I step out the shower and AHHHH.

Oh my god I'm going to die. My body is covered head to toe in red blotchiness. Will this be permanent? Will people spend time wondering if I was in some terrible accident? Will I have to start a sympathy campaign to make people more aware of the tragic illness of..... shower gelitis?’

Magnolias are apparently nice, they have an apparently good smell and there must be something going on there because everyone paints their houses that colour. I am allergic to magnolias. They’re in fudging everything and one touch of anything that is scented and I look like I got intimate with a wire brush.  Did you know that most waxing kits have flowers in them? It always takes a good few months before they bring out a brand for sensitive skin without all the additions. Again skin is important. Nowadays every hair on the body is expected to be either tidy or gone. It’s actually kind of sick when you think about it. We become a woman and get the forest to prove it only for many men to want it cut down to resemble the days of adolescence. Never ever wax your bikini line, or your legs for that matter. You are ripping hair from your body. Would you rip the hair from your head? No. So why does every single girl try waxing. We know it’s going to be bad, we know that it’s painful and scary and stupid. AND THEY PUT FLOWERS IN IT!! Coloured tights are all the rage and you no longer need them, red is so your colour. Spread eagle was originally a gymnastics move which grew to have sexual connotations before it became a way of preventing leg rubbage whilst you wait for the redness to go down and contemplating spreading the ice cream on your legs instead of putting it in a bowl.

How am I supposed to make a positive step in my dating life if these steps are going to leave me needing medical treatment?

Whilst I will leave it to others to decide on my attractive merits I can unequivocally say that they will at no point improve. 

"We're getting married"

Would you fudging stop it now please. For some reason everyone is really happy. STOP IT. STOP IT NOW.
Within the last month 2 friends have got married, 3 engaged and 1 has had a baby. It's selfish is what it is. No appreciation for the patheticness of other people's lives. Nowadays it's not even something you overhear down the pub, where there is immediate access to to alcohol. Instead you have the hell of Facebook. You glance at your phone and BAM! Here's a reminder that you wasted your life chasing a career because in the end you're all alone in a flat you don't even own. I'm sure some of my friends are reading this right now thinking 'miserable bitch', well you started it you bling-fingered care bears on Prozac. . . Seriously guys congratulations, really happy for you!
If there is one thing worse than the continuous 'feels so strange to say husband' updates it's the baby updates. This terrible disease has even infected Optimus now that she's a mum. Apparently when you have a parasite ripped out of your womb that then becomes your responsibility, you become overly nice. Now little Bumblebee (see what I did there!) is cute but he's changed her. This week she offered to travel all the way to my place to drop off my advent calendar. Gone are the days of insults and ransom demands, sending pictures of small ripped off doors. She's really nice. It's very disconcerting. Then of course was the status update:
Optimus is feeling proud...... bumblebee ate some carrot today.
What the fudge! I eat vegetables and no one praises me. No one updates a status about my consumption of broccoli. Every Christmas I'm forced to eat a brussel sprout, where's my Facebook medal? My mother has Facebook so why is she not proud of my ability to choke down some cabbage whilst wishing it was chocolate. Some mothers even go beyond the food praise and start sharing their child's ability to use the potty. Congratulations you've looked at some shit today! I work with animals my shit reader is way above yours. You want to start a photo competition? I will take you down bitch.
Again they are praising a child's ability to defecate- something I have been doing for many years, I can even wipe my own arse. Stop praising children for mastering basic hygiene. It makes them lazy and by the time they get to me to teach them they expect the same treatment. Let me be clear: I will NOT praise your child for shitting, I've seen monkeys do the same.