Actually just around the corner is my place of work! I live so close to work I may as well live there and save myself a bundle on rent and heating. I very much doubt I am ever going to find love there, unless I decide to take the bestiality route and start having sex with rabbits, snakes and alpacas. I'm pretty sure that even if I fell in love with one of the staff it would be termed bestiality!
Around the other corner is the doctors surgery, I don't hold out much hope here either. I don't go that often even if I need to go I avoid it until I have finally concluded that no amount of alcohol is going to fix the problem. The whole place creeps me out. It's the place people go to to find out that they need to go to the place you go to die. It's the people who sit in the waiting room showing no signs of illness that worry me most. If they are 300 years old, on crutches or sneezing you know what you're getting yourself in for. Chat up the asymptomatic and I guarantee you'll be back in that waiting room trying to convince yourself that your vagina is supposed to resemble a Kiwi in both texture and colour. I did find myself recently in that waiting room after suffering a student and goat related back problem. I refer you to the first paragraph to prevent any dirty imagery. After a quick game of 'Does that hurt' (yes it fudging hurts, that's why I'm fudging here), I got prescribed some pain killers and muscle relaxants. This second prescription terrified me no end. I suddenly imagined myself being propelled off my bed through uncontrollable flatulent's, while drool trailed the way from my stroke resembled face before eventually being guided onto a bus that needs its windows cleaned 3 times a day.
Luckily this was not the case but I happily spent the next several days high as a kite and one particular evening talking to my rubber duck after washing the pills back with wine. Professor Duckington did point out that it clearly says 'DO NOT CONSUME WITH ALCOHOL' on the pack but his lack of moveable appendage prevented him from intervening any further.
So my choices remain to be work, where I would be arrested no matter where I looked for a partner or the place that will eventually be telling me to say my goodbyes and stock up on adult nappies. So maybe I should try other corners. If I start walking around in circles am I more likely to meet someone? Maybe I could carry around a mirror on a stick to jump around the corner at just the right time. I'll be meeting a man in no time, he'll be fitting me into a new 'special' jacket before you know it.
So love is just around the coner? Funny, I didn't realise I have always been walking in a straight line!
Monday, 25 March 2013
Wednesday, 20 March 2013
Fire Crotch
My sister is pregnant. Now this isn't something new to me, I've known since before Christmas but now that she is actually showing I can't help but think 'my sister is pregnant!'.Now I'm not going to lie I probably haven't been the most helpful sister in the world. For example pointing out that she's almost as round as I am tall probably wasn't the most sensitive thing in the world to say. I'm just not one of those baby fever, isn't creating new life wonderful people. I like to trip children up when they run up and down the train, screaming and disturbing me from my depressing, blog writing thoughts.
There are many mothers out there who will look at this in disgust. I would ask those women to take a look at their vaginas and then consider which is the more disgusting? Let's face it babies murder vaginas. That's why lesbians can't get each other pregnant. They need the vagina to stay in order so they don't get lost during cave diving.
I've always thought that the vagina is quite a seemly thing, all tucked away with a garden the Edward scissorhands would happily spend his time creating and re-creating. Once a child gets hold of it though it all goes down hill and starts slapping between your thighs. If you are pregnant right now you probably haven't seen your vagina for a while. Don't kid yourself thinking it's ok down there. Let me give you an idea; do you remember 'gunge'? That rubber/plastacine love child that you could mould and throw at the wall? Ever drop it on the carpet? Yep that's your vagina now. Never quite setting on a shape but moulding to whatever pants you're wearing that day. Yes you will have a tiny baby to show for it but is that worth feeling like an extra in Alien?
There is only one worse thing you can do to your lady region: Fire Crotch.
Fire Crotch should not happen and yet it managed to happen to me. I was taking a night off cooking and allowed the ex to cook for me instead. He made a spicy casserole that destroyed my pan and tasted like licking a rusty spoon. To make up for this we went to bed (I wonder whose idea that was!). I'm not going to tell you exactly what happened as I already share too much on this blog. Just consider what happens when you're having sex and his hands move to places well... you know when you cut chilli you're not supposed to touch your eyes.............. Got it now?!! Why the fudge did he not wash his hands? There's nothing quite like stopping sex to throw your shower head between your legs on the coldest setting possible.
Fire Crotch, it's real people. If I ever squeeze out a sprog I will spend the labour considering which agony is worse, a tiny person ripping through my vagina or the burning pain as you realise your boyfriend has set fire to your vagina.
Oh one last thing to all those expectant mothers out there including my dister (Hmm most people have a nickname to save their identities. I shall call my sister 'Optimus', full of older wisdom but shit scary when she's angry and shoves a gun in your face).
DO NOT KISS YOUR BABY! I don't mean ever just when they first get out and are covered in placenta. IT'S PLACENTA!! You might as well start kissing your used tampons. That is all.
Oh and ... good luck Optimus!
Monday, 18 March 2013
"Have you ever thought about getting back with your ex?"
FUCK NO! Oh god why? Did he call you? Did he Facebook you? Did he at any point use the words 'Soul mate', 'I can't live without her' or 'We'll be together in death'! He wasn't stood outside my house was he?
These were the thoughts that I hurriedly expressed before realising my friend was seeking my advice. The fact that these thoughts went through my brain before my friends well-being shows how good my last relationship ended.
It's her own fault really for asking such a stupid question. You see there are 2 types of friend: The ones who you turn to for full in-depth discussion, weighing all the options before agreeing that everyone is ultimately good and coming to a balanced opinion. Then there's the ones who tell you the truth!
I'm not beyond having a discussion and can sometimes come out with words of wisdom that some people would call philosophical..... stupid people. Stupid people would call them philosophical.
The problem with telling the truth is that it's not always wanted and sometimes I forget this. I also have a problem with immediate hatred. I would gladly have 'Fudge off' tattooed across my forehead if I thought it would prevent the weirdo's in the pub smiling at me. It may eventually get to the point where I am looking at the man who keeps a sandwich down his boxers as a likely prospect, however it has not reached that point yet so stop smiling at me. It disgusts me that my mother is one of those people who talks to these weirdos. They love her. They want her to be their friend. Which in hindsight probably says something about the state of my mothers mental health. I feel like I need to wash every time I smell them coming, for they are the type of people you smell before you see. Much like those with the previously mentioned death breath, you can always tell where they've been from the trail of dead plants.
The Gay has been subjected to my unfiltered truth many a time. He's my big little brother (he's younger than me but he's like the BFG to my oompah lumpah), so I've decided it's my god given right to judge all his boyfriends with far-off malice. However, openly asking his new boyfriend "Do your parents hate you, because quite frankly that's the only reason I can think of for them calling you Gulliver", is NOT 'far off malice'. To be fair that relationship was never going to work, he was a gay vegetarian. It's just so unnatural. The vegetarian part of course. It would be a bit of a Jeremy Kyle issue if I signed up to BNP now wouldn't it? Is it childish to think that maybe after being denied meat all his life being gay was his act of rebellion?..... Yep it's pretty childish.....Hmmmm kebab!
The Gay's engaged now, it's sad to think I won't get the joy of abject humiliation. Although he is engaged to a man with a nose like the child catcher so there's always something to fall back on (sorry Gaydrian).
I was actually quite pleased to be asked for advice and learning that I was not the only person that cockroaches see fit to laugh at. After my initial outburst I grabbed this question with both hands and threw myself in ready to answer with the wisdom and balance that 2 years of lecturing would surely have helped me develop.........................................................................................................................................................Hmm come on brain.........................................................................................................................
"Don't be such a bum nugget, the guy was a twunt!"
Wow. Check that out for advice. I've expressed a clear and precise idea with a term an 8 year old would use to describe their math's teacher, and a word that was originally two but I accidentally let slip months previous when unable to get enough swear words into a sentence. Yes it was a cock-up but I will keep using it and it will catch on.
Despite that marvellous outburst of pure gold that Aristotle wished he could have articulated as well, I'm pretty sure she's having dinner with him right now. This pisses me off. Not because he is a twunt and I have to strap my hands to my sides every time I see his dog face for fear of being arrested for animal cruelty, but because she ignored me.
People never listen to the honest ones, they just do whatever they think is easiest. I should have known looking at her Facebook page. I should have opted for one of those corny Facebook cards with sickening words of positive thinking like; 'A man should never never make you cry from sadness but only joy'.
They don't make 'Don't be a bum nugget he's a twunt' Facebook cards. Shame really.
P.s In case you are wondering, yes I did take my future bother in laws name and add the word 'Gay' to it.
These were the thoughts that I hurriedly expressed before realising my friend was seeking my advice. The fact that these thoughts went through my brain before my friends well-being shows how good my last relationship ended.
It's her own fault really for asking such a stupid question. You see there are 2 types of friend: The ones who you turn to for full in-depth discussion, weighing all the options before agreeing that everyone is ultimately good and coming to a balanced opinion. Then there's the ones who tell you the truth!
I'm not beyond having a discussion and can sometimes come out with words of wisdom that some people would call philosophical..... stupid people. Stupid people would call them philosophical.
The problem with telling the truth is that it's not always wanted and sometimes I forget this. I also have a problem with immediate hatred. I would gladly have 'Fudge off' tattooed across my forehead if I thought it would prevent the weirdo's in the pub smiling at me. It may eventually get to the point where I am looking at the man who keeps a sandwich down his boxers as a likely prospect, however it has not reached that point yet so stop smiling at me. It disgusts me that my mother is one of those people who talks to these weirdos. They love her. They want her to be their friend. Which in hindsight probably says something about the state of my mothers mental health. I feel like I need to wash every time I smell them coming, for they are the type of people you smell before you see. Much like those with the previously mentioned death breath, you can always tell where they've been from the trail of dead plants.
The Gay has been subjected to my unfiltered truth many a time. He's my big little brother (he's younger than me but he's like the BFG to my oompah lumpah), so I've decided it's my god given right to judge all his boyfriends with far-off malice. However, openly asking his new boyfriend "Do your parents hate you, because quite frankly that's the only reason I can think of for them calling you Gulliver", is NOT 'far off malice'. To be fair that relationship was never going to work, he was a gay vegetarian. It's just so unnatural. The vegetarian part of course. It would be a bit of a Jeremy Kyle issue if I signed up to BNP now wouldn't it? Is it childish to think that maybe after being denied meat all his life being gay was his act of rebellion?..... Yep it's pretty childish.....Hmmmm kebab!
The Gay's engaged now, it's sad to think I won't get the joy of abject humiliation. Although he is engaged to a man with a nose like the child catcher so there's always something to fall back on (sorry Gaydrian).
I was actually quite pleased to be asked for advice and learning that I was not the only person that cockroaches see fit to laugh at. After my initial outburst I grabbed this question with both hands and threw myself in ready to answer with the wisdom and balance that 2 years of lecturing would surely have helped me develop.........................................................................................................................................................Hmm come on brain.........................................................................................................................
"Don't be such a bum nugget, the guy was a twunt!"
Wow. Check that out for advice. I've expressed a clear and precise idea with a term an 8 year old would use to describe their math's teacher, and a word that was originally two but I accidentally let slip months previous when unable to get enough swear words into a sentence. Yes it was a cock-up but I will keep using it and it will catch on.
Despite that marvellous outburst of pure gold that Aristotle wished he could have articulated as well, I'm pretty sure she's having dinner with him right now. This pisses me off. Not because he is a twunt and I have to strap my hands to my sides every time I see his dog face for fear of being arrested for animal cruelty, but because she ignored me.
People never listen to the honest ones, they just do whatever they think is easiest. I should have known looking at her Facebook page. I should have opted for one of those corny Facebook cards with sickening words of positive thinking like; 'A man should never never make you cry from sadness but only joy'.
They don't make 'Don't be a bum nugget he's a twunt' Facebook cards. Shame really.
P.s In case you are wondering, yes I did take my future bother in laws name and add the word 'Gay' to it.
Sunday, 17 March 2013
"You just need to get laid"
Ahh the joy of having guy mates! Now I'm not saying that this isn't completely true but it's the last thing I need to hear. My application to the nunnery is currently sat in my career applications folder, but that doesn't mean I should start taking up the STD acceptance game. It's not just the difficulty of finding a man that is attracted short geek and wouldn't run away after ripping my clothes off just to be swallowed by cellulite. It's also the whole modern sex game. Sex is not what it used to be. It's become so generally accepted as a tool in any advertisement argument or friend cement that there is nothing taboo about it any more. In my last relationship Chris actually vocalised the fact that in a modern relationship it is acceptable for him to expect a blow job every other week.
Men have become more and more demanding in the bedroom. I'm generally an accepting person but when I guy suddenly starts trying to move your body into impossible positions it gets me just a little bit wound up. I'm not a fucking gymnast. Have I ever mentioned any Russian DNA in my family tree? Have you ever seen me in a contortionist show? No? Well then what makes you think I can use my toes to scratch my neck.
I blame Bill Gates. Him and his stupid computers have made it possible for every man on the planet to watch porn stars who are all silicon receive the only bone in their body in a continual thrusting as they tie their legs around their neck in a nice neat bow. It's seen the development of sex grow to a disgusting level that can be tracked from the time that my disgusted brother turned to 16 year old me and exclaimed 'she put her finger up my butt' to the modern day when my student states 'I'm technically still a virgin as I only ever have anal sex'.
Is this what is expected of women now? Am I to survive the world of modern dating with a belly full of semen and a sore arse?
Maybe I should just accept this new form of sexual conduct, especially considering the two most recent men in the sexual history. I've only just realised how similar they are. I remember them both in a series of numbers: 12,10,3,7 and 26.
12 is the number of minutes spent in hot, sensual foreplay leading me to be a 10 on the horny scale. This then plummets to a 3 when despite the promises and my best efforts i realise we are doing missionary again. 7 is the number of minutes until I notice his face is scrunched up and I should be making some sort of noise about now. Finally 26, the number of butterflies on the Chinese lampshade and the number of things I have managed to organise in my head while he proves once and for all that size DOES matter.
Men have become more and more demanding in the bedroom. I'm generally an accepting person but when I guy suddenly starts trying to move your body into impossible positions it gets me just a little bit wound up. I'm not a fucking gymnast. Have I ever mentioned any Russian DNA in my family tree? Have you ever seen me in a contortionist show? No? Well then what makes you think I can use my toes to scratch my neck.
I blame Bill Gates. Him and his stupid computers have made it possible for every man on the planet to watch porn stars who are all silicon receive the only bone in their body in a continual thrusting as they tie their legs around their neck in a nice neat bow. It's seen the development of sex grow to a disgusting level that can be tracked from the time that my disgusted brother turned to 16 year old me and exclaimed 'she put her finger up my butt' to the modern day when my student states 'I'm technically still a virgin as I only ever have anal sex'.
Is this what is expected of women now? Am I to survive the world of modern dating with a belly full of semen and a sore arse?
Maybe I should just accept this new form of sexual conduct, especially considering the two most recent men in the sexual history. I've only just realised how similar they are. I remember them both in a series of numbers: 12,10,3,7 and 26.
12 is the number of minutes spent in hot, sensual foreplay leading me to be a 10 on the horny scale. This then plummets to a 3 when despite the promises and my best efforts i realise we are doing missionary again. 7 is the number of minutes until I notice his face is scrunched up and I should be making some sort of noise about now. Finally 26, the number of butterflies on the Chinese lampshade and the number of things I have managed to organise in my head while he proves once and for all that size DOES matter.
Wednesday, 13 March 2013
"It's tough out there"
I'm on a role this week mainly due to the ever lasting length this week seems to have and the fact that my life seems to be ever so slightly more irritating. This is NOT a dating thing, so anyone expecting a new tale of dating woe should lower their expectations now. Please keep reading though as I need to viewing numbers!
This is all about jobs. Yes I am currently looking for new employment, have been for a few months now. It's not because I've been sacked ....yet. It's not even because I hate my job, it's just sometimes......... I really fudging hate the students!
Before you judge me for my little venomous outburst let me explain.
It's not that I hate all students, having been one myself I can sympathise with the continuous battle between bank balance and tequila Friday. However we are entering a new age of students.
Now I very much get along with my 2nd and 3rd year students. They have a bit of common sense and have the good grace to laugh at my petty jokes. They even take it as a comic bonus when I write:
"Escorting is good" on the board and don't see it as an unprofessional summary of an intense journal describing the evolutionary behaviour of pup escorting in the banded mongoose. The lesson did however fall into anarchy when reviewing the next piece of literature by a Dr. Cant. When pronouncing his name one has to choose between the very proper 'ar' sound or skimming very close to a certain unholy word from which the latter part of Twunt was derived. When followed by an explanation of mongooses being in the bush I think I can be excused for giggling like a 12 year old boy looking at his first porn magazine. By the way GQ you're not fooling anyone you're still porn!
Now these type of students you enjoy teaching, they want to learn and have clocked onto how happy cheesecake makes you when marking exams.
This years influx of students however are the reason most over 25's want to cull all the under 25's. Ethnic cleansing is not wrong if no-one survives to complain. (Don't send me hate mail!).
When I was a student I was paying an extreme amount of money and had the good fortune of working a full-time job whilst in full-time education. However it was accepted that you respected your lecturers as they were providing you the skills and qualifications you needed to get a head start in your chosen career.
Now however students feel that because they are paying £6,000 a year they automatically get to dictate how their education is managed and complain like a 2 year old that lost it's sweets when they don't get their own way. Basically they act like TWUNTS (Is that word catching on yet?)
My favourite thing is that they always give the same excuse when behaving as such:
"I'm paying £6,000 for my education I should get what I want"
Let me draw your attention to that figure: £6,000. Our students actually pay less than that but I'll accept that figure for now. Most universities now demand between £9-12,000 a year. You think that getting a discounted education gives you the right to tell me how to do my job? You pay for a Findus education you'll fudging get a Findus education and all the horse shit that goes with it.
Now I could think about all the things I do love about lecturing but it all get's a bit grim when I realise I earn that same as the McDonald's grill attendant. I could watch a grill. Listen to the little buzzer to change over the chips. Hell I'd be the best fudging grill attendant they'd ever seen and I'd do it without adding my own brand of forehead grease to the chip fat. I'd get promoted in a day. In charge of all the sweaty pana-cotta faced minions and we would rule over all of man kind, slowly punishing them for their crimes against me by ensuring childhood obesity and leading them all to slow diabetic death. I'd even get paid a decent wage doing it.
That's right I'd get paid more herding the British public like cows into the image of America than I do lecturing the minds of tomorrow!
So I am sat here looking for a new job and wondering how far I'd need to shove my pen up my nose before it reached my brain. when my mothers voice comes swimming into my brain:
"It's tough out there". What A Bitch!
I know mother, I know it's tough out there, I've filled in 2000 applications and sold myself like a Princess Lea dressed prostitute at a Star Wars convention,. I've died a little bit with every rejection and am seriously considering asking for a refund on my Masters degree as it's done nothing for me so far and would easily buy the McDonald's uniform and extra Cillit Bang to remove the grease from my own body.
To cheer myself up I grabbed a bargain of a new dress and shoes for £20, not bad. Do I have an occasion to wear it? NOPE. Because as much as the job searching is tough, for me, the dating one is worse.
Epilogue:
I would like to point out that I love my mother. Also mother if you have read this I am sorry, I will stop swearing and I haven't put sugar on my Weetabix in weeks. Namely because I haven't been eating Weetabix but I still think it should count.
This is all about jobs. Yes I am currently looking for new employment, have been for a few months now. It's not because I've been sacked ....yet. It's not even because I hate my job, it's just sometimes......... I really fudging hate the students!
Before you judge me for my little venomous outburst let me explain.
It's not that I hate all students, having been one myself I can sympathise with the continuous battle between bank balance and tequila Friday. However we are entering a new age of students.
Now I very much get along with my 2nd and 3rd year students. They have a bit of common sense and have the good grace to laugh at my petty jokes. They even take it as a comic bonus when I write:
"Escorting is good" on the board and don't see it as an unprofessional summary of an intense journal describing the evolutionary behaviour of pup escorting in the banded mongoose. The lesson did however fall into anarchy when reviewing the next piece of literature by a Dr. Cant. When pronouncing his name one has to choose between the very proper 'ar' sound or skimming very close to a certain unholy word from which the latter part of Twunt was derived. When followed by an explanation of mongooses being in the bush I think I can be excused for giggling like a 12 year old boy looking at his first porn magazine. By the way GQ you're not fooling anyone you're still porn!
Now these type of students you enjoy teaching, they want to learn and have clocked onto how happy cheesecake makes you when marking exams.
This years influx of students however are the reason most over 25's want to cull all the under 25's. Ethnic cleansing is not wrong if no-one survives to complain. (Don't send me hate mail!).
When I was a student I was paying an extreme amount of money and had the good fortune of working a full-time job whilst in full-time education. However it was accepted that you respected your lecturers as they were providing you the skills and qualifications you needed to get a head start in your chosen career.
Now however students feel that because they are paying £6,000 a year they automatically get to dictate how their education is managed and complain like a 2 year old that lost it's sweets when they don't get their own way. Basically they act like TWUNTS (Is that word catching on yet?)
My favourite thing is that they always give the same excuse when behaving as such:
"I'm paying £6,000 for my education I should get what I want"
Let me draw your attention to that figure: £6,000. Our students actually pay less than that but I'll accept that figure for now. Most universities now demand between £9-12,000 a year. You think that getting a discounted education gives you the right to tell me how to do my job? You pay for a Findus education you'll fudging get a Findus education and all the horse shit that goes with it.
Now I could think about all the things I do love about lecturing but it all get's a bit grim when I realise I earn that same as the McDonald's grill attendant. I could watch a grill. Listen to the little buzzer to change over the chips. Hell I'd be the best fudging grill attendant they'd ever seen and I'd do it without adding my own brand of forehead grease to the chip fat. I'd get promoted in a day. In charge of all the sweaty pana-cotta faced minions and we would rule over all of man kind, slowly punishing them for their crimes against me by ensuring childhood obesity and leading them all to slow diabetic death. I'd even get paid a decent wage doing it.
That's right I'd get paid more herding the British public like cows into the image of America than I do lecturing the minds of tomorrow!
So I am sat here looking for a new job and wondering how far I'd need to shove my pen up my nose before it reached my brain. when my mothers voice comes swimming into my brain:
"It's tough out there". What A Bitch!
I know mother, I know it's tough out there, I've filled in 2000 applications and sold myself like a Princess Lea dressed prostitute at a Star Wars convention,. I've died a little bit with every rejection and am seriously considering asking for a refund on my Masters degree as it's done nothing for me so far and would easily buy the McDonald's uniform and extra Cillit Bang to remove the grease from my own body.
To cheer myself up I grabbed a bargain of a new dress and shoes for £20, not bad. Do I have an occasion to wear it? NOPE. Because as much as the job searching is tough, for me, the dating one is worse.
Epilogue:
I would like to point out that I love my mother. Also mother if you have read this I am sorry, I will stop swearing and I haven't put sugar on my Weetabix in weeks. Namely because I haven't been eating Weetabix but I still think it should count.
Tuesday, 12 March 2013
"It will happen when you're not even looking"
Then what the fudge is internet dating? What a stupid thing to say. Only people who aren't looking for someone will find someone. It's amusing considering there are people who have made millions out of people who are actively looking for love. Now I am not a stranger to internet dating. Having moved to a small town that will be safe in zombie apocalypse because there are no brains to be consumed, I thought it would be a good way to meet people and maybe make some friends. However I was forgetting one very important fact about every human being on the planet. People lie. Even mother Theresa must have lied at some point, letting one go and blaming the closest male.
People are very different on-line. A person can seem like a nice normal guy, with a stable job and a gift for sleaze free compliments, then you go out on a date and realise that this is not true. I'm not talking about the people who turn out to be murderers and think' silence of the lambs' is an instructive career video, just general lies people tell to make themselves look better.
I spoke to Ian on-line for a couple of weeks, he was nice, amusing and seemed both mature and fun. So when he asked me out on a date I was ready for a fun filled date and the prospect of spending one night that I wasn't googling 'becoming a nun'. Let me take you back in time to mine and Ian's date, I stand on the corner waiting for my date to arrive outside the pub we are meeting at trying desperately not to look like a hooker. Now I feel it is important as a lecturer of the young people to point out that it is important for these meetings to happen in a public place and someone knows where you are. I had taken this quite seriously after watching too much Hollyoaks during a particularly gruelling marking session. Honestly the 'Internet safety' storyline produced some of the best acting in Hollyoaks, every one of them managed to accurately portray their character: Dead! I happily kept The Gay up to date with helpful texts like 'Not been raped yet' and 'Currently still alive'. I felt it important to add the words 'yet' and 'currently' as I could not be sure that these things definitely wouldn't happen and bad prose is one of The Gay's pet hates.
Ian arrives and I get the first surprise of the night. I personally look like hell in any photo taken of me. Somehow I transform into a turkey necked Elmo. When I look in the mirror I swear my nose isn't the shape of a butter-nut squash however as soon as a camera is there Elmo is in the frame. Ian however seems to look better in photos than real life. He's not hideous but he's definitely ginger. Yep ginger, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that but I can't remove the image of my eldest brother dressed as a 'ginger' for Halloween! However I can't just turn around and run from the Ron Weasley wannabe now so we enter the pub together. As we do apparently we step into the pubs of the future after the machines have taken over and the only pubs left are for feeding the human slaves gruel and salt water. (Honestly if the machines do ever take over I'm going to be the first to go, it takes my computer running 2 seconds slower for me to start beating it with a slipper).
God if this place set on fire and everyone died it would lighten the mood of the place. The excitement of excruciating death would surely pull us out of the wormhole of apathy. Now maybe we could get a good conversation going and I won't be distracted trying to figure out if the barmaid is real or a statue like the car park attendant at Blackgang Chine that has been stood there for 25 years. The general chat occurs, when we hit the topic of things he's interested in.
"Carnival" he says.
Now I know that carnival is a huge thing in this town but it's still a shock to find out that ones date likes to dress in feathers and go dancing down the street. I try to switch off the image of him skipping down the road hand in hand with Batty Matty (my gay best friend). He's been talking for a while now and all I've learnt is that 'Kylie thinks Jamie has a big cock' or so the table graffiti says. Lucky Kylie.
"Do you like the theatre" Ian asks
Shit did he just ask me something? I'm still trying to quantify the point that a man's penis goes from average to big.
"Err yeah I do" I manage after figuring out what he has asked me.
"Me too, I go every month with my mum"
Bing. Bing. Oh look I can see Ian and Matt are getting married in matching pink frocks.
6 Inches. That's big. So then what would be considered small? Wow he's been talking about his mum for a while now.
"I'm not gay, the guys are always taking the piss but it's just something I've always enjoyed"
Hey Dr. Who is on TV. Wait did he just say he's not gay. poor Matt he'll be crushed.
I think 3, no wait 4. 4 inches is small. Do we give these measurements as erect or flaccid?
"So I was really picked on at school, it was hard. What about you?"
"Well Ian, I was probably the one picking in you". SHIT. Did I just say that out loud. Did I say the penis stuff out loud too?
Poor Ian's face plummets. I don't quite remember what happened with the rest of the date but I settle on 4 inches. I get home and re-read Ian's profile. What a liar. No where on here does it say 'homosexual tendencies and an unhealthy mother-son relationship'. When he's begging me for a date 3 days later I also realise he should add 'Perception and mental health issues' and I should add 'No less than 4 inches please'. Considering my following relationship this profile update could have saved me months of disappointment.
I've given up on internet dating now. I just generally prefer people who lie to my face.
People are very different on-line. A person can seem like a nice normal guy, with a stable job and a gift for sleaze free compliments, then you go out on a date and realise that this is not true. I'm not talking about the people who turn out to be murderers and think' silence of the lambs' is an instructive career video, just general lies people tell to make themselves look better.
I spoke to Ian on-line for a couple of weeks, he was nice, amusing and seemed both mature and fun. So when he asked me out on a date I was ready for a fun filled date and the prospect of spending one night that I wasn't googling 'becoming a nun'. Let me take you back in time to mine and Ian's date, I stand on the corner waiting for my date to arrive outside the pub we are meeting at trying desperately not to look like a hooker. Now I feel it is important as a lecturer of the young people to point out that it is important for these meetings to happen in a public place and someone knows where you are. I had taken this quite seriously after watching too much Hollyoaks during a particularly gruelling marking session. Honestly the 'Internet safety' storyline produced some of the best acting in Hollyoaks, every one of them managed to accurately portray their character: Dead! I happily kept The Gay up to date with helpful texts like 'Not been raped yet' and 'Currently still alive'. I felt it important to add the words 'yet' and 'currently' as I could not be sure that these things definitely wouldn't happen and bad prose is one of The Gay's pet hates.
Ian arrives and I get the first surprise of the night. I personally look like hell in any photo taken of me. Somehow I transform into a turkey necked Elmo. When I look in the mirror I swear my nose isn't the shape of a butter-nut squash however as soon as a camera is there Elmo is in the frame. Ian however seems to look better in photos than real life. He's not hideous but he's definitely ginger. Yep ginger, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that but I can't remove the image of my eldest brother dressed as a 'ginger' for Halloween! However I can't just turn around and run from the Ron Weasley wannabe now so we enter the pub together. As we do apparently we step into the pubs of the future after the machines have taken over and the only pubs left are for feeding the human slaves gruel and salt water. (Honestly if the machines do ever take over I'm going to be the first to go, it takes my computer running 2 seconds slower for me to start beating it with a slipper).
God if this place set on fire and everyone died it would lighten the mood of the place. The excitement of excruciating death would surely pull us out of the wormhole of apathy. Now maybe we could get a good conversation going and I won't be distracted trying to figure out if the barmaid is real or a statue like the car park attendant at Blackgang Chine that has been stood there for 25 years. The general chat occurs, when we hit the topic of things he's interested in.
"Carnival" he says.
Now I know that carnival is a huge thing in this town but it's still a shock to find out that ones date likes to dress in feathers and go dancing down the street. I try to switch off the image of him skipping down the road hand in hand with Batty Matty (my gay best friend). He's been talking for a while now and all I've learnt is that 'Kylie thinks Jamie has a big cock' or so the table graffiti says. Lucky Kylie.
"Do you like the theatre" Ian asks
Shit did he just ask me something? I'm still trying to quantify the point that a man's penis goes from average to big.
"Err yeah I do" I manage after figuring out what he has asked me.
"Me too, I go every month with my mum"
Bing. Bing. Oh look I can see Ian and Matt are getting married in matching pink frocks.
6 Inches. That's big. So then what would be considered small? Wow he's been talking about his mum for a while now.
"I'm not gay, the guys are always taking the piss but it's just something I've always enjoyed"
Hey Dr. Who is on TV. Wait did he just say he's not gay. poor Matt he'll be crushed.
I think 3, no wait 4. 4 inches is small. Do we give these measurements as erect or flaccid?
"So I was really picked on at school, it was hard. What about you?"
"Well Ian, I was probably the one picking in you". SHIT. Did I just say that out loud. Did I say the penis stuff out loud too?
Poor Ian's face plummets. I don't quite remember what happened with the rest of the date but I settle on 4 inches. I get home and re-read Ian's profile. What a liar. No where on here does it say 'homosexual tendencies and an unhealthy mother-son relationship'. When he's begging me for a date 3 days later I also realise he should add 'Perception and mental health issues' and I should add 'No less than 4 inches please'. Considering my following relationship this profile update could have saved me months of disappointment.
I've given up on internet dating now. I just generally prefer people who lie to my face.
Saturday, 9 March 2013
"You should get back out there"
It seems I spoke too soon in my observations at the lack of stupidity. Now you all read the last blog right? Now after reading that blog would you think it's a good idea that I go back on the dating scene, which would undoubtedly lead to recreational prescription drug use and possible genital surgery for one unsuspecting male.
So far people on facebook have voted vomitgate as the number one worst date so far. This creates an additional problem with continued dating as it's hard to fit a carpet cleaner in my handbag.
What kind of idiot reads my exceptionally embarrassing and hazardous dating history and think it should continue? Well I figured it out. The bastards just want more stories so that when their own lives plummet through the earth, incinerating their soul at the earth's core they can still think 'it could be worse'!
I came to this realisation whilst sat poking hissing cockroaches and giggling at the worlds lowest form of predator defence, when suddenly the hissing started to sound like laughing. I was being laughed at by a cockroach. Now I assume that when Korea realises that we are laughing at them and not with them and put us into nuclear winter, the cockroaches will sit back and piss themselves with laughter as they feast on our bodies and do their best Team America impressions leading to a chorus of 'Ronrey, I am so ronrey'. However should they be laughing at me now? Then I realised what they were hissing. 'Loser' I'm pretty certain the cockroach just called me a loser. Should they be laughing at me now? Probably yes, because their observation was most accurate. I am a jiggly-thighed loser.
Now with cockroaches laughing at me and the realisation that I am the person that makes other people feel better, it could not get much worse. Then I made the worlds worst decision I called my dad. Now it needed to happen and it was his birthday and I do love him most days. However I did not expect the conversation to take the turn it did.
My dad suggested I go and visit my brother. Fair enough. The reason behind me visiting my brother? To get drunk. Fair enough. The method used to get drunk? Show my body off so that my brothers desperate mates would buy me my ever growing weight in alcohol! WTF!!! Dad's don't suggest these things. It's almost enough to see me phoning child-line, however I don't think they come to the aid of 26 year old daughters having a heart attack. What the fudge happened here? Where is the man who went slack jawed and mental when my mum pointed out that if my brother was having sex me and my sister wouldn't be far behind? What happened to the man who terrified my dates and gave me a hammer for "DIY and smashing men's testicles'? There are 2 explanations.
1) My dad has jumped full pelt into the world of dirty old man, rubbing himself all over their 'car shaped like a penis' team mascot, and has not yet filtered this new role so it doesn't effect his youngest daughter.
2) My life has plummeted so far into the abyss of spinster-hood that even my dad is trying to set me up with anyone on the planet just so I don't become one of those women who die surrounded by pictures of my younger self, and not found until 2 weeks later when the smell starts to irritate the neighbours and the local kids have noticed I'm not screaming when they throw stones at my window.
So I consider for a moment the concept of 'getting back out there'. My brothers friends? Hmmm I've never been a fan of dating younger guys. It's just wrong to date someone with less public hair than a Barbie doll. Then there's the fact that my brother is one of those bastards that uses me to make his own life look better.
"I can't allow you to date my friends because I enjoy your blog and that will only continue if you're single and cynical. It's all good as long as you're funny'. Stupid gay. Where else can I look? At work? Well unless I want a relationship with a Rhino, a thing that takes 20 minutes to assign a gender to it or a 12 year old boy I'm out.
I should just accept my best relationship is with the echo in my house. Honestly he's the nicest guy. Fudging girly voice though!
So far people on facebook have voted vomitgate as the number one worst date so far. This creates an additional problem with continued dating as it's hard to fit a carpet cleaner in my handbag.
What kind of idiot reads my exceptionally embarrassing and hazardous dating history and think it should continue? Well I figured it out. The bastards just want more stories so that when their own lives plummet through the earth, incinerating their soul at the earth's core they can still think 'it could be worse'!
I came to this realisation whilst sat poking hissing cockroaches and giggling at the worlds lowest form of predator defence, when suddenly the hissing started to sound like laughing. I was being laughed at by a cockroach. Now I assume that when Korea realises that we are laughing at them and not with them and put us into nuclear winter, the cockroaches will sit back and piss themselves with laughter as they feast on our bodies and do their best Team America impressions leading to a chorus of 'Ronrey, I am so ronrey'. However should they be laughing at me now? Then I realised what they were hissing. 'Loser' I'm pretty certain the cockroach just called me a loser. Should they be laughing at me now? Probably yes, because their observation was most accurate. I am a jiggly-thighed loser.
Now with cockroaches laughing at me and the realisation that I am the person that makes other people feel better, it could not get much worse. Then I made the worlds worst decision I called my dad. Now it needed to happen and it was his birthday and I do love him most days. However I did not expect the conversation to take the turn it did.
My dad suggested I go and visit my brother. Fair enough. The reason behind me visiting my brother? To get drunk. Fair enough. The method used to get drunk? Show my body off so that my brothers desperate mates would buy me my ever growing weight in alcohol! WTF!!! Dad's don't suggest these things. It's almost enough to see me phoning child-line, however I don't think they come to the aid of 26 year old daughters having a heart attack. What the fudge happened here? Where is the man who went slack jawed and mental when my mum pointed out that if my brother was having sex me and my sister wouldn't be far behind? What happened to the man who terrified my dates and gave me a hammer for "DIY and smashing men's testicles'? There are 2 explanations.
1) My dad has jumped full pelt into the world of dirty old man, rubbing himself all over their 'car shaped like a penis' team mascot, and has not yet filtered this new role so it doesn't effect his youngest daughter.
2) My life has plummeted so far into the abyss of spinster-hood that even my dad is trying to set me up with anyone on the planet just so I don't become one of those women who die surrounded by pictures of my younger self, and not found until 2 weeks later when the smell starts to irritate the neighbours and the local kids have noticed I'm not screaming when they throw stones at my window.
So I consider for a moment the concept of 'getting back out there'. My brothers friends? Hmmm I've never been a fan of dating younger guys. It's just wrong to date someone with less public hair than a Barbie doll. Then there's the fact that my brother is one of those bastards that uses me to make his own life look better.
"I can't allow you to date my friends because I enjoy your blog and that will only continue if you're single and cynical. It's all good as long as you're funny'. Stupid gay. Where else can I look? At work? Well unless I want a relationship with a Rhino, a thing that takes 20 minutes to assign a gender to it or a 12 year old boy I'm out.
I should just accept my best relationship is with the echo in my house. Honestly he's the nicest guy. Fudging girly voice though!
Wednesday, 6 March 2013
How to kick a guy in the balls...
Anyway I decided this week to pay homage to a new love of mine. Now I may be behind the times but I have just purchased a Kindle Fire putting a million books at my finger tips. That's right I left my morals on the shelf and turned my back on my beautiful books for a cold computer screen. However Steph smartly comforted me by pointing out that I was at least keeping small children in the sweat shops of Vietnam in a job. Well my lovely Kindle has opened me up to a new book about dating that didn't leave me vomiting or scoffing down so much cheesecake my pancreas sent a leaflet to my brain about diabetes.
The book is Nick Spalding's 'Love from both sides'. To be fair he had me from the first sentence knowing someone who has death breath. Seriously she leaves a wall of it behind her, she should have a biohazard sign tattooed to her tongue. Now the book does get a bit disgusting and unrealistic (no offence). Let's face it most of us single folk spend all their time at home and don't have dates every month. I mean I wouldn't even know how to meet a guy. For starters my friends desperately fail at even having the energy to set me up and I live on the edge of a town where the Jeremy Kyle rejects go to die. However Nick's book did get me thinking about my own dating history. Now I think I have previously mentioned the kicking a guy in the balls incident but the sad thing is I don't even know if that's the worst one. So I thought this week I would depend on you, my few but very much appreciated readers to choose the worst. I have pinned it down to three dates. It took me 26 minutes to get it down to three, leaving me wondering if I should just make friends with my cellulite as it was the only thing that was attracted to me. FYI cellulite does not look any cuter when you draw little smiley faces on it! So here goes:
'Every man wants to see a girls ass on the first date'
That's right I showed a guy my ass on the first date. 'Whore' you might say however.... Jake had decided that for out first date we should go to the woods. Now this was actually quite cool, we had bonded over a conversation about animals and the wild boar in the nearby woods so it was quite thoughtful of him to show me the creatures that had always alluded me. It was a fudging stupid idea. Now I will quite happily jump around in the woods but if you're going to go on a date in the woods you might want to know where you're going. After 4 hours of walking around Jake was lost but failing to admit it. I had held in needing a pee for 3 of those 4 hours until I could take it no more. I had to pee. Now as I squatted behind a tree in the pitch black I demanded he make small talk so I would be spared the embarrassment of him hearing me pee. As I tried to squat my foot slipped as my ass hit the ground. Wait did I say ground? I meant stinging nettles. Screaming Jake ran round the tree as I quickly stood up, shining his torch at my red bumpy ass and pee on my jeans. No man wants to date a girl who smells like pee. I smelt like pee.
'Vomitgate'
Why do so many of my bad dates involve body fluids? I was on my fourth date with Matthew and had arranged to go over to his where he was making me dinner. Now I hadn't felt well for most of the day and tried to call it off only to get the pleading voice and guilty conscience that he had been 'slaving all day'. So I made my way to his house storming up the giant hill his house was stupidly sat on. Why build a house on the top of a hill? Maybe we should make obese people live in them, solve the obesity problem in a matter of years. Storming up the hill I started to get a hot flush like a menopausal hooker. By the time I was at the top of the hill I looked like a Ghost having a panic attack. This is what Matthew saw as he opened the door. That and my lunch exploding onto his hallway carpet.
'The ball kicker'
The story I know you have been waiting for. How does a girl kick a guy in the balls on the first date? It was going so well, I was polite and flirty, he was cheeky but a gentleman at the same time. It was the middle of winter with the streets covered in ice so we shared a taxi, as my house was on the way to his and it's always good to have a fumble in the taxi. I was grinning ear to ear as we got to my house. I went to step out the taxi as he got up behind me to see me to my door (told you he was a gentleman). Then my wonderful heel touched the ground, slipping straight from under me on the ice, down I went into the street up my other heel went into his balls. I really should have known there was something wrong with him when he still asked me out again. Unfortunately it didn't work out. It turned out he had a really hairy back. Seriously I knew it was over when I saw him eating a banana and thought I could display him the Natural History Museum as the missing link.
So there it is 3 of my worst dates. Now you decide, comment below with which one you think deserves the title of 'Kayleigh's worst date, so far..'.
I would also like to encourage my friends to read Love from both sides. Honestly I would share a fudge bar with Nick .... a bit...... OK I'd let him lick the wrapper!http://www.amazon.co.uk/Love-From-Both-Sides-Nick-Spalding/dp/1444768174
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