Set-ups and lizards: What your friends really think of you

You can always tell what your family and friends really think of you by the people they set you up with. When your in a man drought they will always see fit to comment on how lovely all their guy friends are, however on most occasions they will actually fail to set you up. I have heard about the lives of millions of men and how much we have in common, never to actually meet them. The change in technology has seen this ritual change completely, to be yet another tool in making me hate myself just that little bit more. Now that Facebook has arrived not only can I share my depressing life but also see the men that my family and friends wish me to meet. I never knew they had so many ugly friends. They could outweigh America with all the grease in their hair, or possibly make the poor feel better about being unclothed with the hideous floral shirts they all seem to wear. Yet these are the men that my family and friends think are suitable for me, which leads me to believe that they all think I'm ugly with some sort of greasy flower fetish. It's these occasions that I consider their lack of commitment to setting me up is a good thing, this is furthered by the one successful set-up I have had. This one actually led to a date. Liam was sold to me with a glowing reference; good looking, funny and his ex girlfriend was very attractive so he couldn't look that bad.

LIES ALL LIES. If I squinted he looked a little like Mr Potato Head, get him together with some of the other rejects and we could run a McDonalds. My friends are obviously pathological liars. How did he manage to get such a hot ex girlfriend? Is he rich? He must be rich. 

As I sit eating my meal with the occasional in-put to the conversation there's just a little something that starts to bug me. He licks his lips... A LOT. The meal is delicious, maybe he's just nervous that he'll end up with tomato sauce on his lips. 

Wait he still keep sticking out his tongue. There's no more food.

OH MY GOD HE'S A LIZARD. I'm pretty sure there's an old TV programme where the people are really alien lizards. Didn't they kill everyone as well?

How do I confirm he's a lizard? Why would a lizard want to go on a date with a human? Oh my god am I going to be forced into strange lizard sex before attempting to pass an egg out my vagina? How would that even work? Would I get contractions to push it or would I need to keep pushing on my belly like a bike pump until it popped out? 

He's been talking for a while now whilst I've been imagining a projectile egg. He could be talking about how he's planning to enslave the human race and I wouldn't know. Oh he's still talking about rowing. 

"I never realised it was so complicated, I always though there were only two moves: backwards and forwards" I add with a joking smile. 

Oh no I've offended the lizard, the tongue flicking has intensified. Filter Kayleigh Filter. Scratch that; Drink Kayleigh Drink. 

Wait where has all the wine gone? Pretty sure that's not me. As the second bottle goes I realise it was most definitely him. I can see right into his mouth now, where the obviously tired tongue seems to have lopped to one side like a drunk slug. As his eyes lop around like a chameleon I am slightly please they keep dropping on my cleavage. It's wildly inappropriate but does wonders for your self esteem. 

Oh no. I don't like that look. I was laughing at you not with you lizard. AT YOU. I don't want to projectile eggs like a Vegas hooker with a ping pong ball. I scramble into the taxi with a quick

"bye lizard"

Wait did I just say lizard or Liam? A quick look back at his face as the taxi drives off shows that it was most probably lizard. 

So it appears my friends and family have a rather low opinion of me and have no problem sacrificing me to world dominating lizard men. 

"Your mother is so cool"

My mother asked me how things were doing in the dating department the other day. As much as she has never been an over-possessive, interfering stereotype you see so often in repetitive sit-coms, I think she might be worried. She never usually asks this, unless something is actually happening. She has an uncanny ability to call right when something has happened even if it's something I don't want to share. I can hear nothing for months and then just as I'm walking home dripping with shame and wondering why I went 'there' again, she will call. Even if I don't tell her about my walk of shame I will still feel like she knows. Witch.
My family don't help either. They are incapable of keeping anything to themselves. I once text The Gay that I had a boyfriend but not to tell another living soul. I got a text approximately 2 seconds later from Optimus; 'Hey how are you'. I simply respond 'He's there isn't he?'!
The fact that my mum asked this question added to her saying "When you get a boyfriend OR girlfriend" just last month, makes me wonder if she is seriously worried about me. I imagine she doesn't want to think of her youngest daughter drowning in a pool of her own vomit after a threesome with Ben and Jerry went wrong. She needn't worry, it's more likely to be Jack and Daniel!
I would never want to disappoint her but the thought that I might cause her some sort of small social shame gives me the warm fuzzies. My single status may have the benefit of revenge. Everyone feels their parents are an embarrassment however they get to enjoy the company that misery so often brings. They are often told by their parents that there is no right way to parent. That there is no rule book telling you the rights and wrongs. Well there bloody should be and it should include things like; Don't tell your children about your day at work. They may be nodding their heads but really that's time they will never get back.
My parents rule book would include several things such as: Never feed your children tuna pasta bake. My Dads insistence to cook us this was just depressing, after years of flushing it down the toilet and making last minute arrangements to have dinner at a friends house, at the age of 22 I finally told him we hated it. I've never seen may dad cry but I swear upon hearing this information a tear formed as his tiny culinary heart broke. However the main rule that would be in their book would have to be:
STOP MAKING EVERYONE THINK YOU'RE COOL!!!
I don't get to talk about how embarrassing my parents are because my friends just tell me that they would love to have my parents. When I express my embarrassment after seeing my mother they never believe me. Well my worried mother is NOT cool. I would like to make this clear by explaining one particular event.
We were at a party (happens a lot), a fancy dress party to be exact. Now this is the one area that my parents have done very well. They have driven the family to be experts in fancy dress. From the time my dad dressed me up as Medusa for Halloween, including rattling snakes tail. To my mum producing the giant fungi hat for The Gay, to be the mushroom in Alice in Wonderland. This might sound like a 'bit' part but the flouncing and prancing mushroom stole the show. I was Alice, do they remember? Do they fuck! The worst part is I got him the part. The theme for the party was 'what you wanted to be when you were younger'. I went as a pirate. Let's face it pirates are cool, if they didn't want people to illegally copy DVD's they wouldn't call it piracy. The Gay was a cowboy and I spent a good amount of time writing 'save a horse ride a cowboy' on his shirt. My dad went as a 60's hippy with a long wig covering his bald head. My mother?
She went as God. Dressed all in white with a name tag 'Hello my name is God'. One can't argue with her commitment to the character. If Jesus could turn water into wine then God could make a brewery, and that's exactly how much my mother drank that night. Queue the dance floor. As I jigged around with Barbie and a fireman I turn my head to see my mother
'Hmmm why is mother on the floor?'
The Gay is doubled over in laughter and dad looks on in amused disgust. The shoe that my mother has managed to fall off lies shame-faced on the floor. She fell off her shoe. I'm going to say that again. She fell off her shoe. I fling the shoes in the corner to prevent further damage but my mother is adamant she's fine and gathers them back up with a look that says
'How dare you daughter. These may be the cheapest shoes I own but my drunken mind will not stand for this kind of reckless behaviour towards shoes'
Sigh
"I'm fine" she cries "Leave me alone and get me another drink".
Nice. I try to care. I'll fetch you another drink but I'm using your purse, I'm buying myself one and I'm telling dad on you!
The rest of the evening goes on with my mother getting on her high horse and telling people how they feel.
"You just miss us don't you Kayleigh"
"Not right now I don't"
"Yes you do"
"Really mum I'm enjoying uni"
"NO, YOU MISS US"
What's not to miss! I better change the subject.
"Hows your foot"
"IT'S FINE STOP ASKING"
                                               Next morning
"Where's mum and dad"
"A and E"

'You can achieve anything with a friend by your side'

I've long since concluded that associate lecturers are the most un-respected and under paid species on the planet. I say species as it is clear that we are considered as different. We will never have the pay of a lecturer or the respect but we will deal with the same shit work and do all the shit they can't be bothered to do. However we are still treated as second class citizens, who must be kept in the building at the risk that if we escaped we would start licking trees and humping buildings like a horny neanderthal out of its time.
I do love my job most days, if nothing else it's amusing. Amusing because if you don't laugh you would cry at the state of our young adults. Even those things we consider young people to be all knowing about, they seem to just fall short of genuine intelligence. For example today I was asked
'Who's Bill Gates'
This was made even more painful but the fact she had a microsoft laptop in front of her. I put on my practised smile and advised
'Why don't you google it? And here's a clue, computers may just play a role in the answer'.
One of my students almost died of embarrassment just a couple of weeks ago. The student had decided that I was the lecturer he was going go come out to. He was pleased with my positive response and I explained that with The Gay it would be very twisted of me to be otherwise. Upon hearing this he asked,
'Is he hot?'
The redness spread across his face as he realised he had just asked his LECTURER whether her BROTHER was hot. Bless. However it can sometimes cross the line into murderous tendencies.
'What's Jane Austen?'
What? WHAT'S Jane Austen? I am not an English lecturer, I just calmly explain and let it go, until...
'Is it dirty? Why would I bother reading something 100 years old when I can read 50 shades?'.
Sod it, no one would question my sanity if I bludgeoned her head in with a copy of Pride and Prejudice, screaming 'SAY HER NAME'.
Despite the aggressive melt downs I have a good job but I have the opportunity to make it better by applying for a full lecturing position. This led me to appreciate my friends more than ever. After having a major freak out and desperately doubting my chances, my friends gave me advice and help and have me feeling a bit more positive. So I have to say a big thank you to my friends, after all they have done a lot for me.
They pushed me home in a trolley after I drank my body weight in tequila and cocktails. They let themselves down a bit when I was dropped down the stairs.
They gave me dating advice;
'Just be yourself. Well not completely yourself. YOU might want to leave some of THAT at home'
This was great advice however it also meant that my date went well. This meant I ended my night having my face sucked at like a fish out of water, by a guy who will be forever be known as 'Nemo'.
They listened to my theories on biscuits and debated the characteristics of jammy dodgers. However this did lead to me almost chocking to death as I tried to eat one when my brain was remembering the conversation.
So basically all the good things my friends have done have resulted in my almost dying of brain damage and suffocation. All except one....
The time we got placenta fingers. Yes we got placenta fingers together. Then placenta face as we scrubbed the placenta off the astroturf. All that in a completely non biscuit way.
Thanks friends!

Death by ginger flapjack

As far as ways to go are concerned 'death by flapjack' would at least make a graveside talking point.
I have had 2 allergic reactions before in my life, which were discovered in the most inappropriate ways. The first is magnolias. How could this be discovered? Being brought the wrong bunch of flowers? An itchy garden party? No. Magnolia shower gel. Head to toe red rash, including the most sensitive areas. Oooh firecrotch the prequel. However after running to my mother this was easily fixed by turning on the cold tap. The second was Elderflower. Elderflower cider. In a pub in London. The cure? Keep drinking cider and try no to snort it through your nose as you join your family in laughing at you.
This time however was severe. I ate a ginger flapjack or as they will now be known: Cosmos bitch slap biscuits. After eating one of these my throat started to swell and constrict. With my throat throbbing and red I threw myself onto my bed thinking I would die and imagining my tombstone:
Here lies Kayleigh- Killed by a ginger flapjack; the only reasons she'll be remembered.
When the cosmos tries to bitch slap you there's only one thing for it: Ice cream. I justified my need to down a gallon of ice cream on my sore throat. Surely the numbing properties were medicinal?
Upon entering the shop I thought for a second I had stepped into a parallel universe. Was this a hot guy in the village shop? True there has been an influx of men due to the new roadworks. These roadwork seem to consist of men moving the pedestrian barriers every few minutes and then standing around for 6 hours. Most of these men appear to be disgusting bald men, who rub their thighs as my students walk past and ignore the voice in their heads that should be screaming jail bait. However here was a hot one, slightly rudely in my way. I mustered up all my vocal strength to say 'excuse me'. I was impressed, my pummelled vocal chords gave me a wonderful husky tone. It was like an M&S advert describing a polite request to move. Wow check me out.
I should have known better, after all this was me and I had just eaten a Cosmos bitch slap biscuit. Upon approaching the counter 'hot man' stood back to let me go first. I was ready with my new husky voice to say thank you,
'Hooouurghhh haaack uulp'
The phlegmy sound of my throat retaliating against it's ginger invasion was the only thing to be heard. Followed by my subsequent need to swallow back down the mass of green fluid to avoid spitting it out in his face. No longer M&S polite request but more a drug addled prostitute hacking up an unwashed penis blow job.
How could he resist?

'There's plenty of fish in the sea'

Unfortunately that's just not true. Apart from the fact that our own sea is being largely depleted through over fishing and tourism, our dating scene is being depleted through our own preferences and striving for perfection. While I stare at the ice-cream tub begging for it to show zero calories so I can look like Jessica Alba, I also spend the time looking longingly at Richard Armitage. No man should look that good dressed as a dwarf (for those of you who don't know, he plays Thorin in Lord of the Rings), (for those of you who don't know who Thorin is, put duct tape across your eyes, you don't deserve to read). The fact that Richard is not turning up on my doorstep isn't my only problem. Let's do the maths!
There's roughly 2 billion people on the planet, around half of them are male. Then we have to consider that I'm only within the UK and unlikely to see another country until my boss has a tumour pushing against her 'be nice' brain nerves. So that's roughly 15 million with about half of them being too old or too young. Of those 7.5 million about a third are gay, or watching Les Mis because they just love the French revolutionary period. Of the remaining 5 million they need to be attracted to me and I need to be attracted to them. Unfortunately my vagina seems to be getting in the way as far as that's concerned.
You see my vagina is racist. (To make it very clear I am NOT racist, and I'm sure many people of all ethnicities will agree with this racist vagina idea). My vagina is racist. I'm sure that there is an evolutionary or even social reason for this but I'm not sexually attracted to any other ethnicity, no matter how wonderful the guy.
My view of Greek men was most definitely destroyed by their attempts to buy me for 2 camels and a Ferrari, when I was 15. My parents might have even taken the deal if they could see the Ferrari upfront. I'm not denying Will Smith, for example is a very attractive man, however my vaginal prejudice is in no doubt a continuing fear of sea monsters. I'm a tiny person, I can understand my vagina fearing such an attack with no protection. The movie teeth has something going for it.
The closest I have ever got is dating a ginger guy! This however was not noticeable right away. The ginger had faked being dark haired with the same miracle that lets me fake not being blonde. However there was a big flaw to his plan. You can fake the upstairs all you like but when your downstairs resembles a rusty brillo pad there's no hiding your natural colour. I also feel like this was a purposeful, sex-driven deception. The change in colour is distracting. If he dyes his hair then when he whips it out you'll be too busy questioning the colour to notice that you can only tell there is something there when he gives it a little shake. Like a T-Rex in Jurassic park, you can only see it when it moves.
Luckily I've been assured that I am not the only one with a racist vagina. Steph assures me that she has a backwards racist vagina. The backwards part being her vagina desperately wanting a skewering from a heavy set raster. Not backwards causing the skewering to require a map and a gynaecologist.
However this does not help me with my 5 million that is slowly depleting. What's worse, even if I settle with an optimistic 2 million, that's a lot of front porches to vomit on!