This was said by The Gay the other day as we chatted about his new life in London. If someone moves to anywhere in the UK apart from London it's not seen as a big deal. As far as I can guess, the perception of an exciting move is directly related to the concentration of high level drug dealers. I use the term 'high level' as there are many towns with a high concentration of chavs who pass around drugs as quickly as they do STI's. They're always ready to make good use of the benefit scheme and can usually be found to make a deal in the local job centre. Just sniff out that reek of Lynx spray and fosters vomit and you can score some weed sliced with oregano pretty easily. London may have many amazing traits but it's also the only place I've been offered cocaine by a guy in a suit in exchange for sex, in a public toilet. What makes it sad it its the only time I've been propositioned by a guy in a suit. Considering this, my move to Somerset is like a trip to Chessington compared to The Gays exploration of Atlantis. I shouldn't complain too much. Whilst there are no theatres, rows of restaurants or suits offering me drugs, I do have a large garden and a pub next door.
As The Gay prepares to house share I start to consider both what he says and my own living conditions. This bring me to the real reason single girls date: We're hungry!
When you live on your own you have to do everything on your own including eat. Ever noticed how food comes in packs of 2 or 4? Bastard food companies. Suddenly your weekly shop becomes a sick reminder of your lack of social accomplishment. That's why the alcohol and ice cream aisle's are at the end. By the time you've made your way through the food induced hallucinations of your dead body being consumed by 500 cats, you need to experiment with vodka floats. Even if we try to battle through this we end up eating the same thing several times a week. Unpacking the shopping takes twice as long as you attempt to separate out the multi-packs into individual freezer bags. You don't have to separate vodka or ice cream, you just take what you want and put it back for when you next have to endure a couple night disguised as a party.
It's a sick twisted conspiracy. We are all ready to blame the food industry for childhood obesity, when we should be blaming them for the existence of those children as chubby singletons mate in a desperate attempt to feel intimacy. This is because there is only 1 food that caters to single people and that's ready meals. These are the supermarkets attempts to further manipulate their match-making evil scheme making it easy to spy the single folk. We're the ones in the ready meal aisle with that sneaky little fat fold that likes to pop over our jeans and has our belly buttons savouring fresh air every time we reach for something. There are only so many flavours of ready meal. Actually there are only 2; painted wall and painted wall with chilli haphazardly thrown at it. You can eat an ASDA's chicken korma for one and then lick your bedroom wall and feel like you're still eating. Eventually you need a different meal and the best place to get that is outside. So we go on dates. I admit that men have often taken a large part of the bill and what do they get from it? Orgasms. Not theirs or mine but my taste buds. This is why men pay. To give my taste buds a flavour-gasm after months of licking walls. Should I feel ashamed? No. Most men have paid to see a woman have an orgasm and at least my way doesn't require your credit card details. My tongue may be a hopeless prostitute but men enable this behaviour by always paying (even when I do offer to go halves).
Vodka Float:
2 parts vodka
3 parts lemonade
1 scoop of vanilla ice cream
Keep adding vodka until the pain goes away
Friday, 19 July 2013
Monday, 15 July 2013
Over baked rolls and half baked ideas
I would like to make it clear that I was not one of those people complaining during the cold weather. These people can be found in various hospitals after driving their friends insane complaining about the current hot weather. Pick a weather dislike and stick to it. I adore Autumn/Winter. I love crunching up the fallen leaves and I own more scarves that underwear. So you can imagine my response to the unprecedented good weather we have been having. Whilst I love that my plants are blooming and any excuse to sit in a pub garden, I can often be found in-doors with my head in the freezer like a hyperthermic Sylvia Plath. However taking a leaf out of a friends book I decided to use the good weather to my own advantage. It was time to do everything I could to prevent people telling me how pale I look. It's starting to make me unpopular as my brain to mouth filter fails. Responses such as 'Yeah I saw you coming and got scared of being crushed' and comparing people to a scene from Indiana Jones is not a good defence mechanism.
Why can't they bring back the days of the English rose? It's like a twisted Disney clash as the Oompa Loompa's paint the roses orange. Suddenly the orange pencil is in demand when children are asked to draw their families. The temptation to start a chocolate factory is very intense right now.
Anyway to stop myself looking like a character from 'A Christmas Carol' I decided to sit in my garden, thank god its private and put on the bikini. Sat in my garden chair I was quite happy for an hour. Then I looked down. It was like the bread tray at a cheap BBQ; finger roll on top of finger roll heating up in the sun. I'm sure most people have a roll or two when they lounge so I ignored it. Then later I looked in the mirror. It was like that joke about the sunburnt penguin. 4 nice bun tops burnt with the sides still a milky white, where the fat had rolled together. I burnt my baps, and not the ones I'm supposed to have. When you look like a cheesy penguin joke you know you need to do something. If I ever hope to be seen naked again I need to tone up..... and invest in some after sun.
There's just one problem. The best way to tone up; exercise. I am not an exercise person. I have all the intent but no commitment. I go through stages of hope, boredom and eventually failure. I have one of those cheap rowers that is essentially a giant elastic band with handles. I kept that up for a few weeks before deciding that it was evil. Making you all sweaty so your hands slip and you end up physically abusing yourself is not good exercise. It's O.K having a washboard stomach but a purple face is pleasing to no one.
I also did Pilates, now this lasted longer if you count the weeks, but when you consider that I only did it once a week it, was an epic failure. Not being able to afford the gym I opted for the home DVD. This lasted exactly as long as my patience for the irritating instructor. No one should be that happy about exercise. Stupidly smiling at me with her "You're doing a great job", Yeah right, I bet you say that to everyone. She also kept saying things like "return to your centre". Well my living room is more of an 'L' shape so that puts me in a place where I can't really see the TV. Score. Can't see the teacher, can't do the lesson. When she commented that on week 6 you should be able to see some change and presented her perfectly formed Barbie thigh it was clear the DVD would not survive the night. I still find bits of it around the flat with a sadistic smile. I always hope it was like a voodoo doll and the stupid smiley, torture woman felt the pain as I attacked it with the scissors.
I am currently enjoying my cycling. This may eventually help with the roll problem but it creates another one as I go off road and get a flange battering. He may be impressed by my flat stomach but my deformed vagina may cause some serious issues. Like a memory foam mattress it will eventually show the perfect outline of my bike saddle. Maybe I should embellish it with 'THIS WAY ->' to avoid any mid-coital confusion.
So cycling it is.
I just ate 3 chocolate tea cakes.
Why can't they bring back the days of the English rose? It's like a twisted Disney clash as the Oompa Loompa's paint the roses orange. Suddenly the orange pencil is in demand when children are asked to draw their families. The temptation to start a chocolate factory is very intense right now.
Anyway to stop myself looking like a character from 'A Christmas Carol' I decided to sit in my garden, thank god its private and put on the bikini. Sat in my garden chair I was quite happy for an hour. Then I looked down. It was like the bread tray at a cheap BBQ; finger roll on top of finger roll heating up in the sun. I'm sure most people have a roll or two when they lounge so I ignored it. Then later I looked in the mirror. It was like that joke about the sunburnt penguin. 4 nice bun tops burnt with the sides still a milky white, where the fat had rolled together. I burnt my baps, and not the ones I'm supposed to have. When you look like a cheesy penguin joke you know you need to do something. If I ever hope to be seen naked again I need to tone up..... and invest in some after sun.
There's just one problem. The best way to tone up; exercise. I am not an exercise person. I have all the intent but no commitment. I go through stages of hope, boredom and eventually failure. I have one of those cheap rowers that is essentially a giant elastic band with handles. I kept that up for a few weeks before deciding that it was evil. Making you all sweaty so your hands slip and you end up physically abusing yourself is not good exercise. It's O.K having a washboard stomach but a purple face is pleasing to no one.
I also did Pilates, now this lasted longer if you count the weeks, but when you consider that I only did it once a week it, was an epic failure. Not being able to afford the gym I opted for the home DVD. This lasted exactly as long as my patience for the irritating instructor. No one should be that happy about exercise. Stupidly smiling at me with her "You're doing a great job", Yeah right, I bet you say that to everyone. She also kept saying things like "return to your centre". Well my living room is more of an 'L' shape so that puts me in a place where I can't really see the TV. Score. Can't see the teacher, can't do the lesson. When she commented that on week 6 you should be able to see some change and presented her perfectly formed Barbie thigh it was clear the DVD would not survive the night. I still find bits of it around the flat with a sadistic smile. I always hope it was like a voodoo doll and the stupid smiley, torture woman felt the pain as I attacked it with the scissors.
I am currently enjoying my cycling. This may eventually help with the roll problem but it creates another one as I go off road and get a flange battering. He may be impressed by my flat stomach but my deformed vagina may cause some serious issues. Like a memory foam mattress it will eventually show the perfect outline of my bike saddle. Maybe I should embellish it with 'THIS WAY ->' to avoid any mid-coital confusion.
So cycling it is.
I just ate 3 chocolate tea cakes.
Friday, 12 July 2013
"You should consider friends with benefits"
This is usually something heard by people who have a friend with benefits where it hasn't gone wrong yet. Friends with benefits is such a strange idea and most probably started by men. Lets face it, who else would invent an idea where you get sex with no emotional ties? If movies have taught us anything it's that friends with benefits doesn't work. There's always someone who gets hurt. People can't help but get emotional because if you're friends you already have an emotional connection. However I guess the good thing is that you have a 100% chance of a good night, you either meet someone or you go to your friends. This is why slut plugs were invented.
Allow me to explain. The Gay has just learnt how female contraception works. Most pills and mainly the implant increase the mucous layer to create a barrier to prevent sperm getting through. Upon hearing this The Gay reaffirmed his being gay and in absolute disgust coined the phrase 'slut plug'.
Slut plugs: allowing sluts everywhere to contract all the S.T.I's apart from pregnancy.
I have had a couple of what I would call casual relationships, both monogamous but not with the added emotions or the meeting of friends or parents. The best thing about these is that they don't complain when you roll over after sex! It's not that I don't like to hug, it's just that I want to sleep without feeling like I'm being spooned by an octopus. I once had a guy who went quite childish when 'snuggled' in bed (I use his term). I'm sure he thought it was an endearing display of affection, perhaps in the morning after coffee this would be true. However laying there red faced after sex talking like a two year old is just wrong. His hairy chest and childish voice made me feel like I had just violated Elmo and been forced to hold him after.
My short fling with sea-monster, whilst displaying David and Goliath like sex episodes at least had the benefit of creating a good barrier between us. Although I do not recommend waking up in the morning feeling like you're being poked in the back with a police baton, he will create his own space to avoid an unfortunate roll-over situation.
My most recent ex felt as though my rolling away for sleep was in-polite. However I maintain it would be ruder to be talking to his face as I justified the reasons I was with him after the inevitable disappointment. If he had just let me have my alone time I might have come up with a few more reasons. In retrospect his inability to let me go when sleeping was a sign of his inability to let me go when I dumped him. It was like he didn't notice he was single.
It's not that I'm an unaffectionate person, I just like my sleep. This is why I'm never going to make a good friend with benefit. From what I understand it's a 50/50 partnership, I expect him to turn up when needed. However if there's a choice between pleasing them or being happy in bed with chocolate, I'm going with the bed.
Selfish? YES!
I'm generally a generous person but there are 3 things that were never meant to share:
Party Rings (it's a very deceptive name)
Fudge Bars
My bed when I'm tired
Deal with it.
Allow me to explain. The Gay has just learnt how female contraception works. Most pills and mainly the implant increase the mucous layer to create a barrier to prevent sperm getting through. Upon hearing this The Gay reaffirmed his being gay and in absolute disgust coined the phrase 'slut plug'.
Slut plugs: allowing sluts everywhere to contract all the S.T.I's apart from pregnancy.
I have had a couple of what I would call casual relationships, both monogamous but not with the added emotions or the meeting of friends or parents. The best thing about these is that they don't complain when you roll over after sex! It's not that I don't like to hug, it's just that I want to sleep without feeling like I'm being spooned by an octopus. I once had a guy who went quite childish when 'snuggled' in bed (I use his term). I'm sure he thought it was an endearing display of affection, perhaps in the morning after coffee this would be true. However laying there red faced after sex talking like a two year old is just wrong. His hairy chest and childish voice made me feel like I had just violated Elmo and been forced to hold him after.
My short fling with sea-monster, whilst displaying David and Goliath like sex episodes at least had the benefit of creating a good barrier between us. Although I do not recommend waking up in the morning feeling like you're being poked in the back with a police baton, he will create his own space to avoid an unfortunate roll-over situation.
My most recent ex felt as though my rolling away for sleep was in-polite. However I maintain it would be ruder to be talking to his face as I justified the reasons I was with him after the inevitable disappointment. If he had just let me have my alone time I might have come up with a few more reasons. In retrospect his inability to let me go when sleeping was a sign of his inability to let me go when I dumped him. It was like he didn't notice he was single.
It's not that I'm an unaffectionate person, I just like my sleep. This is why I'm never going to make a good friend with benefit. From what I understand it's a 50/50 partnership, I expect him to turn up when needed. However if there's a choice between pleasing them or being happy in bed with chocolate, I'm going with the bed.
Selfish? YES!
I'm generally a generous person but there are 3 things that were never meant to share:
Party Rings (it's a very deceptive name)
Fudge Bars
My bed when I'm tired
Deal with it.
Thursday, 4 July 2013
'Punch him in the crotch'
Hating people just seems to come easily to me. I have never been one of those people who will happily strike up a conversation with whatever stranger stands next to me at the bar. I would happily have 'Fuck off' tattooed across my forehead if I wasn't so worried it would be a conversation starter.
There are many people around me who are the type of people to start a conversation with someone who has 'fuck off' tattooed across their forehead. There's my mother who thinks that every booze hound is a fellow friend, and there's my friend who spent a drunken evening giving a homeless guy her phone number. Unlike my mother I would avoid the booze hound for fear he would touch me with his sticky booze hands, and render me over the limit with his breath. The only conversation I would ever have with a homeless person is why they always seem to have a dog? Where do these dogs come from? Considering the dogs condition how have they been able to feed the dog with no money?
This may be a huge factor in why I am still single. I don't want to talk to people. They might not be interesting and worse than that, they might touch me. I'm very happy to hug friends and family, they've stuck with me for years and it's one of the few free ways you can show affection. I do not hug people I have just met. A guy once introduced himself to me with a very gallant kiss on the hand, in my haste to move my hand away I slapped him in the face. These are things that I can probably work on seeing as I have such total self awareness. However as previously stated my complete stubbornness prevents me from making any true changes to my personality.
One thing that will never change is my ability to immediately hate people. This probably would have changed by now if they didn't keep proving me right!
My hatred for certain people is starting to cause serious worry. Either because A) I'm going to start acting on my day dreams,or B) I'm going to be investigated for sexual harassment.
This guy has never done anything to me personally but I hate him. He has the unfortunate gene that portrays itself as a face that inspires everyone to want to punch it. This gene was no doubt an evolutionary attempt at anger therapy. Cave men were a lot less likely to go on a killing spree if there was just one particular face they could pound on guilt free.
Everything he says sounds condescending and like all annoying work folk he's a kiss ass. He has his tongue so far up our area heads ass he can probably taste the chip fat he uses as hair oil. To get through the day I've been doing 1 of 2 things, which as previously mentioned may get me into trouble. The first is Dexter themed day dreams where I consider each of the office items and calculate the ones I could kill him with and make it look like an accident. I've got up to 5, including a hole punch and a paper clip.
The other reaction is a little voice that screams at me every time he speaks. Whenever he starts a sentence the little screaming voice says 'PUNCH HIM IN THE CROTCH'. Staring at your colleagues crotch is grounds for disciplinary. Explaining that you were just imagining punching it is grounds for dismissal.
There are many people around me who are the type of people to start a conversation with someone who has 'fuck off' tattooed across their forehead. There's my mother who thinks that every booze hound is a fellow friend, and there's my friend who spent a drunken evening giving a homeless guy her phone number. Unlike my mother I would avoid the booze hound for fear he would touch me with his sticky booze hands, and render me over the limit with his breath. The only conversation I would ever have with a homeless person is why they always seem to have a dog? Where do these dogs come from? Considering the dogs condition how have they been able to feed the dog with no money?
This may be a huge factor in why I am still single. I don't want to talk to people. They might not be interesting and worse than that, they might touch me. I'm very happy to hug friends and family, they've stuck with me for years and it's one of the few free ways you can show affection. I do not hug people I have just met. A guy once introduced himself to me with a very gallant kiss on the hand, in my haste to move my hand away I slapped him in the face. These are things that I can probably work on seeing as I have such total self awareness. However as previously stated my complete stubbornness prevents me from making any true changes to my personality.
One thing that will never change is my ability to immediately hate people. This probably would have changed by now if they didn't keep proving me right!
My hatred for certain people is starting to cause serious worry. Either because A) I'm going to start acting on my day dreams,or B) I'm going to be investigated for sexual harassment.
This guy has never done anything to me personally but I hate him. He has the unfortunate gene that portrays itself as a face that inspires everyone to want to punch it. This gene was no doubt an evolutionary attempt at anger therapy. Cave men were a lot less likely to go on a killing spree if there was just one particular face they could pound on guilt free.
Everything he says sounds condescending and like all annoying work folk he's a kiss ass. He has his tongue so far up our area heads ass he can probably taste the chip fat he uses as hair oil. To get through the day I've been doing 1 of 2 things, which as previously mentioned may get me into trouble. The first is Dexter themed day dreams where I consider each of the office items and calculate the ones I could kill him with and make it look like an accident. I've got up to 5, including a hole punch and a paper clip.
The other reaction is a little voice that screams at me every time he speaks. Whenever he starts a sentence the little screaming voice says 'PUNCH HIM IN THE CROTCH'. Staring at your colleagues crotch is grounds for disciplinary. Explaining that you were just imagining punching it is grounds for dismissal.
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