This Cheeky Goddess...

'pure as the driven snow'

2009-10-20T20:22:00.002+01:00

Oddly enough, my Mum *always* told me she was a virgin until marriage (like I really cared as a 7 year old anyway?), then after Dad and her split she revealed her and Dad had lived together (in sin) for a year before getting married. Mum had told my Nanna she was going to live with my father, and they discussed it and agreed not to tell my Pop - oh, the old-school days!

also oddly, she asked me to not have sex til I was 21. Is my Mum not the oddest woman in the world?

Alas I was never the madly rebellious teenager - I lost my virginity first year uni like most people I know.... although found out years later she thought I'd shagged a guy I dated in high school. I do remember coming home from that boyfriend's house, saying hi to Mum... walking upstairs to my room and staring, horrified, at my reflection

my v-necked top was on back to front

never knew if she'd noticed or not :D

Heterosexual: non practicing

2009-09-15T21:18:00.000+01:00

RE facebook - I'm not quite sure if this is my religion or my relationship status?

Post Morten

2009-06-15T12:25:00.001+01:00

the slippery slope to blackout drunkenness and mortifying behaviour with co-worker all started on a sunny Friday afternoon. Work crew decided to picnic on the grass. Good in theory - bad in practice. Bad because I bought a bottle of wine from M&S and some cups, but everyone else was drinking beers. So I drank the entire bottle myself. naturally.

Then I was so drunk I decided a beer would be nice as well. Then someone had the silly idea of going to a bar often frequented by the wider work crew. I remember drinking a beer there too... and that's about the last I remember of the night.

so in between groaning and grabbing my sore head, I was faced with the horrid task of asking less-than-adorable-balding-coworker what had happened the night before.

I learned several things

- I had vomited outside the bar before getting a cab
- I had vomited on the carpet in my bedroom (this I vaguely remember) and he'd cleaned up after me
- we didn't shag
- but we did, in his words do 'boy and girl stuff'

mortified.

he wouldn't leave either... just kept lying there as if something was going to happen between us - tentatively stroking my back or patting my shoulder and not taking the absolute lack of reciprocal touching as a hint he should leave. I ended up telling him I was already late to make it to my friend's 30th and make her the pinacoladas I'd promised (this was actually true)

I was very nice. I told him what had happened the night before was a mistake, it shouldnt've have happened, and I was sorry

there a few thoughts with which to console myself:

- we didn't shag
- no other coworker has since come up to me in the office and remarked 'how drunk were you Friday night!' or 'nice projectile vomit!'
- balding-coworker was off on holidays for two weeks so I wouldn't have to see him for a while

but in the meantime I've grown angry. After all, he'd hit on me before and I'd said no, I wasn't interested in him. So here's a guy who I consider a good friend, who knows I don't fancy him, who has just watched me vomit - twice - then kisses me (and lord knows what else - ew!). This is surely;

a) gross
b) what's commonly known as 'taking advantage of a girl'

I haven't and won't tell my friends about what happened. I'm trying to forget it myself and it still disturbs me greatly. I am debating whether I need to face the unpleasant task of telling balding-coworker that if he breathes a word of it to anyone I'll castrate him. I actually doubt he'll tell anyone, but I have a massive phobia of office people gossiping about me - I've just copped it too much before and hate it with a passion.

I think I'll leave it and if he ever brings it up I'll have a go at him for taking advantage of me.

he is off the Christmas card list.

ugh.

2009-06-11T13:15:00.000+01:00

I woke up severely hungover the other Saturday morning. Then I realised there was someone else in my bed ...but when I looked over I realised it was just my adorable-balding-workmate, and I vaguely remembered him cabbing me home the night before.

...but hang on... where were my pyjamas? I remembered wearing some the night before - but I had no recollection of them being removed.

oh crap. oh unholy, hungover-to-high-heavens crap.

funny friends

2009-05-21T09:09:00.002+01:00

you need friends like this who will throw any old random content into the email trail. gold.

Our cleaner left a note saying we have run out of Pronto. I don't know what Pronto is. Google suggests that it's a brand of South African condoms. Anyone else know?

About a Boy

2009-04-29T21:22:00.000+01:00

so about that boy...

well, not to ruin the climax of this love story... but he's ancient history now I'm afraid.

But joyously enough, he has raised the bar for men and dating etiquette everywhere (like that was difficult given my last few suitors!) but he has raised it high - higher than I can jump high (PS this white girl can jump)

The boy was lovely. I had strict instructions to marry him from several of my friends. His courtship (to use an antiquated but entirely appropriate word) was flawless. Genuinely, beautifully, enjoyably flawless.

But I broke up with him anyway. The magic just wasn't there, and I had trouble articulating that to friends, and dreaded having to try and explain it to him, but as one friend so succinctly put it:

I'm just not that into him.

...and no, I didn't tell him that!

Anyways, in the beginning... he was a guy I met through mysinglefriend.com. Many messages were exchanged, he was attentive and asked questions about what I'd told him about myself, messaged back quickly - used far too many explanation points - but was otherwise lovely. Bit iffy that worked in a computer-related industry, given my past horrible experiences with any IT guys... but hey. Our first date was at a member's bar so trendy it's of the unlabeled-black-door variety. He arrived a bit late and started off a little nervous and flustered, but after our 3rd or so cocktail he calmed down and we had a great night, chatting and drinking until 2:30am that morning. No good night kiss as there were two drivers standing there waiting to take us home. All in all a very posh London outing - and he was kind enough to insist on paying the bill - which after over 8 hours of constant cocktail consumption, would have been horrendous. He seemed chuffed when I said he'd have to let me get it next time - I said it not realising it let him know I wanted to see him again.

I of course assumed he'd want to see me. I'm good like that :)

Second date he planned a nice Sunday lunch at Oxo after his first choice was all booked out. Boy could organise. I'd told my darling-friend-and-flatmate some time ago that if I met a boy who could make a decision I'd marry him. Guess I lied about that. Lunch, wine (he insists on paying again) and then many more cocktails later it was 9:30pm and time to go home - cue a bit of a goodbye kiss at the train station and I just wasn't sure I like-liked him. He was hardly beaten with the ugly stick, but my gut didn't plummet at the sight of him, and I didn't feel the urge to stare at him much. Not fussy much, am I?

So I'd all but made up my mind to ask for his friendship - which, cliches aside, I genuinely wanted, as we got along fantastically well and time seemed to fly past when we were together. But then it was the Friday before Valentine's (on the Saturday) he was away training with the territorial army all weekend, and a dozen long stemmed red roses arrived at my office. The card has nothing but a decadent recipe for a chocolate cocktail. Did I mention his job involves a certain level of marketing? Cute. Very cute.

This was when my friends first started lobbying for our marriage. Much reply-to-all emailing ensued debating the pros and cons of pulling out "the friendship speech" on our third date. Darling-friend-and-flatmate convinced me not to with a clever shoe-shopping analogy - she reasoned that as she'd gone to visit shoes more than three times before deciding whether or not to buy them, I should at least give this guy a few more visits before making a final decision.

genius.

So third date. Dinner at his house. Getting cooked for is one of my favourite things in the world - hence the daydream of a toyboy that can cook - 3 course meal, lovely. Making out on the couch, also lovely. Despite his kindly offer to let me spend the night at his house, I declined and went home feeling deliciously prudish - having been deviously un-prudish enough to let him get as far as discovering that I was wearing holdups under my dress. tee hee hee.

...so I won't enthrall you with a blow by blow (no dirty pun intended) account of our two and a half month relationship... we continued to date, he continued to cook for me, be lovely, and treat me like a Queen. He was neither inattentive nor clingy... even the sex was great (glorious regular sex, how I'd missed thee!)

When I'd chattered on about how I was getting a bit stressed with work and thought I should take myself away for the 4 day break over Easter he tentatively suggested we go away together somewhere. Naturally I freaked out and stuttered then changed the subject, but was calmed down later by darling-friend-and-flatmate acting very nonplussed at this breaking news, and telling me simply that there was no reason we shouldn't go away together.

So it was off to Spain we went.

Never take a British man to the beach. I've learned that much. Having grown up and around (and dated) surfers with tanned toned bodies clad in deliciously loosely slung boardshorts, nothing else will compare. I'm sorry. I'm racist. yes. Don't care. I'll rarely care or make demands on what a boy wears around me, but when he went to walk to the beach in sports shorts and lace up casual leather shoes and socks, I couldn't help but blurt out the classically tactless "you're not wearing that are you?" It wasn't so much the lack of suitable beach attire that was the beginning of the end (not that shallow - give me some credit!) it was his response. He sulked. It wasn't the only time he sulked that weekend. so. not. hot.

I'd gotten away for a chilled out weekend and the boy I was with was not as laid back as I'd assumed. Stressing out over maps of dodgy tourist things when you're in a foreign country, in no rush, with nowhere to be and nothing better to do than get lost just isn't cool.

So I started to doubt we were meant to be. And the doubt began to gnaw at me.

By the time we'd returned from holiday I was coming down with the flu and I was stressed - I'd decided I had to break it off. Wednesday night, after work, somehow. Tuesday night I check my phone after the gym and there's a text from him, asking how I'm feeling, hoping I'm feeling better, and offering to come over to my place and cook me a wholesome dinner.

could the bastard make it any harder to break up with him?

so I suggest we catch up for a coffee after work instead. He messages back
"ooh, coffee, that doesn't bode well!"
I don't know what to say, so I say nothing. The next morning I see how facebook status set to "he couldn't sleep" I feel terrible. Later I receive an email telling me he could tell something wasn't right on holidays and asking me to just tell him what's up. I feel relieved. We hash out the problems with our relationship via email over the course of the morning and I make my pitch for friendship...

it feels a bit wrong to paste his email in here, but I think it's a rather poetic ending - and I think it's glorious that he's still lovely - even when being broken up with:

it turns out that i care for you quite a lot and that what i really think is there's a strong chance that you're making a mistake about us.

And i also think you're awesome and lovely and sweet and smart and you make me laugh and you challenge me! But i don't think we can be friends.

Death to Gatwick Airport Security

2009-04-07T15:32:00.002+01:00

I got up at 3am this morning, got to the airport, got through to the security scanner, and the wanker made me change the clear liquids bag I *always* travel with to a little plastic bag. So I go back out and get one, jam all my cosmetics in it with much difficulty, having traveled with a record amount... and then when I have to pass back through security I find out that my boarding pass can't be scanned a second time

did I mention I was running late? So this guy gets his boss, I tell him boss that numnuts over at the scanner didn't tell me I wouldn't be able to come back through, and I cop the cliche of 'look, there's no need for that language, you're on thin ice already..'

ARGH!

if I wasn't running late I'd have laid into him in as evil and scathing way as I could've.

So I go get another boarding pass... then bloody well beep as I get through the security bit... so I'm running late, taking my boots off, and getting felt up by female security (I've had better)

and at Gatwick you get to take your shoes off a second time for 'random shoe scans'

grrrr.

and *then* as I'm literally boarding the plane my mobile rings and it's the car hire company telling me they've arrived to pick me up and are waiting outside my flat- a car booking I canceled a week ago.

brilliant.

G20 Summit in the City

2009-04-01T17:07:00.002+01:00

Hot town, summit in the city
Back of my neck getting dirty and gritty
Been down, isn't it a pity
Doesn't seem to be a shadow in the city

All around, people looking half dead
Walking on the sidewalk, hotter than a match head

...so it's not until I'm already on the tube this morning that I realise I'm holding only my handbag - I've managed to waltz out my flat without my neatly packed overnight bag (sleeping over at the boy's flat tonight)

So I hop off at the next stop, walk home (which isn't too far) and log in remotely to my work computer and message my boss to let him know that due to the G20 summit and the associated protests I plan to work from home til lunchtime, just incase.

genius.

turned up to work earlier than planned when my slow internet connection conquered my patience - overnight bag firmly in hand :)

Turned out to be much ado about nothing - despite widely circulated warning emails to dress down, in no way resemble a banker, don't dare forget your security pass... there was no one round the London Bridge anyways... it was rather pleasantly empty. Still, it provided a very handy excuse for turning up late to work. love it.

14 minutes

2009-03-30T09:47:00.003+01:00

I've had a major dilemma

The first time I went to a solarium was 3 weeks ago. The nice girl convinced me not to go in for too long, so I stood there for 8 minutes in the big cylindrical solarium machine wondering if the damn thing was on and feeling like a fool. I hopped out at the end of it and asked her if it was supposed to light up or anything, cos although I'd never been to one in my life, the ones I'd usually seen in pictures glowed blue. She assured me that these machines didn't really light up much.

I trusted her. That was my first mistake.

So on Saturday I go back - to the same solarium - for the second solarium visit in my life. Seeing as I'd seen no visible effects from my previous 8 minute visit, I just asked what the longest I could stay in was, and booked a 14min slot. So I hit the button and climb into the machine and it's lit up all blue. Last time it didn't light up blue.

so I knew it definitely hadn't turned on properly that first time. I'd stood there for 8 minutes in a tiny little cylinder and achieved nothing. how embarrassment.

so I just stayed there for the 14min, and when I hopped out I explained to the girl how it definitely didn't work last time, and she apologised and credited my account with the 8min

if the damn machine had worked when I was in there for 8 min the first time, I would've got a little burnt and realised 8min was fine, if not a little too much. Instead, I had logically assumed it wasn't enough and knowing nothing about solariums, went the full amount. I went in at 4pm Saturday, but about 8pm I was glowing red. All over. fried. Yesterday I didn't even leave the house. I look ridiculous. Today I am working from home.

Not to mention the pain. I have sunburnt underarms. I have almost certainly done permanent damage to my skin

The sucky thing is, it's not really my fault cos I knew nothing about solariums and had no way of knowing this would happen. It's not totally the girl's fault that the machine didn't work the first time - though she should've not been so casual about saying the tubes didn't light up much - there's a very distinct blue glow... and she sure as hell should've stopped me booking 14min. I rang them yesterday but she wasn't working.

bring on my next skin cancer :(

My flatmates have done a tremendous job of not laughing at me every time they see me. When I woke up this morning I had to take several deep breaths before braving a look in the mirror - I think I am past the worst of it, but I'm still very much the incredible red woman. Just call me Radioactive Girl. I had to explain to the boy last night that no, I couldn't come out and meet him and his friends at the pub as planned because I was stupidly burnt and unable to put proper clothing on, let alone face a shocked and bemused public.

My inner toyboy is mortified. I have always always hated solariums because back when I was your typically bronzed Aussie, I would get accused of using them all the time and smugly reply that no, I'd never gone to one in my life. Now when I finally face up to the office my skin will be a completely different colour (hopefully tan) and I may have to admit my girly indulgence to everyone.

dammit!

An Interesting Two Months

2009-03-29T15:08:00.007+01:00

been a while since I last posted some mundane gossip from my extra-ordinary little life.

I'd like to pretend that my fan base has been hounding me for updates - but I haven't given my Mum the address of this blog, so for the time begin my fan base remains... well... non existent.

but that hasn't stopped me crapping on before and it ain't gonna stop me now!

So to follow on from my last post, me and the adorable-balding-workmate have become fast friends - hanging out at lunch with our normal crew but often falling into cosy funny conversation, and exchanging stupid banter via email whenever bored. He and the other boys were invited out to school disco with me and the girls, and he managed to fit in a few other parties that night and turn up late. We'd had cocktails at mine beforehand so I was massively high-on-my-own-supply by the time I got there. Drunkety drunk drunk. For me the whole night passed in a whirl of dancing, giggles, and posing for photos that I was later mortified to discover on my camera. According to a couple of girls, adorable-balding-workmate never left my side. We were dancing together and someone thought they saw us kiss. Cue darling-friend-and-flatmate hurtling over my way and all but crash-tackling me to the floor. I was dragged away on the none-to-subtle pretense of "I reeeally need to talk to you". I remember that bit. She then asked if we kissed and I assured her we hadn't and continued merrily twirling my way round the dance floor. Sometime later on in the night he did try to kiss me... or something to that effect, I've forgotten the detail, but I remember telling him we had to step outside and have a talk. So I told him I didn't screw the crew, he was a mate, and it just wasn't right. He accused me of leading him on.

[short note - I have a strange, unjustified, pathological fear of ever doing this to any bloke so it was odd to be accused of it.]

I told him I'd suspected he fancied me, and I was flattered cos I thought he was great, but all I had was a suspicion, hardly enough to go and talk to him about it. I asked what I should've done - really, was my only alternative to not be his friend?

and... oddest thing of all... I had a teary. I am not usually an emotional drunk. Aggressive - yes, tearful, no. I guess he got lucky in that respect.

At least it made him feel bad - which he deserved after wrongly accusing me of leading him on. And I jumped in a black cab and that was the end of the night. Come Monday morning there was an email from him with just one word

"friends?"

I replied "of course" and things have been cool ever since. phew.

one other big thing though... whilst explaining why I couldn't date him, was also the fact that - set your faces to stun - I have being seeing someone. Yup, the same boy. regularly. Two months now. He's the first guy I've had 5 or more dates with in the last year... a terrible statistic to admit! He is only a month away from becoming the 3rd guy in my life to break the 3 month mark (the other two having lasted 4 and 2 years, which is also my excuse for not having dated much, although it becomes less relevant as I get older)

more on him later...

Disturbia

2009-01-28T22:47:00.006Z

it happened a few weeks ago

I was out for a friend's birthday. It was a friend who used to work at our office, so naturally a small crew from the office were there - all friends of mine. There's one friend in particular who is possibly the funniest person in the world. and male. ever so vaguely male.

you see now I'm just being mean... he's lovely... but he's hardly the type I'd go for - no broad shoulders, deep voice, extroverted behaviour... or any of the other alpha-male tendencies to which I'm usually attracted

He's very short, quite bald, has crooked teeth I think... and more than likely has back hair due to his Greek heritage.

but he's the funniest man in the world

the most clever, quickest, driest wit you've ever experienced

I have a weakness for that. I know because I dated it last year - a friend's flatmate - hardly beaten with the ugly stick, but hardly a shining beacon of masculinity... he was another IT geek and very very funny. Me and my friend both agreed he liked me but I never thought he'd ever make a move and I was somewhat thrown by my attraction to him. This didn't stop me inviting him out for an after work drink so we could both whinge about the respective horrors of our jobs.

he kissed me then.

then he also felt me up - publicly and entirely embarrassingly - hands up my skirt like a drunken 14 year old in a (thankfully) empty bar with the ever-so-smooth 'what! no one's looking...'

I love the inappropriate. I revel in it. I think turning up to a second date wearing a tshirt that says 'you wanna break up in 3 months?' is great. There are very few things I'm going to think it inappropriate to ask someone on a first date or any other time. Asking me how I choose to maintain my bikini line.. is, however, one of them. As soon as this guy kissed me he just turned weird. It was like he was mystified that he'd been able to kiss a girl and not get slapped for it - so he just went for broke. He asked me something SO ridiculous, SO grossly inapproriate, that - tactful lass that I am - I just burst out in my most incredulous voice with

'have you EVER had a girlfriend!?'

it was seriously *the* stupidest, most insane thing to ever ask a girl whom you liked.

so crazy and so idiotic that I honestly, seriously, have no idea what it was he said. It must've been so traumatic that I've blocked it. I can however remember how strongly and uncontrollably I reacted to it - and how he paused, looked sideways uncomfortably and answered... 'well, um, a serious, I mean a proper, girlfriend, no'

he was 31

I'm ashamed to admit I dated him a few more times after that - giving him a couple more chances to be normal... but no joy. When I rang him late one night and asked him nicely and calmly if we could just be friends, he said no. Yup... no. Told me that wasn't how it worked. Went on and on about how friends, well friends had to earn his friendship over a long time and I just didn't qualify. Then he told me we couldn't be friends after dating, that wasn't how it worked. I told him (nicelyI swear) that my two exes were two of my best friends, but if he couldn't handle it that was fine. He got very agitated at the idea of not being able to handle it. He then proceeded with a monologue about how relationships worked.

I must've been in the mellowest mood of my life. There I was, listening to his view of how relationships worked, perfectly aware that he'd never actually been in one, yet I stayed quiet, just told him I enjoyed his company more than most and would like to be friends with him.

if I could only be that calm all the time

anyways, I digress. massively. sorry about that - that was the long way of me saying that I now have a tiny phobia about dating IT geeks. his fault.

I also believe very strongly in the don't-screw-the-crew mantra

So in summation; no body of adonis, IT geek, works at my office, is part of my crew of friends. I should not be touching this man with a 10 foot pole...

but we were out, at a club, for a birthday, we were drunk. So drunk that memories become hazy but I distinctly rember dancing with him, just him, arms attached to eachother but decently (no dirty dancing thank god) and I remember him bolding taking hold of my hips and pulling me to him. Not offensive or seedy, but surprisingly confidently... sexy even

and I remember telling ex-workmate that I'd decided to take him home. yup. just decided to.

Thank god she's a real snob about boys and turned to me and said

are you serious?
why?
no! he's ugly
no! If you want to take someone home I will find you a better guy in seconds

she loves short-adorable-balding-boy and thinks he's hilarious too... but thankfully she saw it for it what it was - the oddest, most bizarre drunken idea. I was convinced he would be decent enough to keep it secret and I could therefore escape office gossip... but as it was the small work crew there were already questioning what was going on after seeing us merely dancing together. Leaving together would've been the end of it.

Disturbed

had to send ex-workmate a text the next day thanking her for stopping me from doing something insanely stupid. She replied it was no worries. My main worry was that she would tell someone - anyone - what I'd said. Ex-workmate is the biggest gossip I know. But she's been brilliant (so far)

Monday at work short-adorable-balding-boy emailed me asking if I woke up as hungover as he did. I replied I was, and that my memory got very hazy towards the end of the night. Brilliant exchange of emails that. Phew. We've since become facebook friends and trade incredibly hilariously witty (on his side at least) emails sometimes when we're bored at work.

but I'm still disturbed - this is exactly how it started with the other funny IT geek.

I'd rather be a bloke...

2009-01-14T06:55:00.003Z

Would I describe myself as a feminist or not? Not sure really, probably... as what's the alternative - a traditionalist? Certainly not that. I like to think of it as 'selective feminism' - I demand equality in the workforce - equal pay and - more difficult to strip from people's subconscious - the automatic assumption of equal intelligence and status. This encompasses the glass ceiling issue, the right to vote... etc. However I have no issue if a man wants to open a door for me... and apart from offering to buy me a drink... ummm, what else is there.... actually?

Anyways, I think chivalry is all good, gallantry is lovely... assuming I'm intellectually inferior is stupid, assuming men are physically stronger is.. well... usually true. Much to my frustration, I have had occasion to try and convince my traditionally-minded mother that being born with a penis does not automatically entitle oneself to the ability to reverse a car efficiently or figure out how to program the telly (her: 'do you think you can do it - I know your brother could' - PS I have the computer science degree - has he has the marketing one)

What irks me is the illogical traditions - why is the guy almost always older in each relationship? So what if women mature faster - yes this may be true, but it still doesn't explain why my 53 year old friend stresses about dating a 48 year old man! We no longer live in a society where a woman is usually married by age 21, at a certain age surely maturity levels plateau? There's also the classic breadwinner role - there's some truth in it being preferable as he doesn't have to give birth, but I love the growing popularity and acceptance of the 'house husband'.

I've always joked that there's so many men rocking around with younger women on their arms that I feel the need, personally, to redress the balance - hence the desire for a toyboy that can cook. It's good in theory.

The inequality of gender roles never fully sunk in (doubt they've even fully hit - hey, I haven't had kids...) until I worked in an almost all-male office. Having grown up a tomboy, possessed an unnatural ability to down alcohol with the best of them, and having played a mixed-sex sport for years... I never considered myself the least bit feminine really. Then one day it hit me that whilst I was heading out to the shops in my lunch break every day for a week in order to search and secure the perfect collection of christmas gifts for each and every person I knew, a guy commented he only needed to get one gift - and his wife had already told him what she wanted. It dawned on me - so *this* is what they mean when they crap on about women being able to multi-task. When men are the breadwinners absolutely nothing else is expected of them - that's enough. Whenever any of the guy's wives were away/sick/otherwise occupied and their child was sick (or not even), they either brought the unruly brats into the office, or it was immediately accepted as a big drama that they had to work from home - couldn't manage kids and a trip to the office. One of my female coworkers was a single Mum, two kids under 10, one with mild autism. She came into work almost every day.

Women stepped over into the male domain of the workforce, but we didn't leave many feminine expectations and responsibilities behind when we did. Looking around my office, there were technically brilliant men... some smelt terrible, some dressed atrociously, some had minimal social skills, some were ugly. Some were all of the above. The women... the women without fail all presented well and were perfectly sociable - most looked great, exercised, dressed well, smelt good *plus* we had technical qualifications.

It's enough for a guy to be one of the following: intelligent, funny, rich, good looking, athletic. Get one of those traits in spades and there will be numerous women who find you attractive. For women however.... not so much. You can be the funniest woman in the world but if you're fat and have a face like a hamster you ain't getting laid. The exception being you can be beautiful and stupid, and you will be picked up quite quickly. Sounding cynical aren't I!

Flipside is, if you're a woman and you're intelligent, funny, rich, good looking, athletic... *all* of the above, you can find yourself single for longs periods at a time. My single female friends are some of the most intelligent, funny, successful, best put-together people I know. Surely there's no male equivalent who remains single - however, we live in hope! Time for a sex in the city quote - it's like the riddle of the sphinx - why are there so many great unmarried women, and no great unmarried men?

This extends beyond just personal presentation - as women we were also keeping tidy houses, remembering birthdays and special occasions, buying the aforementioned thoughtful gifts at every occasion. I haven't even touched on the excess of personal hygiene and maintenance issues that we have to deal with, whereas a man is considered well maintained if he washes and gets his hair (only on his head!) cut regularly. We women are an entire all-inclusive package deal, and we are comparatively fabulous.

However I've been part of the problem - I'll confess, when in serious relationships, I've been the one to buy the gifts for the boyfriend's family - remind him of birthdays, bills, anything and everything to be organised... it was almost always down to me. My favourite ex boyfriend however does deserve special mention for taking on the bulk of the housework and cooking when I took a new job that required a long commute... I guess there's hope for the world in the rare man that is able to evolve past the traditionalist stereotype, bless their cotton socks - double that blessing if they washed them themselves and knew to separate out the whites...

frustrated

2009-01-13T06:50:00.005Z

so the email 'list' of promotions for 2009 went around, and I found it *very* frustrating

I had one argument, in a meeting, all year. This got mentioned in my yearly appraisal. Read it, and you would assume I had an attitude problem.

I am, of course, lovely.

One argument, all year, one isolated incident with one person - a bloke who argues with everyone. His own manager has acknowledged that this guy needs massive improvement in his people skills.

I argued vehemently with my manager that there is no way that everyone in the company who had had an argument in a meeting had it mentioned in their appraisal. In fact, I'd lay large amounts of money down and bet that no one else was faced with this situation

Because of that one (not even strong) argument, I lose 1/4 to 1/3 of my bonus payment

he argued with everyone

he gets promoted

how can I not be annoyed?

the strangest craving

2009-01-11T16:52:00.001Z

what is it that makes us lean towards either older or younger guys? Father figures, past experiences...? friends, family influences?

I've always found myself attracted to younger guys - fitter bodies, more energy and enthusiasm... stamina ;) But lately I've had the oddest craving to date an older guy. I don't know if it's a hangover from the frustrations of dating too many guys who can't be bothered to get in touch unless they're in the immediate neighbourhood, or plan a date more exciting than watching the telly...

Perhaps London is rubbing off on me, or I'm getting older and starting to appreciate things like career achievements and travel stories that tend to increase and improve with age.

I've realised I've left that struggling-student, 'let's go out wherever the drinks are cheap' stage of life behind. It was a good stage, I embraced and enjoyed it... but it's gone. These days I tend towards the cash-rich, time-poor end of the scale. Let's go where the martinis are good and it's conveniently close to the office.

Too many guys whinge about the exorbitant cost of this that or the other - which I find a really unattractive and unnecessary thing to add into a conversation - only possibly superseded by the kind of guy that goes to the other extreme and like name-dropping, faux-casually mentions big ticket purchases or qualifications and promotions at work in a boastful way... sigh. After they say it, they'll pause ever so slightly and try to gauge your reaction and check whether you're suitably impressed - has the magnitude of just how great they are been fully grasped... is it love at first sight - or do they have to walk past again?

The only real way to insult me to assume that I care.

Unfortunately this happens a lot. I don't know exactly what it is about me that screams 'gold-digging whore!' but the next person who jokes about my opinion or actions being based on whether the guy is rich or not, just may get thumped one. Yes, it's a common scenario, and yes, I have friends who actually are that way... but the frequency with which that particular stereotype is brought up disturbs me greatly - as it is, at the basic level, accusing someone of being a whore. Not accusations of a cash-transaction one-night rendezvous - more insinuating you want a diamond on the ring finger and a BMW for the garage of the 5 bedroom terrace house, but at the end of the day they're still accusing you of fucking someone for money.

But then... so many of my friends have displayed whore-like behaviour. I have a particularly unpleasant memory of promising to wait in the corner of a packed bar for an ex-flatmate whilst she did the mission trip to the bar and retrieved her shout. Cue me standing empty-handed and (horror-of-horrors) starting to sober up half an hour later. Many minutes after that, ex-flatmate returns all wide eyed and excited that a guy at the bar was buying her and her friend shots. He was fat old and ugly... but hey, free drinks! She was all that was woman! I question whether, had've that same guy walked up to her and offered to pay her 6 quid for half an hour of her time, would've she been so enthused? It's all about context really, isn't it?

There is a certain amount of gallantry and chivalry involved in someone else trekking through the crowds and battling their way to get served at the busy bar - and I'm happy to miss out on that part. It's odd how if a guy buys a few drinks for a girl 1. he may expect sex (very much so in Australia - the classy part where I'm from anyway) and 2. he is also be very much more likely to get it. Getting you drunk before they kiss you does tend to increase their chances of you succumbing to their (?) charms... that's just the way it is.

Chivalry is certainly much less dead in London than in Australia - most men will wait patiently in the lift to allow me to exit first, or open doors for me here - in Australia I could count the number of time this had happened on 3 fingers. As I'm unaccustomed to such gentlemanly behaviour I fear I'm annoyingly slow to catch on that they're waiting for me... I've even been instructed by a somewhat irate Londoner boyfriend 'take my arm!' when he was waiting to escort me down the road and I walked beside him, oblivious.

First date-dilemmas, who should pay the bill? This is one area where I'm pretty old-school, and I'm happy to let them pay... seems too odd and too much of a hassle to split the bill. Such a hassle really... why aren't these rules of conduct written down somewhere and inscribed on the walls of urinals or slipped between the sports pages?

100% princess

2009-01-08T15:50:00.002Z

...and then some!

so I had my date last night with the seemingly alcoholic nice young man I'd been chatting to online

When he'd messaged and asked how I felt about going for some Chinese food and sake... my first thought was... he better be talking about Hakkasan! *such* a snooty thing for me to think! ohhhh dear. An ex took me there on our first date... perhaps I'll blame him for that thought!

Didn't know what to text back. Hoped he had a nice Chinese restaurant in mind and not the local cheapie chinese... said it was fine

We met at the tube, walked to the Hare and Tortoise... cheap-chain-restaurant-chinese... it had all the ambiance of a brightly lit classroom. He was quiet, painfully so... and quite dull. I suspect he's always drinking cos he just doesn't have a personality or the ability to kick back and relax until he's drunk. Don't think he made me laugh the whole night. Went to a pub for one drink, then home. When I got off the tube I patted him on the leg and said it was nice to meet him - couldn't even be bothered with the kiss-on-the-cheek effort...

This is the guy who said he'd try and think of something nice to do to make up for canceling on me! Maybe I'm morphing into a snooty London gal, but cheap and convenient Chinese is not the way to impress a woman!

The other guy I've had two dates with just started to look a *whole* lot better!

Wasn't bad looking, definitely hadn't been beaten with the ugly stick - cute grin on the odd occasion when he busted it out - dose the boy with charisma and he could've been a ladykiller, but as it was... he was just dull and plain.

...so I have another date with a new guy next Wednesday - bit scared cos he also works in IT (consulting), and isn't a drop dead hottie, but he seems friendly and I suspect I should make an effort to be less harsh and actually wait til I meet them before I dismiss them. He's already told me he's planning on taking me to Milk and Honey - looks like a very fancy place, hope he made the reservation prior to telling me we were going there! At least he's trying to impress

2009... year of The Boy ;)

I'm out every night this week from Wed-Sun... gonna look like a distressed 40 year old come Monday

stood up - the sequel

2009-01-07T17:19:00.000Z

no, I wasn't stood up again

I made the boy come to my office building (he's now referred to amongst my friends as 'Mr Late') and predictably he got lost between the illogically numbered collection of buildings to which my office belongs. He rung me in distress and mentioned he could see 'some castle thing' ahead. He threw me with that, until... 'you don't mean Tower Bridge do you?' Followed by much laughter on my end of the phone - Mr Late is an Englishman, correct me if I'm wrong - but isn't Tower Bridge somewhat of an iconic symbol of London?

Reading his profile online I feared that he'd rate himself hugely and in short, shit me up the wall (yes, sounding very Australian there) with his arrogance. In truth, he was quite shy - made me realise just how attractive I find confidence in a man. He's 26, new to London and new to his career, his boyish enthusiasm actually made me feel old. tragic.

The problem with catching up for drinks after work is that after two glasses of wine on an empty stomach and I'm slaughtered. Almost stumbled at the bar when fetching the third round... (make that a small wine, thanks.)

He suggests food, I tell him I have to get home and see his face fall. After he returns from the gents I suggest a Lebanese place down the road and the food is as good as I remember and the company is lovely. Just don't feel the urge to pin him down and shag him. We tube it home and when it's my stop I kiss him on the cheek and that's that.

Second date goes much the same - fun time, good company... and then we have to go our separate directions on the tube so it's a peck on the cheek and a goodbye.

Later I get a text saying he's 'vexed that he bottled it with regards to a proper goodnight kiss'. cute. He promises to bring along more courage next time, but I fear the pressure of the aforementioned - nay *promised* - kiss may just make him uncomfortable.

I received a (I suspect drunken) text from the boy new year's day, lamenting the amount of beer he'd been consuming and ending with 'why aren't you here?' My darling-friend-and-flatmate (who was kicking back in Edinburgh with me at the time) tried to convince me it was sweet, but the (dominant) blokey-commitment-phobe side of me just thought it smacked of neediness - especially coming from someone who's yet to even kiss me!

I haven't messaged him back or heard from him since, however we've never really maintained regular contact. For the time being there are other guys to date - more online friends - one of whom I'm meeting with tonight...

of course I cocktailed!

2009-01-07T11:51:00.002Z

wow. that was ages ago. Lots has happened since then. Christmas. New Years. But most notably...

I got laid.

and... wait for it.... yes... REMEMBERED IT!!!

oh fraptious joy! Mother would be so proud ;)

Having gone out the night before and with a big Saturday night planned, I agreed to traipse out to the local favourite bar and give the man-talent a once over, sample the cocktail list which had - through some minor miracle - escaped my notice on previous visits. Suffering the flu still, I told my fabulous friend that it was only going to be a quick trip out and I wanted to bed by midnight.

midnight. 5am. Who's counting? I certainly wasn't - I was madly pleasantly drunk and had a nice boy with me.

So fabulous friend and I starting playing spot-the-hottie (simple rules - any man who you rate 7/10 or above must be pointed out and score mentioned) and I looked over with a "oooh 7over there!" Fabulous friend encouraged me to talk to him, but I was (massively unusually) stuck for words. So she leaned over with a cheery "Hello!"

damn. why didn't I think of that?

So they got chatting and he introduced his mate, bought us more cocktails, and I was convinced he fancied my fabulous friend - and rightly so, she is gorgeous and does pull boys effortlessly and frequently. So the three of us ended up dancing til the club shut, then Mr 7 convinced us to go to the dodgy dance club round the corner, paid the completely unjustifiable covercharge, and then we danced til that club was just about to shut too. Nothing develops between Mr 7 and my friend, and walking to the bus stop I can agree he can crash at mine but shouldn't expect a shag.

I should mention that by this stage I am in the throes of stupid drunkeness. At home he ends up doing star jumps in my loungeroom after losing the challenge of spelling my name correctly. yes. star jumps. as you do. I like that memory. I quite like the boy because of that memory. (Okay, the nice body, olive skin, clean sandy hair and gorgeous deep voice do somewhat contribute)

So we crawl into bed - me with a scrubbed face and daggy PJs, still drunk... and then we shag. Dunno how exactly how that happened, but he had been trying to convince me he'd fancied me the whole night (yes skeptical - only after he knew he'd be crashing at mine) but it was fun.

Still hadn't slept when my alarm went off - signifying that it's 10am and reminding me that I have til 12 to get to the bloody post office and post my Dad's xmas pressies.

My friend's think it's hilarious that I kicked a perfectly good man out of my bed so that I could get to the post office. I don't know what I was thinking. He didn't want to go and kept pulling me in for hugs, kissing the top of my head, all very intimate and cosy - love an affectionate man.

He asked for my number and I gave it to him and he double checked it with me, I do remember looking at it and doubting it for a second (you can guess how this ends now, can't you?) and I joked about giving him a fake number... and then he kissed me goodbye and left

so yes... I haven't heard from him

He has either:

a) got the wrong number
b) died
c) gone on holiday to the Island of Lost Men
d) all of the above

to cocktail, or not to cocktail...

2008-12-12T16:49:00.002Z

Not sure if I'm up for a night out - got in at 1am this morning and was woken by my alarm at the usual time of 6:15am... it's a cruel life! Surviving remarkably well at work, however I think others are beginning to notice how little I am getting done. damn. Blame the flu!

Might get a second wind when I get home to some warmth and look in the kitchen and gaze fondly at the collection of alcohol in the corner :)

I am becoming quite the accomplished cocktail-maker lately. practice. loads of practice.

stood up!

2008-12-05T09:36:00.002Z

A week or so ago I received a smart ass email about something written on my profile. The boy wasn't ugly, I was bored, so I responded in kind. Cue a week's worth of trading smartass emails, and he suggested we meet up, I nominated a day and told him where I worked... he picked the time and the pub.

So I get to the pub near work at about 3 minutes past 6... and realise it's a fairly spread out pub with tiny little rooms and alcoves. So I walk into one and call him number.... nice recorded operator's voice informs me it is not possible to connect to this number...

walk outside, sit under a heater, go through my phone trying to call and chat to anyone and everyone I know so that I can a) whinge about the situation and b) not look like nelly-no-friends

15-20min later I am out of phone conversations to have... and patience so I go home

by the time I get home there is no apologetic text message, log onto the computer and check my mail - no apologetic email either. Begin to type him a mail that says 'you stood me up you bastard!' and think screw it, I'm gonna try calling him again so I can tell him myself rather than type it... and *this* time his phone rings.

Phone conversation starts of with: Hi, you stood me up you bastard! (I am nothing if not direct)

turns out the computer system went down at work and he was delayed waiting for it to come back up. The (silly) boy hadn't put my number into his phone yet, so he couldn't call me and let me know he was late. When I'd rung him he was still on the tube. He got there 5-10min after I left. Funnily enough there was a blonde girl waving, so he walked up to her and started apologising for being such a wanker... until he realised she was waving to the bloke behind him. Then he tried to call me, but I was on the tube.

All in all a perfectly synchronised avoiding-of-eachother!

So he'd just typed an apolgetic email when I rang to abuse him - and true to form it arrived 30sec into our conversation... so I agreed to see him next week, but told him this time I'd make him come to my office building and call me when he arrived. sorted.

my single friend

2008-12-04T09:16:00.002Z

I am now someone's single friend. Actually, I have been for a little over a week... Fabulous friend from touch rugby (and indeed half of my team) have been on it for a few months now and have been dating half of London... and it doesn't sound like the bad half.

So my profile is up, photos are uploaded and fabulous friend (who works in communications) has written a fabulous description of me, making me sound ever so sassy and date-worthy.

Trawling through the photos is quite fun. Really it's like shopping online for a boy, with pictures and a brief resume before you even bother to think about purchasing. After trawling through 70+ pages of boy's faces

(search criteria: London, employed, non-smoker, no kids, aged 24-32)

I begin to establish somewhat of an efficient system. Photos with a nice grin stand out. Extra points for dimples, however disappointingly enough there aren't many to be found. Photos where the boy has taken it of himself lose points. It's all about the extra photos - it's amazing how different guys can look from different angles! If he only has photos he has taken himself, he is dismissed. If he has photos with bunches of mates, he gains points. Many bonus points if they're hot. Photos where he has cut out an exgirlfriend also lose points. tacky. Although one bright spark edited his photo with a girl to include an arrow and 'sister!'. Funny. Shame he wasn't hot enough.

London is beginning to have an impact on me. I get snobby about jobs, I want an investment banker, doctor, or similarly successful-sounding career. Once the basics are perused, then and only then will I bother to read what his mate has written about him. Boy can cook - tick. According to everyone, their mate is the life of the party... although I can't take the piss too much cos my profile leads in that direction too - but in my case it's true! ;) Sense of humour must be evident enough to rate a mention. Sports-related hobbies and mention of althletic prowess also gain points.

Whilst flicking through men, I discovered one mate on there, nice photo of him - you can't tell he looks like an overmuscled hobbit at all. There is also no way of knowing he comes with more baggage than a transatlantic flight. I start to get a little scared.

Then I recognise another face - a boy from work. A *cute* boy from work... one I stare at whenever the opportunity arises. He has dimples when he smiles. He has them in spades. After reading his profile, he also has a very odd but cute-sounding nickname. Unfortunately he is 31 and looking for a girl aged 21-31 - loss of a massive amount of points right there. If he's prepared to date a woman a decade his junior, but not a year older than himself, I can only summise he's got that I-must-be-older-and-be-the-breadwinner mentality. He certainly has a decent career and probably would out-earn me, but I just don't like that traditional ideal. Besides which, I have a very strong belief in don't-screw-the-crew. Especially in this gossipy boys-club they call an office. But damn he's cute - dresses nicely too. His profile mentions martial arts. that's hot.

(sigh)

Characteristically Irresponsible

2008-11-27T14:33:00.000Z

I spent most of my even-more-boring-than-usual workweek last week anticipating the weekend... Saturday finally arrived.

- Mooch around the house eagerly awaiting grocery delivery (consisting almost entirely of cocktail ingredients): Check

- Manage a pathetically slow jog along the Thames: Check (PS never *ever* again without gloves on, what was I thinking?)

- Make lots of cocktails for the girls: Check and double check... triple, quadruple, quintuple check even!

- Head out to lovely local trendy bar for a spot of boy-hunting: Check

Weekend was going swimmingly - I was even uncharacteristically responsible and ordered water when we got out to the bar. Then I got characteristically irresponsible and started drinking bourbon. Kept drinking bourbon until I was rolling drunk - although I only remember having 3 drinks! I'm still a little confused... I didn't think I'd had more to drink than any of the other girls and usually by the time I get that drunk it means that all other ordinary women should be passed out - my once-legendary capacity for alcohol may not be up the to standards I thought.

Don't remember the lights coming on at the end f the night.
Don't remember falling over whilst exiting the bar. classy!
Don't remember pashing some bloke on the bridge whilst two of my other friends attempted to hail a taxi. At least, according to them, he was quite good looking. Shame I don't remember him - now, not only do I not remember the last time I got laid... I can't even remember the last time I kissed a boy. tops.

my mother would be *so* proud

Managed to get home, have unholy craving for tuna salad (?!) which I can't remember making or eating, but did succeed in spilling lots on the floor - then chewed some gum and then - the classiness continues - somehow it fell out of my mouth and onto my bed - managed to roll in it all night and get it on both shoulders of my PJs, pillowcase and sheets - thankfully not in my hair. I did wake up and wonder why my bed smelt of peppermint extra.

Woke up feeling godawful and felt that way for the rest of the day... plus feeling a wee bit silly.

I am just constantly disappointing myself! The next night I got a text from an english boy - who made no effort when we dated earlier this year - asking me out for a drink and for some reason I agreed - but said just coffee round the corner, so at least I wasn't going out of my way, but don't know why I bothered.

So last night I get a text at 8:15pm telling me he's had a shocker of a day at work and is just leaving the office - can we take a raincheck? The honest answer: nah, I really can't be arsed

I wished I written that. I didn't. I didn't reply at all.

good news is that my fabulous friend has signed me up for mysinglefriend.com and my profile just got approved and went live - so I spent most of last night cruising photos of boys online and watching them add me their favourites list and send the occasional message. Wonderful for the ego.

wish I could play with my profile during work hours... but the colourful website is just a little too obvious... and cruising for men online during work hours would surely be looked down upon. Shopping and blogging however...

I just hope no one notices

something occurred to me...

2008-11-20T16:51:00.000Z

I can't remember the last time I got laid.

literally.

..not cos it was so long ago... just because I actually can't remember the night

tragic.

my friends find it quite amusing though.

I've silenced my inner critic and arrived at the conclusion that my friend and I definitely got our drinks spiked. Having drunk copious amounts of champagne since (purely in the name of research ofcourse) and survived to describe the night in detail, I just can't explain that night any other way.

In a way I guess I'm lucky I wasn't attacked, or didn't wake up next to a bloke who resembled the hunchback of Notre Dame - thankful for small mercies. It has been a tragically long time between getting any luvvin for me though, it'd be far nicer to remember it - although I guess I'm optimistically assuming I'd want to... never can be too sure with boys these days! there are certainly some one night stands I'd prefer I didn't remember...

A Fairy Tale Romance

2008-11-19T15:47:00.002Z

so I'm back in the country, friends and family visited, wedding completed and (you'd have to hope by now) consummated... no dramas on the big day... no rain until we'd reached the reception - then the heavens opened (really very kind of them to hold off until the photos were done though)

My first effort as bridesmaid - quite exhausting really.

Bridesmaid-status was achieved not only by having been bestest-buddies with the bride since we were 12, but also by having the proud distinction of having set the happy couple up. It was a proud day for me.

Once upon a time...

It all started 5 years ago at a friend's house party... somehow the topic of blind dates came up and the bride-to-be fatefully commented that she'd probably trust my judgement if I were to try and set her up with someone. This got me to thinking... I worked with about 60 blokes, there'd have to be one that was at least semi-decent. And so I chose one for her, cited his favourable features of being tall, wearing glasses, and no doubt (knowing he had a computer-geek's natural aversion to exercise) skinny legs (the bride-to-be favoured the skinny academic look)

So she thought he sounded suitable and I had to embark upon Phase 2: convincing my ever-so-shy geeky workmate to go on a blind date. Hmn. Given that our office was more prone to gossip than your average knitting circle, I ever-so-cleverly messaged the boy via computer

you ever been on a blind date?
yeah, once
wanna go on another one?

Fortunately the boy manned-up and agreed. Unfortunately his boss and another co-worker were reading the conversation over his shoulder at the time and the impending date became the subject of much speculation and merriment throughout the entire office.

Realising the narrow chance this had of ended happily ever after, I gave the boy what I thought was the most genius get-out-of-this-with-ego-intact escape clause. Look, I told him, if she doesn't like you - don't be insulted, she has this *terrible* habit of only falling for absolute assholes.

he contemplated this for a second, then said: ...so what does that mean if she likes me?

to which I replied - well then, it means she's grown some taste!

(can you believe that I don't work in marketing!?!)

so the date went ahead - a triple date, my (now ex)boyfriend and I, my friend and her boyfriend, and the lucky couple-to-be.

[Carrie, Sex and the City: "I believe there is a curse put on the head of anyone who tries to set up their friends"]

and my selfless cupid-like act came back to bite me big time.

The bride-to-be had rung me and told me that it just wasn't happening for her - he's a lovely bloke she said, but the magic wasn't there, there was no spark.

No worries I told her - not like I expected you to marry him!

The groom came to visit me at work soon after, perched on the edge of my desk, and with eyes positively glistening exclaimed "Thanks so much for setting me up with her! ...I'm eternally indebted to you! She's wonderful!"

I thought ohhh my lord... he's going to cry when he finds out!

So the bride-to-be had planned in detail how best to break up with him when he came round one evening. He came round with a dozen long stemmed red roses. The plan went out the window.

and the rest... as they say... is history :)

Viva Las Australia

2008-10-25T08:38:00.003+01:00

It was a weird feeling, showering Wednesday morning and knowing that it was my last shower for at least 2 days

No, I wasn't going trekking somewhere exotic, I was going into the office, then going straight to the airport and flying to Australia

it's a long long way from London

2 tube rides
3 plane trips
1 train ride
and a short car trip later and I was home

flew out Wednesday, arrived on Friday. Thursday was lost to the world... passed in a haze of boring movies and novel pre-packaged servings of food

Slept most of yesterday and was wide awake at 4am this morning. After eating 3 chocolate bars for breakfast I managed to run 5km, go for a swim in the pool, go shopping with friends, visit my Dad (and commandeer overnight use of his car), attend my friend's fitting for her wedding dress, and after I have dinner with Mum I will drive an hour and a half north to visit a friend. It's his 4year old's birthday, but I'll get there too late to say hello to the little man.

I am redefining exhausted. Hopefully I'll live to blog again.

Here's to me, Mrs. Robinson...

2008-10-21T13:52:00.002+01:00

Had gotten a nice message from the boy one morning wishing me luck with my exam the next day, but remembered that he was unwilling to cross a bridge for me and didn't reply. I am all that is womanly restraint ;)

I was still planning on going to his comedy gig, and was princessy-enough to plan to dress especially nice that day and touch up my makeup before arriving. The goal was to look effortlessly attractive and entirely unattainable - confident-office-sexy-chic. I'd also realised that another boy I used to date (the former title holder of boy-who-made-no-effort) who had messaged me out of the blue the other week conveniently lived up the road in that direction... it would be very fun to invite him along.

fun... but not worth the effort. A deliciously evil train of thought though - I liked it.

so me and my darling-friend-and-flatmate went and checked it out - stand-up comedians trying out their new material - one guy was pretty good, two of them seemed absolutely wasted and were terrible, but even when the jokes bombed it was still kinda funny. Perhaps that had more to do with the copious amount of wine I'd consumed and less to do with the jokes though. The boy got up and performed (glorious double entendre right there!) and wasn't brilliant, but wasn't cringe-worthy. Fun night, definitely worth the effort.

Had chatted briefly with the boy and he was nice enough to ask how my exam went, but he wasn't falling over himself to come talk to me during the intermission or anything. I said goodbye before I left and mentioned I was away for the next month.

Walking through the door at home and my phone starts ringing... it was him asking if he could drop in for a visit. Again I asked what he'd be dropping in for, again he said just coffee... he mentioned his friend would drop him off so I asked how he was planning on getting home. He said the night bus... I asked what number... he couldn't answer that and I laughed at him. I told him he was an odd little creature for inviting himself over last week and then deciding he couldn't cross a bridge. He agreed he was an idiot, I reminded him that 'massive dork' were the words of choice.

I wish I could remember exactly what was said cos I was rather happy to pull off bemused and condescending rather than narky-woman-scorned. Yay me. Somehow I successfully conveyed my dismay at his complete and utter lack of effort because he said he'd start reading up on chivalry... I agreed that was a good idea. There's my effort educating the youth of today. I'd rather it was a lot more like sex-ed, but hey.

Funniest first date ever

2008-10-20T14:49:00.004+01:00

...unfortunately though, it belonged to someone else.

my lovely single mate just joined up to mysinglefriend.com and had her first date on the weekend - when I checked out the website I was really impressed with the quality of boy it contained! I think I'd actually consider it... the online dating thing seems kinda tragic, but then I've done the speed dating, and been rocking round every local drinking hole... don't really think any one thing is less tragic than the other.

the funny bit though - her and the boy she was meeting for the very first time were walking past a bar when a drunken aussie stumbled out in front of her, looked at her, and exclaimed 'you're STUNNING!'

...then turned to the bloke she was with and asked 'what's a girl like that doing with a guy like you???' Hilarious! You couldn't *pay* someone to talk you up any better on a first date! Gotta feel sorry for the guy... except it's just too funny to bother with that!

Death of a Toyboy

2008-10-14T20:26:00.002+01:00

okay... so he was really only a *potential* toyboy - more's the pity!

...and I didn't have my normal Sunday catch-up with the comedian boy, but he has a regular gig up the road from me every Monday.

so he texted me afterward at 11:15pm

boy: You up?
me: Yeah, and my phone buzzing just scared the shit out of me!
boy: I'm on my way home, should I swing by?
me: Hmm - and what would you be swinging by for?
boy: A cup of coffee ofcourse
me: I don't know if I believe that... but if you're not gonna be disappointed with a cup of instant coffee... okay then
boy: Over the bridge now. I'll speak to you soon
me: You are a massive dork!
boy: Yep.

I shit you not. Geez I pull the good ones! He'll only 'speak to me soon' if I answer my phone..... very much thinking I won't bother. Although I do actually want to go see this comedy gig up the road from me, sounds cool... won't let that stop me

but even if he assumes I simply want to use and abuse him for sex (it was fun even just typing that!) it doesn't excuse the lack of effort he's shown... maybe he'd assume he could skip the three dates and the expensive dinners... but not even bothering to catch up unless he's in the immediate neighbourhood is *too* insulting!

I swear every guy I meet tries to out-do the previous with regards to just how little effort can be made to hook up with a girl - a few more dates and it'll be like playing limbo...

...how. low. can. you. go?
...how. low. can. you. go?

oh dear.

All in All a Big Weekend

2008-10-14T12:18:00.004+01:00

End of season drinks with my other sports team started off tame, but I stupidly drank wine and I was fine all night then suddenly towards the end of the night I go from fine to spastic in the space of 5min (always the way). I found out my favourite gorgeous boy teammate has a girlfriend (I swear every time he smiles an angel gets its wings!), and then chatted to the next cutest boy and may've been flirty so my best mate got shitty cos she's slept with him before.

Don't remember leaving, and the next day I had a long and angry text from my friend about the boy... so I was checking my sent messages and saw I'd messaged the comedian boy - spoke to him later that day and found out I'd actually called him at 2:30am... and rambled on for a few minutes til he hung up on me... bugger. I never usually drunk dial!

My response to my friend's accusations of poor form (which I barely remember composing) was as follows:

What. I am lost. Rock on. Night night

...she said she looked at it the next day and laughed and thought "how can I be angry at that!" - it's good to be an amusing drunk...

Had also woken up with a sprained pinky finger and a small graze on my knee... looked at my favourite pair of jeans, and found that they had a nice little hole to match. Damn! Obviously I took an almighty drunken stumble... but can't remember where or when. Mortified. How many people saw!?! eek.

sloppy sloppy! Have been such a well behaved drunk lately but have totally lost form in the last few weeks!

Next day I had to rush to my mate's to make her cocktails for her 30th - am hungover and lugging about 6 litres of cocktail paraphernalia and spare high heels - hop off at Wandsworth Town rail station and am chatting to get directions to her house - found out that Wandsworth Station and Wandsworth Town Rail Station are two completely different entities! Who knew!?? I am still very much a tourist in this town. I have to train it to Clapham Junction to where someone is nice enough to take pity on the lost little Australian and come pick me up.

Arrive at hers, brain still barely functioning, make her a cocktail, walk into the other room to give it to her, come back to the kitchen and find that half a litre of vodka is missing - still mystified how one of her dodgy drunk friends stole so much so quickly... so with all my preparation I am out of vodka. Really kills the tone for the night and we go out to Oceania, a super-club with 7 differently themed rooms and lots of novely value, and despite sporty spiffy VIP arm bands... was just not feeling it. Very young club - felt like an absolute prude for not having my ass-cheeks hanging out the bottom of my skirt... seriously. Plus *no* hot guys - even the guys agreed on that one!

Death of a Tomboy

2008-10-09T15:25:00.002+01:00

Won our final, went to the pub after, was a good night. Until I got home just before midnight and found the loo cistern was flooding the bathroom and the toilet wouldn't stop cycling water. rgh.

Too tired to care, I decided I'd deal with it in the morning and took myself off to bed. This morning my inner tomboy lifted the lid of the cistern, saw water pissing out from where it shouldn't, considered having a tinker, then a strange and unfamiliar thing happened...

I decided that I could almost certainly call someone to fix it for me, and that I shouldn't have to play with yucky toilet water before work (or necessarily any other time either)

my inner princess has conquered my inner tomboy.

along a similar vein, today I find myself emailing my gayest-non-gay-man-alive buddy and describing (on request) what I'm wearing to my friend's 30th this Saturday -

I am wearing a black satiny dress with white trim and a white cherry blossom design, cinched with a wide patent black elasticised belt worn high (how magazine-talk was that!) and am facing the eternal girly dilemma - big (nay, *massive*) night of dancing is on the cards, so do I wear the hot new boots that will surely cripple me, or the comfy boots that only look un-sexy upon close inspection (which will reveal they are a little old, out of fashion, and the ones I wear to work most days) or tempt fate and wear the new heels I ordered online that arrived yesterday (and seem to fit - joy!)

my inner princess has bashed my inner toyboy with her designer handbag, sprayed him with mace, taken off a stiletto heel and plunged it deep into his heart.

gotta run - ducking out for coffee with my work buddy, doubt I'll have the willpower to resist some chocolate cake accompaniment, but hey, that's life - I have the willpower of a fat kid in a candystore...

duh.

2008-10-06T19:56:00.004+01:00

overestimating the depth of a male's thought process is something I try not to do too often... they're simple creatures and I understand that

...but I forget sometimes

my fabulous gayest-non-gay-man-alive friend is not native to Australia, but having inhibited my home country for quite some years he laments the lack of chivalry and attention Australian men will pay to a woman

this boy is no exception

true to form - I get a text message (bastard woke me up!) at 12:30pm Saturday night asking if I'm going to be round my area the next day, turns out he's going to be in my neighbourhood and he ends up dropping by. It's very convenient for him and he doesn't suggest lunch or anything imaginative, just ends up stopping by and trying to jump me on the couch

I am so embarrassed that I contemplated whether the age gap or difference in our earnings would phase him...

- he's a 24 year old bloke

- who I've already slept with (whether I remember or not, quite sure it happened)

he doesn't care about our different lifestyles, he doesn't care about much, he just wants a shag

duh.

...while he's in the neighbourhood anyways

...and he doesn't even decide this until after midnight and a few too many drinks

this is me not feeling very special. However this is also me after an absolute man-drought that's lasted the better part of this year. I can't help but mourn the gradual deterioration of the strong standards I used to have about which men I'd deem worthy of spending time with.

I rationalise that he's fun company, cute, a decent kisser, and it' not like I'm throwing out my schedule or anything...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morale of this blog:

"Don't look for Mr. Right. Look for Mr. Right Now"

Christina Walters (Cameron Diaz) - The Sweetest Thing

The Perfect Man

2008-10-05T12:11:00.002+01:00

4 years older, highly intelligent, successful, ambitious, relatively wealthy - he owns property... is athletic, works out... plays a team sport

single, happy, no skeletons in the closet... a couple of long term relationships under the belt - still great friends with both exes

sound like the perfect man right?

Except you should replace he with she

or more specifically - me

It's the strangest thing that I sit here wondering if the boy knows that I'm 4 years older than him, if he's figured out that I earn myself a very decent wage... and I haven't held back - the fact that I cruised through university on not one but two separate academic scholarships was revealed in a conversation we had...

and I can't help but wonder if he'd have a problem with it

stupid, isn't it? I can't think of any guy who's ever had to wonder if being slightly older, more academic and wealthier than a girl would be a cause for concern

it bites, it's sad, but that's the way it is. I need to wear a sign - insecure men need not apply.

toyboys who can cook are welcome :)

Champagne Cocktails are evil

2008-09-28T21:02:00.001+01:00

it was a night to remember

except I can't - any of it really

Today I had a coffee date with a boy I don't remember meeting.

It could've been all my fault - spur of the moment urge to go out dancing, one fantastic rubber-armed friend who agreed not to stick to her resolve to spend the night in when she heard that I feared that I was officially becoming boring. So with one enthusiastic 'well we can't have that then!' the night was all on.

I made the champagne cocktails. I shouldnt've. One too many (who am I kidding, try 4 too many...) later and we rocked into a bar and my friend got chatting to some lovely but unattractive guy. I remember the trivia game, I remember him losing and agreeing to buy us drinks. And that's the last thing I remember.

Both me and my friend both don't remember the night - but I didn't feel shabby the next day so I'm half suspicious our drinks may've been spiked, but it's hard to claim that when I know we both deserved to be pretty bloody drunk anyways.

So I don't remember getting home, but I woke up in the early hours of the morning, jumped out of bed and wrapped a towel around me (oddly enough not questioning why I was sleeping naked) and popped to the loo. Got back to my room, hung the towel up, turned round and got the shock of my life. There was a boy in my bed! I took a closer look, and he looked familiar, something made me relax a little, not sure what my train of thought was or if I was capable of logistical process at that particular point in time, but I just crawled back into bed and snoozed.

Some time later there was rustling and I wasn't brave enough to open my eyes and attempt conversation while he threw his clothes back on. There was a little bit of time that passed then a brief peck on my not-quite-awake face and he was gone.

but he left a note. His name (the only way I was ever going to know what it was) his number, and a kinda cute little message. All I knew about him was that he must carry a notepad round with him, his name, and that he couldn't quite spell acquaintance.

So I rang him and he was surprisingly easy to chat to, turned out he was a comedian (literally) and a fellow aussie - can't escape them!

but we caught up for coffee today and Mr Funny is a lovely guy... cute too!

First time I've ever had a second meeting with a one night stand. I'd told him on our first phone conversation that I remembered little of Saturday night, but today I came clean and told him that the sum total of all I remember of the night adds up to about 8 minutes. Doesn't seem to bother him - though it's the weirdest thing not have absolutely no memory of the first time you kissed a particular boy... let alone the first time you shagged him.

Definitely not one to tell the grandchildren.

oh - and the second time we kissed was fine :)

Nerds on the Pull

2008-09-16T21:41:00.003+01:00

This - with love from my favourite ex-colleague (a bloke) in Australia, who scored an invite:

Google are doing the rounds up in Brisbane. I don't think they really want to meet me - I think its nerds on the pull. That's what I get from reading in-between these lines:

"we would like to issue a special invitation to the women attendees to join us for a pre-event cocktail starting at 6:30 pm. This would be a time for you to meet with some of the Google engineers in a more informal environment, and meet each other as well!".

I have never felt so wanted.

I can't believe they actually distributed that - so we can now surmise that theirs is a predominately male workforce, and the general corporate impression is that they need help meeting women. tops. way to pull, guys.

how embarrassment ;)

Mourning

2008-09-15T22:41:00.003+01:00

...the sad and unexplained death of my ipod. This morning it just plain refused to turn on.

I can't turn anything on lately... not even my ipod. Oh the misery that is my non-existent social life. feeling it. Now I can't even distract myself with music!

but should I start to contemplate suicide, I shall remember these lyrics:

For billions of years since the outset of time, every single one of your ancestors survived. Every single person on your mum and dad's side, successfully looked after and passed on to you, life.

On the Edge of a Cliff - The Streets

In search of optimism...

2008-09-11T12:38:00.003+01:00

blame my ipod, but does anyone else agree that these are just the loveliest lyrics ever -

How many times
Can a man watch the sun rise
Over his head
Without feeling free?

and this other verse almost makes me wish that there were many incredibly inappropriate men in my past whom I'd dated and fallen madly, passionately in love with...

- then I'd be able to read these lyrics with an ever-so-wistful sigh -

How many fools
Will I let unlock the door to my heart?
When I know that, I know that
They shouldn't have had the key

alas there are too few men in my past in general, only two of which have ever had the key to my front door... let alone my heart. Still, plenty of time to rectify that I guess!

(lyrics to Hot Tequila Brown - Jamiroquai)

I am a broken woman

2008-09-09T22:04:00.005+01:00

first time I've been able to get to the gym in a while...

- it's been just over my week since I went public with my resolve to lose 2 kilos in 2 months

I hopped on the scales to discover not quite 2 kilos, but a kilo and a half - barely one week in and only 500g off the 2 kilo change in weight I'm hoping for

except that that is how much I've gained

I shit you not.

un-be-fookin-lievable

Swedish Meatballs

2008-09-08T15:35:00.002+01:00

alas, I am at work. No nordic modern-day viking insisted that he and I sail off into the sunset. Bugger.

Actually, there was a complete and utter lack of gorgeous blonde-haired, blue-eyed anything - men or women. Seemed to be a lot of kids though - either they grow up ugly and brunette, or (my personal theory) they leave the country to become the exotic and envied gorgeous international students at universities the world over. Perhaps, as one friend suggested, it's only the blonde, blue-eyed nymphomaniacs that get the passports.

we'll never know.

Always the way

2008-09-05T16:02:00.000+01:00

the 'couple' of drinks I decided to have with the work crew turned into many and many more, first at one pub, then a visit to my favourite cocktail bar to reacquaint myself with my favourite cocktail (it'd been far too long!), then traipsed all the way up to Angel for more drinks at a pub with some of my friend's RBS workmates.

Was ever so close to actually sticking to my resolve to just have one sociable drink and then go home and pack for the next day's trip to Stockholm. Politely refused a drink when offered... but then caved. Had my arm twisted. Damn rubber arm.

I was rocking around carrying a rather heavy belated birthday present - nicely boxed delivery of white wine and chocolate truffles that I had originally planned to consume for a less-than-healthy dinner. I love chocolate at the best of times but consuming them whilst drunk on the tube ride home and *oh* - they were manna from heaven!

Mind you, the cornish pasty I'd had earlier the night was also an absolute culinary delight to my alcohol-sozzled tastebuds.

I have no idea what a cornish pasty tastes like when you're sober.

Home at 1am and was still too drunk to even consider packing for Stockholm... however I did manage to remember to stick the bottle of wine straight in the fridge

some things you just do on auto pilot :)

New Topic Required

2008-09-04T15:39:00.003+01:00

seriously.

need to get out of this food/weight-focussed mentality. need to get a life!

I'd best work on that one - the worst thing about trying to cultivate a vaguely interesting blog about your life is that it brings to your immediate attention that you may need a life that's vaguely interesting.

Maybe I'll just start making stuff up. When Mark Twain decided that truth was stranger than fiction he mustnt've been writing a blog - or at least reading this one.

Anyways, the reason for re-visiting this weighty topic (unforgivable pun, yes) a well-meaning-workmate has this horrendous habit of repeating a little belief of his - actually, much to my annoyance he repeats many of his beliefs - people so opinionated and set in their ways disturb me, but that's another rant.

Why he feels the needs to repeatedly enlighten me with the gem of information that 'all these women who want to be size 0s have no idea that men prefer women with a bit of weight on them' I can only guess at. So I do guess. I guess he imagines this is a shocking revelation that will make me happy. So I can only infer that he doesn't mistake me for a size 0 and is ever so subtly trying to convince me that it's okay to carry extra weight. joy.

Note that I have never complained about my weight or the increasing tightness of my jeans to this boy. ever. not my style.

It's like once upon at time in an office years ago, when a co-worker (who I always imagined would be an exact replica of a human-pig hybrid should ever science create one) casually remarked that I was stocky. That I wouldn't want to take up swimming because a stocky build like mine would get muscly. No woman wants to be described as stocky. ever. there's a tip from you to me.

Oh, the joys of working within the IT industry and the ever-so-suave men it attracts!

The thing is, I'm either the most arrogant and delusional woman alive (possible) but I am (usually) fine with my weight. 5 foot 3 and a half... 60kg, aiming for 58... a standard size 10. I don't hate what I see in the mirror - but then I don't see stocky - or someone carrying extra weight (unless I'm silly enough to breathe out and turn sideways!)

Thanks boys.

Hunger

2008-09-04T14:15:00.001+01:00

The reason I sit here contemplating my dietary habits is that I'm bored at work. I rush for my morning coffee, then count down the minutes til lunchtime, thus ensuring that my entire day revolves around food. I have to resist consuming an unhealthy number of tasty hot chocolate sachets that sit mocking me from the tea room. Only an intravenous drip filled with melted chocolate could offer a more efficient chocolate delivery system. hmph. I reckon weight is directly related to job satisfaction, if I were challenged instead of bored shitless I would have better things to do than dream of my tasteless-but-healthy pasta salad.

Rules

2008-09-03T14:37:00.001+01:00

I've broken one of my rules.

I always swore that I would never, ever, under any circumstances diet. Ofcourse, when made this agreement with myself I was a svelte 22 year old with an incredibly large appetite and the metabolism of a racehorse.

My eating habits used to be the stuff of legend. During my university days my sports team would closely observe what I ate and inevitably some aspect of my edible conquests would make it into every post-competition write up for the uni magazine. My favourite trick was consuming 2 whopper burgers right before a game - I still maintain that I played better if I did.

The year I turned 23 I started full time office work. I do remember noticing that my gargantuan appetite quelled somewhat and I was ever so slightly pleased. Then I started gaining weight. Not so pleased. The disturbing trend continued... and all of a sudden I *got* why my inexplicable ability to consume horrendously large servings of food had made my teammates so envious. So *this* was why women dieted!

Thankfully I did stop expanding. Sumo wrestling was never seriously contemplated as a possible career choice. Although I still eat more than most blokes I know. You know those people that just eat as much as they want and never gain weight? Well, my theory is that I'm one of those people... or should be... it's just that I eat twice as much as any decent human my size should.

So back to the breaking of the rules. Lately I've spent so much time whingeing about how tight my jeans are, and squirming in discomfort at the cruel waistband that insists on cutting into my soft and deliciously pudgy tummy, that I decided that life would be a little bit more comfortable if I made an effort towards dropping a couple of kilos. Running parallel with my solemn vow never to diet was a solemn vow never to bitch and whinge about my weight like a girly-girl. I grew up being a tomboy you see, and am still coming to terms with some of the girly-girl tendencies I've been increasingly picking up of late.

So not only have I resolved to lose 2 kilos in the next 2 months, but I've actually informed a couple of my friends of this new resolve. I'm putting it out there. Not overly ambitious, but then I'm a healthy lass and not exactly obese. Now I'm also informing the 2 people who may accidentally happen over this blog post on their misguided way to somewhere else, but hey, by putting it in print I might have to read it in 2 month's time and realise I have all the willpower of a fat kid in a candy store.

Gay-man envy

2008-08-29T16:13:00.003+01:00

Tripped over to Mykonos for a 4 day break this weekend just gone, and experienced gay-man envy for the first time ever. Have never aspired to be a gay male before. Have considered the advantages of being a bloke many times - physical superiority, no menstrual cycle, no pregnancy scares (not to the same extent anyways), statistically higher rate of pay, far less chance of having someone assume you're a bimbo... but given that I'm not particularly fashion-forward, theatrical, or even effeminate, the allure of the gay man's world has never been strong.

Then I saw the superbly sculpted, perfectly tanned adonis-like men sunning themselves on the beach at Mykonos - predominantly clad in teeny tiny man-shorts. I wanted in. Although I didn't fancy the hotpants. The tight-man-shorts may just be a general European thing - but the plucked eyebrows, handbags, total lack of body hair and absence of women lead me to strongly suspect that the gorgeous boys were gay. Why weren't any of the straight men that good! All I got was extroverted touchy-feely greasy Italian men!

On the upside, there was never going to be any lecherous behaviour should I decide to sunbathe topless...

win some lose some I guess.

Whoops

2008-08-29T06:57:00.003+01:00

So I'm doing a fantastic job with this blog thing aren't I? At the very start and I'm already forgetting I have one. Actually, I didn't forget so much as I just didn't quite get round to doing something about it. Much in the same way I always intend to update my travel blog, post some photos on facebook, back up my hard drive... but never quite manage.

Did I mention I work with computers?

So half the month has passed and it hasn't been too boring.

For a start, I had my birthday. I'm now 28. You know when you're a kid you have an age that sticks in your head as your 'grown up' age. Everyone that age or older is definitely a grown up. I just hit mine, which slightly scares me. Not because I need to settle in my life, buy a property or focus on my career. Own property, have decent career prospects - will travel. It's just I've reached that scary point in my life where I feel a helluva lot younger than I actually am. Also, every random guy I strike up a conversation with in any pub or club is 23. It's the oddest phenomena. To the point where I was out in a club a few weeks ago (ever so slightly pissy) and met one 23 year old (half Egyptian half Italian, and had've he been 6 foot something, could've been a D&G model) and later when another boy sat next to me I was challenging my darling-friend-and-flatmate to dare me to just turn to him and state 'You're 23, aren't you?'. She didn't so I didn't but could've and should've - a little conversation ensued and true to form, the boy was 23.

Am I too young to start lying about my age?

There have been one or two 22 year olds thrown into the mix of late. Not that I should be complaining - were it the other way around and 43 year olds kept approaching me then I'd be entirely grossed out and seriously contemplating botox. I've always said that I want a toyboy that can cook. I figure that there are so many older men rocking around with much younger women on their arm that it is personally up to me to redress the balance. It's good in theory but not in practice. At best I've had a boyfriend that was a year and a bit younger than me.

My favourite trick is pretending to be insulted when a young bloke guesses my age at 23, and when I tell him to guess again and moves it up to 24. Cue best wide-eyed shocked look and indignant voice 'You think I'm OLDER!'

I love a dark club!

In the beginning...

2008-08-13T21:33:00.002+01:00

In the beginning... I didn't really know what to write... Hopefully that will change with time and/or practice. Actually, who am I kidding? I can always crap on - it's one of my many talents. It's just that I suspect that in the beginning what I write will largely be crappy, and I hope that'll improve.

Why a blog? Why just the normal reasons... fame fortune scandal and a horrendously well paid book deal. That'd be nice.

Failing that (or in the meantime) this'll be a cheaper alternative to therapy... not that I really need therapy right now due to the overwhelming stability in my life. I am remarkably well adjusted. Nothing that makes for interesting reading yet huh? Surely something fantastically interesting will happen in my life soon, and even if no one else reads it or cares, then when I'm 83 and the only thing between my boobs is my belly button, me and my 43 cats can look back on this blog and have a giggle about how exciting/shallow/naive I used to be.

So why Cheeky Goddess? Well, it just sounded better than smart-assed and arrogant... catchier don't you think? I never really had a major nickname growing up (parental pet names excluded) and I think smart ass was as close I got - but I liked it - better that than dumbass I figured