How To Shower Like A Woman...
* Take off clothing and place it in sectional laundry hamper according to lights and darks.
* Walk to bathroom wearing long bathrobe. If you see your boyfriend/husband along the way, cover up any exposed flesh and rush to the bathroom.
* Look at your womanly physique in the mirror and stick out your gut so that you can complain and whine even more about how you're getting fat.
* Get in shower. Look for face-cloth, arm-cloth, leg-cloth, long loofah, wide loofah and pumice stone.
* Wash you hair once with Cucumber and Lamfrey shampoo with 83 added vitamins.
* Wash your hair again with Cucumber and Lamfrey shampoo with 83 added vitamins.
* Condition your hair with Cucumber and Lamfrey conditioner enhanced with natural crocus oil. Leave on for 15 minutes.
* Wash your face with crushed apricot facial scrub for 10 minutes until red and raw.
* Wash entire rest of body with Ginger Nut and Jaffa Cake body wash.
* Rinse conditioner off of hair (this takes at least 15 minutes as you must make sure that it has all come off).
* Shave armpits and legs. Consider shaving bikini area but decide to get it waxed instead.
* Scream loudly when your boyfriend/husband flushes the toilet and you lose the water pressure.
* Turn off shower.
* Squeegee off all wet surfaces inn the shower. Spray mold spots with Tilex.
* Get out of the shower. Dry with towel the size of a small African Country.
* Wrap hair in super-absorbent second towel.
* Check entire body for the remotest sign of a zit. Attack with nails/tweezers if found.
* Return to bedroom wearing bathrobe and towel on head.
* If you see your boyfriend/husband along the way, cover up any exposed flesh and then rush to the bedroom to spend an hour-and-a-half getting dressed.
How To Shower Like A Man...
* Take off clothes while sitting in the edge of the bed and leave them in a pile.
* Walk naked to the bathroom. If you see your girlfriend/wife along the way, flash her making the "woo, woo" sound.
* Look at your manly physique in the mirror and suck in your gut. Check to see if you have pecs. Find out you don't have pecs. Admire the size of your wiener in the mirror, scratch your balls.
* Get in shower. Don't bother looking for a washcloth. You don't use one.
* Wash your face.
* Wash your armpits.
* Crack up at how loud your fart sounds in the shower.
* Wash your privates and surrounding area.
* Wash your ass, leaving hair on the soap bar.
* Shampoo your hair. Do not use conditioner.
* Make a hilarious shampoo Mohawk.
* Pull back shower curtain and look at yourself in the mirror.
* Pee (in the shower).
* Rinse off and get out of the shower. Fail to notice water on the floor because you left the curtain hanging out of the tub when you checked your Mohawk.
* Partially dry off.
* Look at yourself in the mirror, flex muscles. Admire wiener size. Leave shower curtain open and wet mat on the floor.
* Leave on the bathroom light, fan and as many taps as deemed appropriate.
* Return to the bedroom with towel around your waist. If you pass your girlfriend/wife, pull off the towel, grab your balls, shout "Oh yeah, baby!" and thrust your pelvis at her.
* Throw wet towel on the bed. Take two minutes to get dressed.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
This lighthearted banter aside, I am quite sick of men swanning into my life and behaving badly. Acceptable to dish out death threats, one moment, then take the virginity of an old schoolfriend in the same month? Or how about using the 'L' word on moment, then knocking up some tart, because you couldn't keep it in your pants long enought to wait to see me again? How about making up some cockandbull story about how you are not ready to have a relationship, until you know you are going to score with a girl with bigger breasts?
To the point. There is nothing I can do about making men grow up, they simply won't. Besides, I am hardly one to talk (today I spent five minutes writing my name/phallic symbols in a tureen with silver polish). I can't be the only person alive/single interested in a stable relationship. Currently taking pride in the thought that my life is increasingly parallel to Bridget Jones' Diary. Bad style, permenant rose-tinted glasses, stubborn habits, a mother with a SERIOUS social class complex, and suffering from constantly reassuring myself that I could do better, like a sick self-assessment school report. And given my history of male counterparts, I conclude that I will never find a Mark Darcy in a sexual deviant, a teenager, a pretty-boy, an alcoholic, a married man, a teacher OR a woman.
I can't be arsed enjoying single life, so I will continue to be cantankerous and blindly throw myself at childish arseholes.
Because let's be honest - how can men even exist, if boys never grow up?
Tuesday, 1 February 2011
Saturday, 22 January 2011
Please God, don't make me an officer's wife...
All girls are taught since day one, that a knight in shining armour will one day sweep them off their feet. Thanks a bunch Disney, you anti-semite, womanising, child beater of a twat. Of course, anyone old enough to read this blog, will know that reality flushed this concept down the drain years and years ago.
My background being intensely steeped in the British Army, I was taught even before the aforementioned fairytale, that your average soldier's not suited for any feet-sweeping purposes. Nevertheless, my ability to want EXACTLY what my parents don't want for me has shone through. And after finding I would never be fit enough to serve in the Services myself the only way to stay in the lifestyle I love, is to marry one. This plan was all coming together, until summer 2010. I am not ungrateful for the three happy years I had, but I am more than happy that the end of that relationship has opened my eyes. Very wide, very quickly. An Australian friend of mine, helped me see happiness in the future of my darkest, loneliest days. But I now believe I used him. For all the wrong reasons. I already planned my life with him in my head. The song ' I Wanna Have Your Babies' by Natasha Bedingfield? Sums it up perfectly. I am my own worst enemy in cases like this. I mean, it's fine for me to be the settled type, who doesn't like to have a new man every saturday night, but I shouldn't let myself get too carried away.
So, starting my new job this week has given me a new lease of life. I literally feel like a whole new person. I have met new people, one in particular that I have really connected with, and we are nothing alike. She has already taught me more about love and relationships than I have learnt from any other one person in my life.
So, first week around the terrifying beast that is - The Rupert. Before I started, my opinion was that they fall into three simple categories.
1.Young, fresh out of uni, and loving life - and everyone in it. 2. Young, fresh out of uni, and expecting officer life to fall into their laps - and everyone in it too. 3. Old-school, and boring.
Naturally, this point was squashed within the first shift of working. the Troop Commanders (hereafter Troopies) showed the first glimmer of character I had seen from anyone other than staff. Rowley. A soft featured young man, who noticed I was new straight away, and awarded me a nod of acknowledgment, and a few glances from his seat. Then, a lot of shaking hands and arms as I served my first lunch service around the people I feel innanely below socially. Service ends, and between polishing the silver, I am told that another staff member is in fact marrying an ex-Troopie in a few months time. I think aww, very sweet. She looks like she will fit in perfectly as an officer's wife. She is quick-witted, sure, fresh-faced, and always looks immaculate. However, after a quick facebook rifle, and many tales of drunken antics, and I discover that she isn't from a strange cyborg factory, designing genetic partners for officers. I feel INCREDIBLY shallow.
Next shift. Night shift. Dinner. *raise a silent eyebrow at why it isnt called Supper or suchlike* And in walks the men I recognised at Lunch as being French *silent resentment for France in general* following the froggy group is Pierce Brosnan. Immediate thoughts turn to 'father of my future children approaching' *silent scolding of self* and thoughts turn to burning red cheeks as he smiles and nods at me when he signs his name. Swooning instantly evaporates as I have to go and clean up after, and I remember that the French don't actually know what plates are for >:(
See old frenchieboy for the next few days, and I am pretty damn sure he has seen me making eyes at him, and I am pretty sure he has made eyes back. Even when his comrades have noticed my pillarbox face, and I hear them utter 'rougissant joue' and all face me at once, there is no doubt in my mind he knows it. Most memorable moment of the week - as Francois (what I imagine he MUST be called, as his friend's name is Jean-Claude, so assume he must have the only other french name on the earth) finishes his meal, I get called away from my 'notdoingmuchatall' perch. Holy Crap. Dash through the job faster than a greased gazelle to make it back to the perch to see him disappear behind a curtain. Without thinking I say out loud TO MSELF"Didn't even say goodbye. Asshole." Instantly, he whips back round the corner with another nod and a big smile, and a blush and he is gone. In that moment, I was transported back to about four years old, and I was Briar Rose seeing a handsome stranger I was sure I had met before (In my dreams, perhaps?)
Fuck you Disney. He's married and has a ten year old son.
Friday night is Family's Night. Made myself a silent promise that I would get a bit of banter going with the engaged waitress about how she would be sitting on the other side pretty soon as 'One Of Them'. She insists she will never turn to the dark side, but I have drawn my own conclusion, and some situations have you so pinned in, you can't help but allow it to drastically change your personality. Oh, how glad am I that I didn't open my big mouth. First wife walks in, and I feel the urge to walk right out. Her sickly smile, knotted sweater, and cords weren't making an impression in my mind. It was what came out of her mouth. "OHH DAHRLING, DUZNT IT ORL LOOK WONDERFUL" *silently promise self that she's is just being enthusiastic and will sit, eat, and control her children*. WRONG. Fellow waitress rolls her eyes, and slams her way through to the kitchen. Moronic woman continues her backhanded fawning over poor Bruce, and I decide I can't anymore of her whining. Please God, don't make me turn out to be an officer's wife.
And if I must, don't allow me to call my daughter Izzy.
My background being intensely steeped in the British Army, I was taught even before the aforementioned fairytale, that your average soldier's not suited for any feet-sweeping purposes. Nevertheless, my ability to want EXACTLY what my parents don't want for me has shone through. And after finding I would never be fit enough to serve in the Services myself the only way to stay in the lifestyle I love, is to marry one. This plan was all coming together, until summer 2010. I am not ungrateful for the three happy years I had, but I am more than happy that the end of that relationship has opened my eyes. Very wide, very quickly. An Australian friend of mine, helped me see happiness in the future of my darkest, loneliest days. But I now believe I used him. For all the wrong reasons. I already planned my life with him in my head. The song ' I Wanna Have Your Babies' by Natasha Bedingfield? Sums it up perfectly. I am my own worst enemy in cases like this. I mean, it's fine for me to be the settled type, who doesn't like to have a new man every saturday night, but I shouldn't let myself get too carried away.
So, starting my new job this week has given me a new lease of life. I literally feel like a whole new person. I have met new people, one in particular that I have really connected with, and we are nothing alike. She has already taught me more about love and relationships than I have learnt from any other one person in my life.
So, first week around the terrifying beast that is - The Rupert. Before I started, my opinion was that they fall into three simple categories.
1.Young, fresh out of uni, and loving life - and everyone in it. 2. Young, fresh out of uni, and expecting officer life to fall into their laps - and everyone in it too. 3. Old-school, and boring.
Naturally, this point was squashed within the first shift of working. the Troop Commanders (hereafter Troopies) showed the first glimmer of character I had seen from anyone other than staff. Rowley. A soft featured young man, who noticed I was new straight away, and awarded me a nod of acknowledgment, and a few glances from his seat. Then, a lot of shaking hands and arms as I served my first lunch service around the people I feel innanely below socially. Service ends, and between polishing the silver, I am told that another staff member is in fact marrying an ex-Troopie in a few months time. I think aww, very sweet. She looks like she will fit in perfectly as an officer's wife. She is quick-witted, sure, fresh-faced, and always looks immaculate. However, after a quick facebook rifle, and many tales of drunken antics, and I discover that she isn't from a strange cyborg factory, designing genetic partners for officers. I feel INCREDIBLY shallow.
Next shift. Night shift. Dinner. *raise a silent eyebrow at why it isnt called Supper or suchlike* And in walks the men I recognised at Lunch as being French *silent resentment for France in general* following the froggy group is Pierce Brosnan. Immediate thoughts turn to 'father of my future children approaching' *silent scolding of self* and thoughts turn to burning red cheeks as he smiles and nods at me when he signs his name. Swooning instantly evaporates as I have to go and clean up after, and I remember that the French don't actually know what plates are for >:(
See old frenchieboy for the next few days, and I am pretty damn sure he has seen me making eyes at him, and I am pretty sure he has made eyes back. Even when his comrades have noticed my pillarbox face, and I hear them utter 'rougissant joue' and all face me at once, there is no doubt in my mind he knows it. Most memorable moment of the week - as Francois (what I imagine he MUST be called, as his friend's name is Jean-Claude, so assume he must have the only other french name on the earth) finishes his meal, I get called away from my 'notdoingmuchatall' perch. Holy Crap. Dash through the job faster than a greased gazelle to make it back to the perch to see him disappear behind a curtain. Without thinking I say out loud TO MSELF"Didn't even say goodbye. Asshole." Instantly, he whips back round the corner with another nod and a big smile, and a blush and he is gone. In that moment, I was transported back to about four years old, and I was Briar Rose seeing a handsome stranger I was sure I had met before (In my dreams, perhaps?)
Fuck you Disney. He's married and has a ten year old son.
Friday night is Family's Night. Made myself a silent promise that I would get a bit of banter going with the engaged waitress about how she would be sitting on the other side pretty soon as 'One Of Them'. She insists she will never turn to the dark side, but I have drawn my own conclusion, and some situations have you so pinned in, you can't help but allow it to drastically change your personality. Oh, how glad am I that I didn't open my big mouth. First wife walks in, and I feel the urge to walk right out. Her sickly smile, knotted sweater, and cords weren't making an impression in my mind. It was what came out of her mouth. "OHH DAHRLING, DUZNT IT ORL LOOK WONDERFUL" *silently promise self that she's is just being enthusiastic and will sit, eat, and control her children*. WRONG. Fellow waitress rolls her eyes, and slams her way through to the kitchen. Moronic woman continues her backhanded fawning over poor Bruce, and I decide I can't anymore of her whining. Please God, don't make me turn out to be an officer's wife.
And if I must, don't allow me to call my daughter Izzy.
Sunday, 16 January 2011
Peer Pressure
Always thought the expression was rather pathetic. More conventionally, Facebook, smoking, sex and poor grammar are when it manifests itself in a rather ugly fashion. Alas, now I have experienced this (until recently) alien concept - Peer Pressure.
I fear in future, this Blog will totally destroy any hard-face, foot stamping, dungaree wearing persona I may have built around myself. Never mind, 2011 is the newest of new starts. I have accepted growing old, but certainly not growing up. I believe I will always be naive, and pretending that I am not, is not an option. As such, the child in me feels it is about time I do something conventional, and fall victim to Peer Pressure.
Why, in which case, have I not felt like this before? Why does it feel more constructive, letting in advice that dictates I bare my thoughts and feelings on the Internet where, inevitably, I am opening up to people online who I would never attempt to in person?
This summer, I left a relationship that had lasted for (nearly) three happy years. The final weeks were messy, and taught me an awful lot about myself. 1. I am selfish. Doing things for other people at genuine personal expense and humility is what kicks karma into gear, not just buying a Big Issue. 2. I lack self-motivation. Self-pity is not an attractive trait, and I will now endeavour to do something of significance every single day I live. Not one more day will be spent in my room watching shite television programmes. I will have goals, and do things to get myself there. 3. I make excuses. I will make better excuses/more convincing ones. 4. I am far more needy than I care to imagine I am. I will ask my friends for cuddles as/when I need them.
Many more lessons learnt, far too many to mention. With my newfound speck of cyberspace, I can write about them whenever I like.
So in conclusion, in the past, I have been applying so much pressure on myself my peers haven't had a look-in. The predominant lesson learnt is that other people (sometimes) know better. And actioning their advice as opposed to merely acknowledging it can shape me into a better person, faster.
One blog closer to self-actualisation.
I fear in future, this Blog will totally destroy any hard-face, foot stamping, dungaree wearing persona I may have built around myself. Never mind, 2011 is the newest of new starts. I have accepted growing old, but certainly not growing up. I believe I will always be naive, and pretending that I am not, is not an option. As such, the child in me feels it is about time I do something conventional, and fall victim to Peer Pressure.
Why, in which case, have I not felt like this before? Why does it feel more constructive, letting in advice that dictates I bare my thoughts and feelings on the Internet where, inevitably, I am opening up to people online who I would never attempt to in person?
This summer, I left a relationship that had lasted for (nearly) three happy years. The final weeks were messy, and taught me an awful lot about myself. 1. I am selfish. Doing things for other people at genuine personal expense and humility is what kicks karma into gear, not just buying a Big Issue. 2. I lack self-motivation. Self-pity is not an attractive trait, and I will now endeavour to do something of significance every single day I live. Not one more day will be spent in my room watching shite television programmes. I will have goals, and do things to get myself there. 3. I make excuses. I will make better excuses/more convincing ones. 4. I am far more needy than I care to imagine I am. I will ask my friends for cuddles as/when I need them.
Many more lessons learnt, far too many to mention. With my newfound speck of cyberspace, I can write about them whenever I like.
So in conclusion, in the past, I have been applying so much pressure on myself my peers haven't had a look-in. The predominant lesson learnt is that other people (sometimes) know better. And actioning their advice as opposed to merely acknowledging it can shape me into a better person, faster.
One blog closer to self-actualisation.
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