I often wonder if my brain can function on any other subject than just men. Men men men. My brain works with one subject and clearly likes the power of three.
To be honest it will be a surprise if I manage to get a degree at all. It seems as though my dissertation should be on the knowledge of male students and my course work (100% practical) should be on the best types of men to go for.
The weird thing is my brain has always functioned in this way; men first, life second. Even at the tender age of 11 (Year 7) my focuses were on the lower sixth form boys; rather than getting an academic education of any sort.
God forbid I have any daughters.
But now in a crazy turn of events I have been wondering how young is too young?
Being newly 21 makes this an even bigger challenge and stresses the age gap between fresher and third year. Would getting with a fresher make me a paedophile?
Aside from the obvious fact that you would hope a fresher to be over the age of 16, it still seems wrong.
So what are the options?
A simple flirt is harmless, an accidental kiss can be blamed on drink, but it just doesn’t seem right. No matter how cute they are.
Am I already in a situation of look but don’t touch (cliché or what!) or is it a matter of see how far you can push the boat out?
Either way, don’t think I can play the young vulnerable, insecure card here. Bugger.
Tuesday, 3 November 2009
Sentimental kisses.
Have you ever noticed how it’s the weirdest things that mean so much to us?
I recently read an article about women and how the amount of kisses at the end of a text (or lack of) can instantly decipher between liking a guy and not. It’s crazy how women measure a relationship on the repetition of the letter ‘X’.
However the amount of kisses on a text was not the highlight of today; nor was the spontaneous trip to Wales to visit a castle or the amazing chocolate cake we ate.
For my 21st two of my closest friends from home brought me a gorgeous Links of London bracelet, I loved it and practically slept in it until it fell of my wrist about a month ago. After searing high and low for it I sadly accepted I had lost it.
That was until it was found under the seat of my car today! You never realise how much you miss things till you have them back. It is now glued to my wrist.
Its odd, but this simple piece of jewellery seems to have given me my life back. It’s that little bit of home around my arm, always there and a mountain of metal memories.
I recently read an article about women and how the amount of kisses at the end of a text (or lack of) can instantly decipher between liking a guy and not. It’s crazy how women measure a relationship on the repetition of the letter ‘X’.
However the amount of kisses on a text was not the highlight of today; nor was the spontaneous trip to Wales to visit a castle or the amazing chocolate cake we ate.
For my 21st two of my closest friends from home brought me a gorgeous Links of London bracelet, I loved it and practically slept in it until it fell of my wrist about a month ago. After searing high and low for it I sadly accepted I had lost it.
That was until it was found under the seat of my car today! You never realise how much you miss things till you have them back. It is now glued to my wrist.
Its odd, but this simple piece of jewellery seems to have given me my life back. It’s that little bit of home around my arm, always there and a mountain of metal memories.
Thursday, 29 October 2009
Brrr it's a little cold.
Okay, so is there anything worse than having a cold?
You go through tissues at an un-countable rate, you have to resort to breathing like a chocking seal and your body takes the form a seriously dry pot plant; bringing a whole new meaning to the words limp and lifeless.
Sadly having a cold is a common occurrence when inside uni walls. And if you’re not already suffering from a cold, you are guaranteed to be contaminated with a similar hidden virus, ready to strike at any given moment.
If having a cold is not sufficient enough, have you ever tired sleeping whilst you have one?
The term ‘fly catching’ when referring to someone sleeping is pretty common. The term ‘suffocation via flem rattling, with a hint of dry gagging’ when referring to someone sleeping with a cold, is not.
For this reason it clearly pays to be single when you’re inflicted with the cold virus. Unless of course you can sleep through elephant influenced snoring or find the sound of a sleeping cold victim strangely sexy. In which case be my guest and snuggle up to those horse trumpeting machines, but accept you are a freak of nature.
So maybe god has dealt me a kind card in his bid to keep me a singleton. At least Mike never had to put up with my snoring.
You go through tissues at an un-countable rate, you have to resort to breathing like a chocking seal and your body takes the form a seriously dry pot plant; bringing a whole new meaning to the words limp and lifeless.
Sadly having a cold is a common occurrence when inside uni walls. And if you’re not already suffering from a cold, you are guaranteed to be contaminated with a similar hidden virus, ready to strike at any given moment.
If having a cold is not sufficient enough, have you ever tired sleeping whilst you have one?
The term ‘fly catching’ when referring to someone sleeping is pretty common. The term ‘suffocation via flem rattling, with a hint of dry gagging’ when referring to someone sleeping with a cold, is not.
For this reason it clearly pays to be single when you’re inflicted with the cold virus. Unless of course you can sleep through elephant influenced snoring or find the sound of a sleeping cold victim strangely sexy. In which case be my guest and snuggle up to those horse trumpeting machines, but accept you are a freak of nature.
So maybe god has dealt me a kind card in his bid to keep me a singleton. At least Mike never had to put up with my snoring.
Monday, 26 October 2009
The circle of men.
Nothing beats pre date nerves.
So date one: used a knife and fork to eat a Panini.
Dater him two: tipped a glass of wine over him.
As you can see, great so far; thank god the guys has a sense of humour or things could have been much worse!
Either way he seems lovely and so far so good.
However the dating life of a student is very different from dating in ‘the real world’. Date one means you can spend the night together cuddled up and kissing, something you could never do outside uni.
The only downside is the whole concept of dating rapidly vanishes. No longer are you only out for food, cinema trips etc your also cuddled up on the sofa watching films and accepting what is bound to follow.
Don’t get me wrong, enjoying every second, but you have to keep your guard up. If you take it with a pinch of salt nothing will happen and if you get too involved it will never develop.
Great start! Very positive attitude to the whole thing, but is it best to protect yourself or should you just let go?
…4 days later and he called things quits. A tad unexpected (and gutting) but guess that’s just men for you?
He got on far too well with my house mates anyway.
So date one: used a knife and fork to eat a Panini.
Dater him two: tipped a glass of wine over him.
As you can see, great so far; thank god the guys has a sense of humour or things could have been much worse!
Either way he seems lovely and so far so good.
However the dating life of a student is very different from dating in ‘the real world’. Date one means you can spend the night together cuddled up and kissing, something you could never do outside uni.
The only downside is the whole concept of dating rapidly vanishes. No longer are you only out for food, cinema trips etc your also cuddled up on the sofa watching films and accepting what is bound to follow.
Don’t get me wrong, enjoying every second, but you have to keep your guard up. If you take it with a pinch of salt nothing will happen and if you get too involved it will never develop.
Great start! Very positive attitude to the whole thing, but is it best to protect yourself or should you just let go?
…4 days later and he called things quits. A tad unexpected (and gutting) but guess that’s just men for you?
He got on far too well with my house mates anyway.
Sunday, 11 October 2009
A bit of doodling: Little boys.
I wouldn’t change a lot in my life, but if I could, I would change the dark nights to dawn.
I would count the hours, the smiles, the endless laughter.
I would take back the tears and never stop the kisses.
The arguments and fights would vanish.
We could go back to our childhood, where love notes and love hearts were ample affections.
We could hold hands: a symbol no diamond ring could replace.
We could share a smile and then hide our embarrassment.
Secret whisperings and girly smiles would always have the boys confused.
And back to the times where we never really liked you anyway.
P.S You smell.
I would count the hours, the smiles, the endless laughter.
I would take back the tears and never stop the kisses.
The arguments and fights would vanish.
We could go back to our childhood, where love notes and love hearts were ample affections.
We could hold hands: a symbol no diamond ring could replace.
We could share a smile and then hide our embarrassment.
Secret whisperings and girly smiles would always have the boys confused.
And back to the times where we never really liked you anyway.
P.S You smell.
Monday, 5 October 2009
Astrology and the perfect man.
There are only two things I know about astrology. One my star sign is a Libra and two I own a book called ‘How to spot a Bastard by his star sign.’
It is a great book, pure comic genius written by two very frustrated women; but a brilliant read none the less.
According to the book the Taurus Bastard keeps your innumerable betrayals on his mental scoreboard (must remember that one!), the Capricorn Bastard takes everything seriously, the Aquarius Bastard is the most reasonable bastard you’ll ever encounter; he’ll even agree he’s a bastard and the Aries Bastard will use gorilla tactics to win you over. Sounds great so far…
Although the book reels off which men I should be compatible with, it still leaves me giggling at the authors and shaking my head at the nonsense written on the pages.
But how fair is it to call it all nonsense?
Apparently I’m compatible with Capricorns, Libras and Aquarius men and will admit I’ve had some great times with them; but does it mean my future husband will fall into one of the above categories?
Granted, some people you do just click with, whether that has anything to do with star signs is a separate matter. Yes, it would be lovely to believe it, but it’s not wise to ignore people (Bastards in the case of the book) solely because of ‘personality clashes.’ You need opposing personalities to make things work, to keep you on your toes and leave you wanting more.
The only fact that keeps me wondering, is that every time I meet a non compatible male star sign (so that’s every 8/11 men) things always go wrong, and every time I meet a compatible male things tend to run a bit smoother.
It’s a funny old world; one which I don’t think is helped by astrology. But it will never stop us from reading about it or having a sneaky peak at the star sign of our future spooning partners.
For a male version take a peek at www.joeyrilesontour.blogspot.com.
It is a great book, pure comic genius written by two very frustrated women; but a brilliant read none the less.
According to the book the Taurus Bastard keeps your innumerable betrayals on his mental scoreboard (must remember that one!), the Capricorn Bastard takes everything seriously, the Aquarius Bastard is the most reasonable bastard you’ll ever encounter; he’ll even agree he’s a bastard and the Aries Bastard will use gorilla tactics to win you over. Sounds great so far…
Although the book reels off which men I should be compatible with, it still leaves me giggling at the authors and shaking my head at the nonsense written on the pages.
But how fair is it to call it all nonsense?
Apparently I’m compatible with Capricorns, Libras and Aquarius men and will admit I’ve had some great times with them; but does it mean my future husband will fall into one of the above categories?
Granted, some people you do just click with, whether that has anything to do with star signs is a separate matter. Yes, it would be lovely to believe it, but it’s not wise to ignore people (Bastards in the case of the book) solely because of ‘personality clashes.’ You need opposing personalities to make things work, to keep you on your toes and leave you wanting more.
The only fact that keeps me wondering, is that every time I meet a non compatible male star sign (so that’s every 8/11 men) things always go wrong, and every time I meet a compatible male things tend to run a bit smoother.
It’s a funny old world; one which I don’t think is helped by astrology. But it will never stop us from reading about it or having a sneaky peak at the star sign of our future spooning partners.
For a male version take a peek at www.joeyrilesontour.blogspot.com.
Sunday, 4 October 2009
(I like to use brackets.)
So the first two weeks here have been crazy and as expected have been rammed with ridiculous fancy dress themes, bottles of Tesco basic alcohol (one again may I remind you how classy us West Lorne St women are) and sleep deprivation. But thankfully the ever increasing number of facebook photos have captured our days beautifully; not a sweaty forehead or cross eyed look among us. HA!
On a positive note doubt I will ever wear bright orange again; twice in two weeks is more than enough.
Putting the orange fetishes to one side, the next big event is my 21ST!!
With only three days to go the countdown is well under way. Have brought the dress, the bag, the shoes and all I need to do now is hope the evening doesn’t end with too much champagne and tears. Tears belonging to me.
I’m not one for pouring my heart out, but there is one little thing niggling at the back of my mind. Back in January I met this guy, who as fate would have it was one day older than me. As things developed we started making plans and a 48 hour 21st birthday was just one of the things on an increasing list. Needless to say by Easter things had hit rock bottom.
But being the stupidly romantic person that I am (Who wouldn’t want heart shaped toast for breakfast?) the ‘What if?’ question is spinning round my head. It’s uncontrollably taunting me and slowly driving me potty.
I’m no relationship coach and will be the first to admit my track record is not brilliant, but if there is no closure your mind will always wonder. (Or you may start randomly rambling and trying to sound like you know what you’re talking about. Voilá)
Either way, it’s a silly little thing that will instantly disappear when a gorgeous man wishes me happy birthday and gracefully sweeps me off my feet. (In a more romantic and less of an attempted to help me stand up kind of way.)
So there you have it, the final days as a 20 year old. Looking forward to maturity, responsibility, champagne and more degrading photos. And you know what, I can’t wait
On a positive note doubt I will ever wear bright orange again; twice in two weeks is more than enough.
Putting the orange fetishes to one side, the next big event is my 21ST!!
With only three days to go the countdown is well under way. Have brought the dress, the bag, the shoes and all I need to do now is hope the evening doesn’t end with too much champagne and tears. Tears belonging to me.
I’m not one for pouring my heart out, but there is one little thing niggling at the back of my mind. Back in January I met this guy, who as fate would have it was one day older than me. As things developed we started making plans and a 48 hour 21st birthday was just one of the things on an increasing list. Needless to say by Easter things had hit rock bottom.
But being the stupidly romantic person that I am (Who wouldn’t want heart shaped toast for breakfast?) the ‘What if?’ question is spinning round my head. It’s uncontrollably taunting me and slowly driving me potty.
I’m no relationship coach and will be the first to admit my track record is not brilliant, but if there is no closure your mind will always wonder. (Or you may start randomly rambling and trying to sound like you know what you’re talking about. Voilá)
Either way, it’s a silly little thing that will instantly disappear when a gorgeous man wishes me happy birthday and gracefully sweeps me off my feet. (In a more romantic and less of an attempted to help me stand up kind of way.)
So there you have it, the final days as a 20 year old. Looking forward to maturity, responsibility, champagne and more degrading photos. And you know what, I can’t wait
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