My Parents Failed To Advise Me Better…

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Growing up can be tough especially if you are an only child. Therefore it is vital that you get the best advice out there. In the time before the phrase ‘google it’ was invented advice fell solely at the mercy of your parents. You had to close your eyes and pray that what they told you was sound enough to get you through the most toughest formative years of your life. Unfortunately in my case my parents where most definitely not doing their job properly. And I found myself in situations that I was not equipt to handle because my parents failed to advise me better.

My mom grew up on a farm on the plains of Ohio no doubt much like those girls from ‘The Little House on The Praire.’ And my dad grew up in what could best be described as a village on the tiny island of Cyprus in the mediterranean. He mentions from time to time that he only had one pair of shoes while growing up. A story that always finishes with… “and I came to America and conquered.” I would just like to say that I feel quite inadequate with my life’s acheivements (none to date) compared to my Dad’s. But that is another story. The two of them together equalled a tag team of village folk from the days of yester year. Where conversing about sex, where babies came from, periods, boys, personal grooming, money, and any other intimate important topic in life was just not the vogue thing to talk about. However, I am very well versed at every piece of cutlery used at a fancy dinner table as well as knowing one should never put their elbows on said table.

I would get the general lectures of you have to study harder, clean up your room, and stop wearing black nail polish. That last one came from my dad who thought it was the colour of witches or satan or something. Who knew with him. Other things such as crashing into cars was fine and hardly no reaction came out, but black nail polish threw him over the edge! That and if my mom and I started arguing when he was sitting down relaxing watching TV after a long day at work. He would go bananas. No matter what the case was I never got an explanation as to why I was told to do things. I just had to abide by what they said because they said so

“Babies come from a mommy and daddy.” I looked at my mom blankly as she tried to explain. Pretty much like…
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“It is when a mommy and daddy fall in love and after they get married they kiss and a little while later a baby comes. That’s it sweetheart.” she said as she looked down at me. I just nodded. At the time it was a satisfying answer. I was 6! What the hell did I know. But I can tell you, for the longest time I thought that if you kissed a boy a baby would come. Thanks mom for that one.

The lack of advice continued when I got my period for the first time. I was in the middle of my ice skating lesson. I told my mom that something felt wrong so she took me to the bathroom. As I looked down to my horror, I repeat, my HORROR! I thought my insides were dying and that’s why I had a murder scene in my pants. No one gave me a pre-warning! Nothing! I called my mom over and said “LOOK!!!!” And do you know what she did? She smiled and said “Oh hunny you are now a woman! Congratulations!” And then she hugged me. I was like WTF is going on?! If this is what being a woman was all about then I wanted no part in it. I later found out that I would get this fucking masacre in my pants ever month until I was like 55. And to top it off, those were the days of massive thick, ginormous pads. Imagine having such a thing down there. Every month I had to waddle around for 2 days like I was John Wayne, cursing god that I was a woman while trying to make sure that monstrosity stayed put down there. It was a disaster. It was only through school, a year later that I got the whole run down of sex, periods, babies and all that. My mom never discussed it again.

Aside from the major things in life, there were other things such as grooming that I had no clue about. I didn’t know when to start shaving my legs. I just started copying other girls in my class. When they did something then I started doing the same thing. But what no one told me was that I had to put soap and water prior to shaving. So my first shaving attempt resulted in razor burns and sore skin for several days. I’m sure you can just picture little me waddling around with sore red scraped legs.

I also knew that other girls were tweezing their eyebrows. But of course my mother was not there again to save me from my over plucking addiction. To top it off I would always finish the look by using tiny scissors. After hacking my way through them the final outcome looked like a spikey crew cut. I was officially the G.I. Jane of eyebrows. Butch, hairless, and a candidate for the military; sounds fabulous doesn’t it.  If only I was brave enough to find an old photo to show you guys. This whole eyebrow bullshit has now resulted in a lifetime of penciling them in. They have yet to grow back properly FYI… I suppose I shouldn’t even talk about my attempts to make my va-jay-jay look better. I now make it look as presentable as possible, quickly turning off the lights and hoping for the best. I opt to distracting my potential suitors by moaning and smacking my boobs around. Men seem to not be able to focus on several things at once so I use that to my advantage. And if all else fails I play with their ugly balls…

I had to figure everything out on my own. And as I figured things out I also had to alter my already skewed ideas due to the false tellings from my parents. To tell you the truth, I am actually really fucking surprised that I made it this far. My upbringing was that of leprauchans, unicorns and rainbows. I wasn’t aware that people could be mean, or about boys trying to get in your pants, or about money, or about tweezing, or waxing or keeping your virginity. I was floating around like a little oompa loumpa thinking the world was all roses. I obviously am not like that anymore. In fact I’m at the complete other end of the spectrum now. A synical old bitch.

My parents are still there, avoiding conversations and pretending that all is right in the world. Ah, what can I say… I love them to bits. How could I not! Even if they did really stunt my development. Being the naive slow kid was not a good look, let me tell you.

What Would the Child You Once Were, Think of the Adult You Have Become?

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I read this question a little while ago on my twitter feed. It was a photo of half a boy’s face tied to half of a man’s face; implying that the boy grew up to be that man. The question was sprawled out on either ends of the photo and I paused for a while after having seen it. I guess I thought that it was a really good question to ask oneself. What would the child that I once was think about me now? Would she be disappointed? Would she be annoyed? Or would she be accepting and forgiving as she realised that life never really turns out the way that you had planned? After asking myself these questions I knew deep down that the initial reaction of the girl me would have kicked me up the backside and might scream her lungs out. The girl me would be pissed and she would want answers.

When I was little I was a pain in the ass. My parents no doubt wished that they could lock me in the basement at times but unfortunately for them in the mid to late 80’s it was starting to be deemed unacceptable to beat your kids and shove them in a basement. So I tormented them. I wasn’t completely horrid. Honest! I was just very carefree and liked to dream. I can remember there was this tree that grew to the side of our house in New York that I would climb and just sit there for hours. I would watch and observe everything. The cars passing by, the families out and about and the general life of a normal suburban neighbourhood in Long Island, New York. I truly loved it there and when life gets a little tough nowadays, I look back fondly and know that at least my childhood was that of kings. My mom was fucking psychotic back then but when it came to playing with the kids on my block (there were 20 of them) she would let me play all day, come and eat dinner, and off I was back out there until 9 at night. Summer was my favourite time of year there because it wouldn’t get dark until late and all of us kids would stay out to play basketball, roller hockey, two hand touch football, and any other game we could think of. It would be bliss for any kid to experience such a childhood.

Even though I might have annoyed my parents they still raised me with manners and kindness and I would always abide by those when we were in public. I actually loved going to school because I was everyone’s friend. I was cool with the popular kids and I was always nice to the ones who were not the chosen ones. I remember one time my mom wouldn’t let me sleep over my best friend’s house on a school night which I had already said yes. So I had to go back and tell my friend that I couldn’t come. I could see her get mad but all she did was walk away with another friend. As she decended the stairs I poked my head over the railing and heard her say ‘God, she is such a Bitch.’ And even though I thought that that was a harsh thing to say (I never swore back then, I mean ever) I forgave her in my mind right then and there and never confronted her. I was always nice to people, always seeing the good in everything. And I always went above and beyond the call of duty. I was not only fiercely loyal, I never used to say mean things about people. Because even back then I knew their secerts at home. I knew that people were the way they were because of things that they couldn’t control. That their home life might not have been that of fairytales and unicorns. So I knew that it was always better to take it, move on and always be loving and caring.

When it came to me and my ideas of what I would be like when I grew up all I knew was that I was going to be married at 24 and have 2 or 3 kids by 27. I went from wanting to be a vet, a lawyer, to finally wanting to be a teacher. And my passion was ice skating. I thought I would be able to do that forever.  What I didn’t know was that photography and films played a vital role throughout my life due to my grandpa (who I called Dedo) and my mother (who was writing screenplays). And that was when I fell in love with the idea of being on a film set or a music video set. Writing started to take a more dominant role in my life and this was surprising because I was in the slow class for writing. I would always mix up the b’s and the d’s. So boy would turn into doy and that’s when my Mom would yell at me. She was an english theatre major after all. I would like to think that it was because my first language was Greek and that’s why I was slightly fucked up. But I practiced, I bettered myself and I always wanted to try my hardest. I was never the brightest or the cleverest. But I had a zest for life. And I knew that I was going to be something wonderful someday.

If that little girl who thought she could accomplish anything through kindness and dedication saw me now I think a tiny tear would trickle down her face. It’s not that I’ve spent these past years with regret. It’s because I wasn’t able to get to where I wanted to get to. To be a creative person and be in a job that is highly uncreative slowly starts to chip away the spark in you. I think she would see a woman who became broken. A woman who still has a tiny bit of hope left but that it might not be enough. She would see a meaner woman. A woman who has become slightly closed off, who doesn’t give herself to others fully and whose kindness has diminished throughout the years. She would see loss and confusion in my eyes. She would see envy and jealousy. She would see my open wounds left by those that I gave my soul and heart to. She would see pain and loneliness and she would see sadness. But even with all that she would see a woman who has become strong. Who has fought to get back on the right path. A path to finding happiness. And she would see a tiny flicker of light still shinning in the depths of my eyes. There is still fire left in me.

I think little me would have a mix of emotions if she met her older self. But I think she would see that even though I might have lost my drive and way for a few years, she would know that it was only a phase. She would be proud that I haven’t lost all hope. That I haven’t closed myself off completely and that kindness does come out when people deserve it.

Yes, things that I thought would happen or who I would caring on being have changed. My outline of achievements have altered and faltered. My goals when I turned a certain age have not come into fruition. But life has happened and people and circumstance change the course and outlook you once might have had. People can hurt your ideas, your dreams and your wanting to love and be kind to others.  But I think little me wouldn’t be completely disappointed after she delved deep into my soul. I think her initial reaction would be harsh and brash. Yet after the initial shock wore off, she would see that life is what has made me. That I have become more focused again and she would know that all hope is not lost. She would pat me on my back with a cheeky little smile and say you are exactly who you were meant to be. She would stare deep into my eyes that look darker than hers and she would come real close to my face to inspect every crack and wrinkle that has formed throughout the years of stress. She would take a deep breathe and finally say ‘ I like you. You didn’t turn out so bad. Remember, you are me and I know we can do anything.’

Being like Goldilocks – Finding a penis that’s ‘Just right’…

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Where oh where did men get this idea that us women want the length of a football field and the width of the General Sherman? Not quite sure what a General Sherman is? Well, here you go…

The General Sherman

Or even an Adansonia Grandidieri, which looks more like an ugly penis than the General Sherman does….

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Either way, my point still stands that men have this notion that we want a tree trunk inside of us. I can’t imagine anything more visually horrifying and physically painful than the idea of shoving a tree trunk up my va-jay-jay. Just the thought makes me cringe. We are looking for a decent size like Goldilock’s mission to find something that was ‘just right’. Men, it is important to understand that it is most definitely not the quantity but the quality that makes us swoon. We want to be wooed, stimulated and be thought of first. We do not want to do all the work while you get satisfied and us to lay there afterwards, watching you sleep while thinking of ways to get you out the door or more like punching you in the junk ” accidentally”.

Now, I understand that some of you men are not that well endowed. Well, who cares. Own it. Don’t over compensate by being the biggest dick on the planet because chances are your store will go under due to the lack of repeat business. Instead, know that if you can learn how to satisfy a woman than she will stick with you for a very long time. I was once with a guy for 2 years simply because he knew what he was doing. In all other departments, he was a complete selfish douchebag. It’s sad to say that if it’s great sex women will be sticking around. Because like men, we too go a little crazy when it comes to having a good thing. And more to the point a penis who knows what it’s doing. We will even start making up excuses for a man’s shortcomings (no pun intended). ‘ Oh he forgot my birthday because he has been so stressed about work, Oh he didn’t realise that me not getting the promotion upset me, Oh he’s just tired’ and other stupid shit that we might tell our friends along the way. No matter how you spin it, lady you have officially become hypnotized by a cunning cock. And unfortunately there ain’t no spell that can break that trance.

When going through the process of finding a mate, us women take a lot of things in to account before we drop our panties. I, for instance like a man to be assertive, funny and packs some balls below the belt. I most certainly mean figuratively, no lady wants big ol’ gigantic easter eggs attached to her man. They absolutely don’t do anything other than slap and bounce off your ass and va-jay-jay while having sex. Which feels like you’re being hit with two mushy melted stress balls. Evolution most certainly had enough time to invert those nasty things back up into the man and just leave the penis itself. But no, we still have to play with these squishy things and pretend they turn us on while making moaning sounds as we are doing the  job down there. They don’t call it a job for nothing you know! Squishing them in our hands while saying ‘ Oh look at these big juicy manly balls, I wanna suck these balls’ is just a snipet of what we have to do for our man. For the record no woman wants to suck on some squishy grapefruit sized balls that also happens to have straggly hairs here and there on them. Oh dear lord I think I might gag right now. Side note, I once had a guy that had tiny hairs around his penis with one longish rogue one taking centre stage. Imagine going down there and finding that surprise with your mouth. I never got up so quick in my life. I also wanted to triple bag that thing before he stuck it inside of me. No joke, my mind was fixated on the scraggly hairs and a new fear arose of me getting hairs up my va-jay-jay. Yeah I SAID IT!! Now you too can gag along with me.

Finding the right sized penis that’s attached to the right man is no mean feat. And I’m affraid that you are going to be kissing a lot of wonky lopsided frogs along the way until you find Mr. Right or Mr. Right-size. This quest isn’t for the weary and faint of heart. You will be faced with so many different obstacles along the way so you must be prepared to weed them out and move on.

You will be faced with tiny ones, who thrust so hard you feel like you are helping the earth move on it’s axis, which is not the right ‘making the earth move’ kind of vibe you are looking for. God bless those tiny penises. They will do there darndest to move you to an earthquake of an orgasm. But all that thrashing and swaying will make you feel like you are out to sea. So if you go down that route just be sure to have your sea legs ready and to be on  the safe side pop a motion sickness pill in your mouth before your turbulent ride through the bermuda triangle begins.

You will be faced with penises that veer off to the left or right which will make you feel like a new hole is being created down there. Certain positions will be unattainable and slightly uncomfortable. You might just have to take charge and ride it sideways. Left to right, right to left.  Or more like slide to the left, slide to the right.

You will be faced with the General Sherman sized penis where upon you might burst out into tears on the shear size of that goliath bad boy. This is when I say get your breathing right like pregnant women do when they go to a Lamaze class. You think I’m playing. But a big ol’ goliath sized penis ain’t no joke. You will find yourself pacing your breathing while bracing yourself for impact. Heee heeee hoooo hoooo-ing until sweat trickles off your forehead resulting from fear while tears form in the corner of your eyeballs all because the force is just too strong. You will loose your Mr. Miyagi zen concentration, your poor va-jay-jay will be broken and you will end up waddling slightly the next day. There is a reason why those porn ladies should be praised a little bit more for the grueling job that they have to do. And some of those bitches have two or more gigantic goliath sized tree trunks that they have to satisfy. All I can say is, no thank you to that.

You will also come in contact with the pesky turtle penis. What is the turtle penis? Well, just like when a turtle gets scared and reverts back into it’s shell a penis will do the same thing and deflate. One time I was with a guy that just couldn’t get it up and when he finally did, it was like a Thomas the Tank Engine  rhythme ” I think I can, I think I can” going a bit faster and picking up steam when his little buddy stayed the pace. You should have seen the look on his proud little face. It was a look of champions. But then when we attempted to change positions it deflated again. This happened at least 8 times. We attempted sex 3 times properly. You do the math.  My patience was shot, I was not into it, I of course didn’t get any pleasure out of it and I was ready to chop it off all together and solve both of our problems in one fell swoop. Now, don’t get me wrong. I know it happens to the best of penises. But it only happens once in an evening maybe twice if he’s super nervous and can’t relax. Not every time he tried to stick it in me. Let me tell you, at that moment the woman isn’t thinking about your flaccid penis. They are thinking, shit, I must look like a fat fucker that is melting this guy’s penis right off. Then we start thinking that we should have gone to the gym more times that week, and why did we have to have those 3 brownies and why we couldn’t just say no to that burger and fries and so on. This is what’s actually going on in our minds all the while you are prodding us with your limp member. Fellas, no matter how hard you try and shove that thing inside our hole it ain’t going to get in there. At that point it will feel more like a visit to our Gyno with all the prodding you are doing down there. So please, just call it a night and save us the trouble of us having to whisper gently in your ear and say ” It’s ok baby, it happens to all men that many times. It’s no big deal. Let’s just watch a movie or something.” We might however try the first two times to help your fella out by going down there ourselves and getting the job done right. But if it’s still deflated while I’m pulling out all the stops AND licking and squishing your balls around, that’s where I call it quits. Let me tell you, sloshing a floppy dick around in your mouth is a whole different set of skills. I’m not going to lie, I sometimes do find it a fun challenge to try and get it as hard as a rock, almost  like working for a gold star and being labelled the top of the class. But honey, after 8 times I’m not really caring if I was failing at that point. I got shit to do, like sleep.

This brings me to the other extreme. The dreaded, peek-a-boo penis. The one that barely enters to say hi and just comes prematurely. Peek-a-boo, I’m done. While sometimes it would be nice to think, shit I’m just that hot that I can make a man come right on the spot, I can assure you that that thought process does not even compute properly in my brain. I most certainly never think I’m the shit. So I am left lying there once again stroking his hurt ego, whispering ” It’s ok baby, it happens to everyone. Don’t even sweat it.” I now, don’t even bother with this anymore. I am old enough to tell a man, this was a one time opening (literally) and my va-jay-jay will not be reopening for business any time soon for the foreseeable future. It’s not harsh. I just don’t want to waste my time anymore. I am looking for the perfect one (or close to it) remember? I don’t have the patience to see if it might learn new tricks. At this age you should have aquired enough tricks up your sleeve to get the job done right.

Now ladies, once going through all the different frogs out there you will be finally face to face with one that ticks all the right boxes. Not too big, not too small, not too crooked, not too thick, not too hairy and definitely not too thin. When you find the right one, you might even look at that bad boy square dead in it’s eye (see what I did there? Ha!) Hold it firmly in both your hands while your eyes widen with joy as you act like you have found the holy grail of penises. Ladies, you might even look at it like it’s the prettiest thing you have ever seen. And don’t gasp, but you will even want to suck those big juicy sweaty balls. You will do everything in your power to keep that great penis around. Some women go crazy over it and of course don’t know how to handle themselve once they find the right one. Don’t worry if your man is an asshole in all other departments, eventually those dick tinted glasses will wear off. Trust me, I am speaking from experience on that one.

Life is all about trial and error at the end of the day. It’s about learning from our experiences to find out what works for us. We are all indivuals with different tastes. What’s one woman’s goliath penis could be another woman’s perfect pretty penis. It’s all about finding your ‘just right’ companion that fits for you. Come to think of it, Goldilocks only had to go through it three times until she found the ‘just right’ one.  Damn, that bitch had it easy!

Pelfies or Delfies, how about neither…

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Taking photos has become like second nature to us all. We take so many photos that they have all turned in to one big ball of blurry colours. It’s obviously easier nowadays due to this phenomenon of what they call the smartphone. I sometimes want to smash mine, which for me, is like an annoying family member you can’t get rid of. A few words come to mind in association with my phone. Glued, attached, fastened, just to name a few. One time I forgot ‘my precious’ at home and not only was I paranoid, nervous, incomplete, but I also got an overwhelming sense of uncertainty that, even though I am a human being who can think on my own without the aid of any electronic devices, has now suddenly been rendered useless. A defective blubbering moron; all because in my head I thought I lost contact with the outside world and most importantly that I missed out on important calls and texts. Here’s the thing. Hardly no one ever calls me because I’m not so important. It would seem I’m only a queen within my own mind and nowhere else. Yet here I was, phoneless and lifeless, the world as I knew it was caving in all around me. Now, do you know how many people got in contact with me for the whole 11 hours I was away from my phone? One! Yes, one person. And do you know who that person was? My mom. Need I say more.

Since we take our phones everywhere, we are able to constantly whip it out and take photos wherever we are. Here are a few examples: The park (you didn’t get enough pictures of grass) clubbing (you needed yet another one of you and your friends puckering up to the camera or if you’re super drunk, your middle fingers) road trips (taking a picture of a random road sign that is exactly like the one on your street back home) restaurants ( you simply have to take a picture of what you’re about to eat, I mean come on!) and of course we can’t forget a selfie. This word was the most used word of 2013 and is still being used like the air we breathe. Now, don’t get me wrong, I have been doing selfies since before they came into fashion. But I do at least have the common decency to make it seem like I am in the company of someone taking the photo. I do not understand the ones where you stand in front of a mirror and take a photo of yourself looking at yourself looking into a mirror. But hands down, my most detested selfie of all time is a, let’s call it a pelfie and for those raunchy males out there, a delfie. Are you now questioning what I’m blabbering on about? I am talking about men who simply love to take a picture of their beloved little “friend”, their penis. They then have the audacity to send it to the girl that they are chatting with. What is the difference between a pelfie and a delfie you ask? Well, a pelfie is a more subdued photo of a flaccid penis. They just take a picture of it flopped on top of their balls. A delfie (deriving from the word dick + selfie) is a fully errect penis with them holding it in their hands. If there was a caption to accompany this photo it would be ‘It’s right here, come and get this bad boy’.

Men, I completely understand that you are ruled by your one and only true love. I totally get it. It is something that us woman have come to accept and tolerate since the beginning of time. But in all honesty, do you really think women love receiving pictures of penises? The quick answer to that is no, we do not. I have lost count with how many photos I’ve received of man’s best friend. I could literally open up a photography exhibition with the amount of penis photos I have received throughout my dating life. Here’s the thing. I do not ask for these photos. I do not even wish to receive these photos, yet some how my phone beeps and lo and behold a penis pops up on my screen. Men, women do not want to receive these surprises on their phone. In fact we would much rather get a photo of some sexy abs or a cheeky smile while biting your lower lip. Those are the things that turn us on. Do you honestly think that penises are attractive things to look at? I’m sorry to say, they are not. And don’t get me started on wrinkly scraggly balls! Those things need to be kept under lock and key. I’ll let you in on a secret. We like the lights off because we don’t want to see your manhood in all it’s glory. It is not because we are ashamed or shy with how we look naked. Ok, maybe we are but your penis out ranks our fears of being naked with the lights on. It is bad enough to be constantly bombarded with men all day long adjusting, fixing, rearranging and scratching their balls in public. But to then send a delfie on top of all that is just pure madness. We, as ladies, like the idea of what a penis can do. So when we fantasise about a man, the penis is the last thing we envision. It is more about the touch, feel and scenario that gets us going. We are most definitely hardwired differently then you men.

So what is the solution? To stop sending Pelfies, Delfies and Balfies (ball shots). Yup, it’s that simple. Instead send us photos of you playing football, or a cute photo of you working hard at your desk, or even one of you cooking. That way we can then fantasise about you being all sweaty after you winning that foothball game, or throwing all the papers off your desk and picking us up forcefully while we go at it on said desk and lastly sitting at the dinner table while we devour the wonderful food you’ve just cooked for us. Oh, right, I missed out on the sexy scenario of the last one. Well, to that I say a girl has got to eat and for your informantion, we want a man who can take the time out to do something for us without getting sex as the dessert. Dear holiness of the devine right of women, now that would definitely be the best fantasy of them all.

Baby’s Got Back…

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So I was flipping through my Instagram the other day. Can I just tell you that I love Instagram! I truly can’t stress that enough. I absolutely, from the bottom of my heart, am madly in love with Instagram.

I also think you should know that I happened to be one of those ladies who follows those Train To Amaze profiles. You know the ones that give you motivation with before and after photos of regular ladies who are killing it, working hard and wanting to better themselves. I also am an avid follower of those Get a Booty/squats profiles. My people who I follow list, if one would flip through it, would be of fitness transformations and photography. I think I only have one celebrity that I actually follow on Instagram and that would be Dwayne Johnson. I think he’s awesome, and hulky and even though I am not into such manly muscled men, he really makes me swoon. It’s funny because I think I have varying tastes when it comes to men. Ranging from a Jake Gyllenhaal type, to a Michael Ealy, to a Chris Evans, to a Joe Manganiello (MAN is in his name for goodness sake! Man who turns women to Jello should be his real last name), to an Idris Elba, to a Joseph Gordon Levitt, to a… I think you get the idea… I have no type.

Anyway, my point is most of the celebrities on social media are not that interesting. Some barely post things and when they do it’s mostly of them posing with shit that us mere mortals could never possess even if we worked 6 jobs. So I keep it to my obsession of photography, fit ladies that will hopefully get me more motivated to lose my fatty-ness and Dwayne Johnson. Seriously his Instagram feed is amazing, funny and his hashtags are gold. I told you, I like men who can make me really laugh…

At the moment I am obsessed with these transformation profiles. They are motivating, promote strength starting from within and telling the world that curves are in and bones are so passé. It is great to see that ladies are being portrayed for the sexy voluptuous ladies that they should be. It is finally happening. And I am relishing every minute of it.

As I flip through the feeds I see ladies ‘after’ photos and they are beaming with happiness. And the comments are encouraging too. Have you ever taken the time out to read the comments that people post? Some people can be really hurtful and judgemental. I guess sitting behind a computer screen gives them strength to say these hurtful things because we all know that if they were presented with the opportunity to say it to a person’s face, they would slowly slink backwards with their tail between their legs. But these transformation profiles are becoming a great community to follow. I look at these before and after photos and it truly does give me strength to keep going. To get fit and to stay the course. But what’s even better is people are starting to show strength, as in muscles and being toned and well defined. It is sexy. It’s sexier than just being really thin and starving yourself. Now I know that some women are naturally skinny even though they can eat everything under the sun. And I don’t get mad at those women. For every woman brings something beautiful to the table. All I’m saying is that it’s great to see people are promoting, now more than ever, the fitter physique. The one where a big booty is considered to be the desired outcome. The one where curves are the envy of people’s eye.

Can I just say that it’s a great feeling to know that more and more people are promoting healthy eating and exercise as opposed to the latest detox teas and juice fasts. I know it’s still out there and there will always be people who are looking for a quick solution. But the more they re-enforce the idea that a healthy looking physique is a dedicated lifestyle the more people will put more effort in to making a change. I can’t tell you how many crazy diets I decided to try. I even used to skip meals and when I did eat it would be a very tiny helping. Then when I would attempt to exercise I wouldn’t have enough strength to finish even 30 minutes worth of training. Doing these yo-yo diets cause havoc to your body. So why would you want to hurt yourself in such a way? Just because you can’t see the internal damage, it’s still damage nonetheless.

Having access to these feeds at the ready let’s you be reasured that you are not the only one struggling with the challenge of changing your lifestyle to a more healthier one. It helps you keep moving. You can even build an online support system that can do more good than you going at it alone. And we all know people do better when they can connect with the outside world to be apart of something bigger than themselves.

So I say let’s celebrate the healthier, fitter, toned physique. Let’s celebrate the ladies who got back. Let’s celebrate the shift in persepction of what society thinks beauty should be. We should all stop being so negative and start encouraging these wonderful people who post their before and after photos for all the world to see. I for one applaude your courage, your strength and your story. All hail to a new era. The era of the big bums, boobs, and sexy womanly curves. To the people of these transformation feeds on Instagram, I salute you. You have made this girl a very happy bunny.

Always the Mate Without the Soul

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I was reading an article on the Huffington Post by Dr. Carmen Harra called “The 10 Elements of a Soulmate” and as I read the list I realised that I actually yearned for a deeper connection with someone. I may joke in my blog posts about the fact that I will be single forever and it won’t phase me but as I read this list I realised that I was scared to be left on this planet alone.

Now, I’m not going to lie, I do relish being on my own so I can do my own thing; I am an only child let’s not forget. But I chose that time. What about the time when I will want a conversation, one of those deep, meaningful, up all night conversations? I mean friends can only do so much at the end of the day. You will never have that connection that you would have with a potential partner. Sex of course, plays a major part in this. All those hormones and chemicals and stuff. They make you mushy and want to connect with people. Because let’s not forget, people want to be with other people. We are programmed that way. We flock to make friends, make bonds, connect, be a part of something bigger and strive to be loved. Throughout humanity people have formed groups, gathered together, huddled together, foraged together, plotted together and hunted together. It is in our nature. So it should come at no surprise when we feel this need to belong and be apart of something special.

I sometimes go a whole couple of months without thinking about finding someone, or better yet finding the “right” one. This is because I may find men who tide me over for the time being. Or perhaps the real truth is because I am finding it harder and harder to believe what men have to say. Therefore it is putting me off trying to find someone that I can connect with. Lately though I am feeling my heart closing and slowly turning to stone as the months go by. As if the longer I stay single the more closed and turned off I become. Yet every now and then I feel a little flicker inside me start to bubble , trying to come to life again. And that’s when the heartache begins, reminding me that I was not built for eternal solitude. I was built for love and companionship, for laughter, for joy and for contemplation. I was built to connect with people, to share moments with people and then to reflect on those glorious and unforgettable memories. Yet the hardening persists,  a constant battle mixed with a constant yearning. It is a struggle at times to detach yourself like I have. And I have realised that I have “consciously uncoupled” from society as a whole, only peering in from time to time through social media. And the funny thing is, I alone am the only one who can change my path, my fate.

But alas men have toyed with me throughout my life. Even the ones who are only casual idiots. They come and show some interest and then they leave without a whisper of a goodbye. They come to weave stories on top of lies, to tell half truths and their beautiful words are laced with poison. As the words fill your ears you rejoice at the superficial admiration that they possess. You get distracted, you start to believe all without seeing any action and before you realise your fate, the poison has taken affect. Thus propelling you into a downward spiral of anger, insecurities and self-hatred that since you are the common denominator in these equations, all answers must lead back to you. How does one open up after all of this? How does one try again? How does one rehabilitate themselves back into society after being sentence to the hole of solitude time and time again?

As I read that list of “The 10 Elements of a Soulmate” a couple really resonated with me. Especially number 9 which states that you would do anything to be with a person, you would fight the good fight for your cause. Which I am definitely guilty of. I would always give my all. With every relationship. Some I have even gone above and beyond the call of duty. I had laid down my life in the service of love. And throughout all this giving I failed to realise that I was looked at as a mate without the soul. As the ying without the yang. Always longing to be gazed upon with an equality of love in their eyes. It is a hardship to bear when those hopes never come into being. So I have retreated in defeat.

The word soulmate always perplexed me. The definition was clear yet I questioned the power and connotation that came with such a word. Can two people truly find each other and create such a bond to then be referred to as soulmates? Who knows. I’m not even sure if people experience a deeper level of commitment nowadays, where they just close themselves off from the outside world and become present to their partner, to their surroundings and to their conversations. I fear that there is too much confusion and distraction out there and for a lonely romantic such as myself I fear that I will remain just that, a lonely old romantic spinster with 50 cats.

Maybe it’s a silly notion to still hold on to. The idea of love. The idea that two people can remain faithful, committed, loyal and true to one another. As soulmates. Maybe it is a fictitious kind of love. Maybe it was just a silly dream of a little girl once upon a time. But wouldn’t it be a wondrous idea to uphold? To connect on a much deeper level instead of this warp speed imitation of love and togetherness. I think any relationship nowadays is just skimming by on the surface never penetrating the depths of the unknown. I tell you right now, we would all be in a higher state of being if we just let go of the judgements, the lies, the infidelities, the games and the walls. Instead little girls grow up only to find out that those love stories were just that. Stories. They grow up to realise the possession of beauty which is only skin deep is what counts and not that of substance, good heartedness and good temperedness. They grow up to paint themselves in the mirrored images of the magazines and that of the faux celebrity girl on those reality shows. While little boys grow to realise that telling a web of words can get you any girl. We have failed to teach our children that it is only actions that should count in the matters of the heart and love. So you know what? I will hold on to the idea of what a soulmate represents. For it gives me some hope to carry on and stay true to my course. Even if it may be that of a silly little girl’s utopian hallucination.

love10   What do you guys think about soulmates and do you think that you can find it nowadays? I would love to hear your thoughts.

 

On another note, I think my next post will be on exercise, or lack there of. Melancholic posts are soothing at times but jeeezzz I went to town today on this one.

Even the Socially Inept Have Found Love…

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The title is kinder than what I really wanted to say. What I really wanted to say was that even moronic, dimwitted, provincial, vinegary beasts have found love. But obviously that would have been too long.

Maybe that’s a harsh thing to say but let’s be completely honest here. You have at one time or another, thought the very same thing when looking at a couple walking down the street. You might even think, why the hell are they with that person. Or you might see on Facebook that that guy who everyone wanted to punch in the balls has in fact gone and found a girl. And what’s more is that he’s gone and proposed! I know you are thinking WTF?! How the hell did that happen? How did that idiot bag himself someone? Someone who doesn’t seem to be held under duress, no glaze forming over her eyeballs with the use of drugs, no nothing. In fact they are smiling in every photo. Now, how in God’s good graces did he let this inept human being be happy and you are sitting at home on a Friday night drinking a whole bottle of wine to yourself while going over your whole character and eventually coming to the conclusion that the world has officially gone to shit or worse that you must be one ugly fat mother fucker. Now you know how I got down on my Friday night.

For the life of me, I can not understand it. And fucking Facebook has once again thrown this knowledge at me smacking me in my face every time I log on. I am constantly bombarded with relationship statuses. By the way, who still does that?! Yet another little addition on your news feed to make you even more aware that everyone else is doing swimmingly while you are sinking on a dingy somewhere out near the isles of loner-ville and suicide cove. I am bombarded with photos of weddings, of ‘life events’ which of course include proposals and showing off “The Ring”.

Now don’t get me wrong. I get the need to feel like you have to show people that you are doing great. I get the need that the nerd back in high school is not the nerd any more and wants to say a big fat fuck you to the assholes who made fun of him. That I understand. And in that respect Facebook can boost you up a little; making you feel like you have a platform. Because at the end of the day, people just want to be liked. But to torture an already tortured soul with idiots who actually made you want to create a voo doo doll of them and poke pins in it,  who are now being allowed to Facebook punch you is not ok. I wish Mark Zuckermuncher would create filters on Facebook. Ones where there are options like, Do you want to block all proposals? Yes. Do you want to block all relationship statuses? Yes. Do you want personalised affirmations? Oh that’s sweet Mark, why yes I do. And for the days you feel a little down and out… Do you want to see other fatties that have become even chunkier? YES MARK! Yes I do want a pick me up like that. Oh, hush! As if you really saw a person in a size 0000 with a cheese burger in her hand and thought oh what a lucky girl. No! You are think what a whore bag. What a skinny whore bag flaunting the fact that she can eat what she wants while the likes of me just have to look at food and a roll of fat forms around my waist.

I don’t understand why we constantly need to feel wanted, accepted and liked by the people out in cyber-land. I even catch myself sometimes thinking, well shit, that was a pretty decent selfie of me, so why did I get 3 likes? Out of 400+ friends, those numbers are bullshit. And then you start over thinking and over analysing. I am done I tell you. Done. I am truly considering packing my bags, breaking all my techie shit and moving to the Caribbean, on a secluded beach somewhere. Because the constant taste of vomit in my mouth from all these idiots online is getting old real quick. I really want to know how these assholes find love? Can someone help me out with trying to understand this! I mean, come on!

Have you ever starred at yourself in the mirror and thought well what the hell is wrong with me? I know I might need some make-up to fix my plain face, I know I’m a chubba-chubb, I may not like sharing my food, I am obsessed with having my own space, I get pissy when things I’ve placed in a certain way gets moved and I sometimes have to check my bag 5 times before I leave the house. I am starting to see some OCD tendencies with that one. But dang, I am fucking funny! It might the clumsy  and making an ass out of yourself funny. But it’s something. So that’s gotta give me some points right? And I know I can keep a conversation going.

What I’m trying to say is even those dry inept toasty bastards out there found their other halves. So how is it so hard for me to find someone? I am not even talking about a lifetime partner. I am just talking about some guy who can keep me company from time to time, have sex and then he can fuck off. Did I mention that I need to have space? So all I need is a frank fuck and frolic. That’s it and realistically that’s not asking for the heavens to be moved. I even tell guys I’m not looking for something serious. Let’s do casual. But still, I get nothing. So I am now convinced without a shadow of doubt that I must have been a delusional troll all along.

Ahh, who the fuck knows any more.