Having The Flu Made Me Realise I Miss Certain Things From Being In a Relationship

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This realisation was a pretty painful one to admit to after sitting and contemplating it for a while. Reason being, I like being on my own. I like not having to answer to anyone, I like sleeping in the middle of my double-size bed and #sorryNotsorry, but I like not sharing. In fact, I like relying only on myself. And to top things off, you might gasp but, I actually really love being alone all the time. So when this bastard of a flu came around one day, I found myself hallucinating about soup being brought to me on a cloud of kisses, amongst other things. And that’s when it hit me, in between shivering and throwing up, I missed the comfort one brings when they take care of you. The strength that they pass on and the love that oozes out from their pores is a wondrous blanket that engulfs you. You feel safe… secure in a little cocoon.

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Why I’m Happy Staying Single…

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The other day one of my closest friends asked me if I was happy. It wasn’t a general question on wether or not life might be making me happy. It was in reference to wether or not I was happy being single.

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The David Attenborough’s Approach To Mating Rituals

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David Attenborough has got to be one of England’s national treasures by now. I know he’s a Sir but I feel like there should be a shrine or something in honour of such a prolific human being. Is that too much? I don’t care, it should happen! Over the past 60 years he’s brought countless amounts of documentaries to millions about the planet, animals, insects, birds, sea life, the list goes on and on. Just to add, his voice could lull me into a calming, almost comatose state, where relaxation flows over me like a snugly warm blanket. This man and his documentaries are literally the bomb.com .

Throughout the many that I have watched, there’s one prevalent theme that keeps sticking in my mind. Which is that of the male species trying to woo a female. Their rituals are fascinating in the fact that it’s the males with their bright colours, graceful dancing and distinct callings through song, that break their backs trying to woo the right to mount their potential female suitors.

You see where I might be going with all this now? No? People! I’m calling a big mayday with sirens blasting right now because our human mating rituals gots a whole lotta explaining to do! In fact I will go so far as to say that they suck balls. Now, If you have been reading my posts then you know that sucking balls is not my ideal past time. In fact it’s on my list of cruel tortures along with toe sucking (Yuck).

The art of wooing a lady has disintegrate into a big old black hole, sucked up by the modern world. There was a time (I have been informed, seeing as I’ve never experienced these mating rituals for myself) where the men of the world would go on a courting rampage never ceasing until the woman has been won. Writing love letters, flowers, holding doors, and professing their undying, unyielding love for the woman that has caught their heart; just some of the things that they would do. Where the hell has all that gone? Unlike our little creature friends, it is the females who have to fluff up their feathers so to speak, paint colourful armour on themselves and go through hoops to attract their potential male suitor.

Before I start yapping why don’t you take a look below. Apologies from now because I chose to use the Peacock Spider as an example. So if you’re squeamish then…tough shit. It’s not horrific, so get over it. He’s doing a dance for Christ sake!

The male spider is below left with all the beautiful bright colours on his back which happens to flip up when trying to woo a lady. Hence, why it’s called a Peacock. I suppose I could have just used a normal Peacock, of the bird variation, but why be obvious. The females on the other hand are coloured with boring shades of brown.

And here is the actual dance of this little guy trying to woo his potential female mate.

After seeing this elegant, ninja like dance that this little guy performs, you can start to see just how much effort he goes through to try and woo the ladies.

Here’s the thing fellow females and I’m just throwing this out there as some food for thought. Why couldn’t our society be like our fellow creatures on earth. I would love to see men be the ones to dress up colourfully, to do a dance so to speak, to change their whole appearance to catch our eyes. It should be them fighting for the right to have us. Almost like ‘The Hunger Games of Love’. They should really work for it. But alas, in these modern times so comes the modern woman. And some of these modern ladies have lost all sense of decency when it comes to bagging a man.

I know there are some guys out there that will try and do some sort of courting to woo you over. But y’all get mesmerised by the first nice thing that a man does. After spending hours in the gym and spending most of your hard earned money on facials, hair extensions, mani-pedi’s, self tanners, make-up, perfumes, high heels and so on. Why do we all give in at the first signs of a flower being handed to us? Or the opening of a door? Or the pulling out of a chair? Shouldn’t this still be the standards? I don’t think I am asking for too much. And I don’t think that a woman should give in on the first date or give into everything thereafter. Women, you put in an amazing amount of effort to look good everyday. Sure it might be a façade but damn it, it is a well earned façade! So, if you treat yourself like the goddess that you are, then shouldn’t your potential suitor also treat you that way? He should be wooing you every fucking day!

By the way, I’m saying this after years of fuck ups on my part in this department. I was with someone who gave me breadcrumbs of affection from time to time. As in, it would be months of bullshit and lies and then he would do a gesture of love (a breadcrumb). Then it would be back to all the bullshit and lies. Yet I stayed around. Why? Because of all those stupid little breadcrumbs. I thought that if I stayed the breadcrumbs would eventually grow into a slice of bread. After all the mind games, torturous emotional roller coasters and mental bruises along the way I realised that I wanted an abundance of bread loaves, not measly stale breadcrumbs!

It would be great if we were able to copy and perfect a courting ritual. Ladies seem to sit all stiff at a bar because they are too primped up to even move. Then the men come, buy a drink for the female, say a vomit-worthy one-liner and the dress comes right off. So can we please listen to David Attenborough a bit more. Let’s start taking tips from his documentaries because I’m willing to bet that we as humans need to learn a thing or two about the whole mating thing. Did I mention that we suck balls!? It should be returned whence it came.

Bet you never thought you’d see ‘suck ball’s and a ‘whence it came’ in the same post did you? That’s how I roll people. Giving you some old school, mixed with the new.

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”.

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On the Corner of Desert Drive and Melting Lane – The reality of Getting older…

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So, I just turn 31 a couple of weeks ago… and as thrilling as it is to get older, what has hit me even harder is that I am probably leaving my prime years behind me. I am noticing wrinkles people! The lines are getting deeper while my pores are getting bigger. I am starting to feel like a desert that got shot up with land mines. Can a person shrivel up so early on in life? I swear my skin is starting to look parched and pasty, no doubt a prime candidate for being an extra in The Walking Dead.

Now that I’m officially in my 30’s I am noticing that things are starting to shift southwards. That it’s taking longer to loose weight, that I’m needing a foundation with a concrete base so I can shelac it on my face, that my bra straps need to be hoisted up to an unimaginable height which has created new grooves in my shoulders and while I’m being completely honest I might as well say that there are hairs popping up in places that make me want to cry. That one is no doubt due to my Greek roots. Thanks parents for that one. I can officially say I  am now a mix between the melting wicked witch in the wizard of Oz, wolverine, The Swamp Thing and the marshmallow man. So, with all these wonderful transformations happening I have realised that my prime years are leaving me.

Now, I would probably have handled this better if I knew I had someone already there as my partner. You know someone who is stuck with me and knew that I once was a pretty decent catch. At least they could hold on to that image in their mind while all these transformations happen. But to still be single and this shit to be happening is not cool. Suddenly my friend’s joke of being a cranky old cat lady is hitting a little too close to home. I haven’t got a cat yet people, so there’s still some sort of hope I guess.

Dates now seem like it takes me a week to prepare for. And on the day of, I feel like I’m one second shy of having a cardiac arrest.  Just the thought of trying to prettify myself is getting my heart rate going. I feel at this rate it’s going to get a whole lot worse. My beauty regime will become even longer where I will have to get up at 4 am just to prepare myself for the day and where I will have to go to bed at around 1am because it will take me 5 hours just to sandpaper all the crap off me. I mean, it is getting pretty bleak.

Being single in your 20’s is one thing, while being single in your 30’s is looked at as slightly depressing. But, to be a single, melting, pudgy wolverine is a down right cruel punishment. There was a reason why people got married young and divorce was unfathomable back in the day. I know society would have you believe that the men of religion brought that forward but I am convinced it was women. That way you got them while they were beautiful and when their transformations started taking effect the men couldn’t escape, therefore never having to fear you will be a spinster hag that rivalled the hunch back of notre dame. Ok fine, I know a bit far fetched but whatever.

Meeting new people seems harder now and when you are looking for a potential suitor it is slim pickings out there. At this point I would just be happy for someone with a pulse  who isn’t married. I mean that surely isn’t much to ask for.  But would they still want me? I mean I think I can still doll up for the first stages of dating but what happens when they sleep over and see me in the morning in the harsh light of day? At least it’s cloudy for most of the year in England so that has worked in my favour. But on the downside my skin has gotten so white that it has only enhanced my pasty-ness. Either way they would have to sleep over at my place because to wake up in their place without my arsenal would be unthinkable. Or I would have to carry a Mary Poppins bag and every girl knows that arriving on a date with a suitcase sized bag is not cute. So when they sleep over at my place it would mean that my make up would be staying on for the night especially on my eyebrows. I was over zealous when I was a kid and now they are sparse and ridiculous looking…CURSE YOU TWEEZERS and curse you mom for failing to advise me better!! I would have to sleep on my back the whole night in fear that I might smudge my carefully constructed face and my pillow will inevitably look like picasso himself came over for a painting session. So not only will I be cranky because of the lack of sleep but let’s not forget my whole beauty regime would be fucked where no doubt a new bullet hole would leave its mark on my already cluttered face. As you can see I have already made the potential scenario even more than what it would be. I know I’m over analysing, but I’m a woman, that’s what we do.

As you can no doubt tell, I am not thrilled of the prospect of getting older. Maybe if I had lots of money this wouldn’t even be an issue. But being poor and only being able to afford the cheap remedies has not worked. I have more creams and elixirs than I care to admit. Even my choice of foot wear as of late have been flats because heels are another painful reminder that my poor little feet can’t sustain the fat that I’m walking around with all day. The only time I wear heels is when I’m on a date. Even for those couple of hours I want to shoot myself. The shitty thing is people only aproach you if you are well put together. I have never heard a man say, damn, she sure looks like she has a great personality. No, they look at your tits, your face, how tall you are and if your junk is in all the right places. If all these things look appealing and then they find out you’re funny with a great personality it’s like striking gold. I know I got the funny down, and a pretty good personality, but the rest is a train wreck. So you tell me, how the hell am I supposed to catch me a guy? And let’s say I eventually do, then there’s that old pesky pessimism that’s laced with self-doubt, self-consciousness and awkwardness when you know that evenutually this person is going to see you naked. And that right there kills me every time. I don’t even want to see myself naked so how the hell can I expect that a guy would.

I tell you, it was a lot easier when I was younger. Now, it’s just a very slow torturous ride that I will never be able to get used to and just when I think that I’ve come to grips with how I look, that’s when another line and another inch down and outwards sends me right into the arms of a straight jacket and four padded walls.

Cats are starting to smell my loneliness…

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Last night my friend sent me this delightful image…

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Funny right? I thought so, in fact I actually laughed my ass off! “Oh they think I’m going to turn into a crazy cat lady, ha ha ha. Those guys!” But then I started to get hot flashes and heart palpitations. It would seem that it caused a slightly more volatile reaction then what was originally intended. “Oh my god, they think I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life! Am I too set in my ways? Do they think me as a dry crusty plain toasted piece of white bread who is so plain she will never even be labelled as the granary kind? Is it because I’ve turned into a fat tubby pile of sh*t?! That’s got to be the reason!” After this quickfire round of insane questions and statements ricochetted around inside my cranial skull, I then started to believe that all had been lost, that hope had left the building and I might as well accept my plight and go quietly down with the sinking ship. My imagination ran wild with one miserable scenario in particular that repeated itself over and over again. It was of me roaming (most likely waddling) the desolate streets of whatever godforsaken city I was in and be known to all as the plumpy pied piper of cats.

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