I cannot compete with the ones who are fitter.
The ones with lean limbs, hips that little bit slimmer.
The ones with tanned skin and the pearly white grins
the ones wearing skirts so short that it skims
that place that unites us, yet makes us compete
for the attention of men who'll treat us like meat.
Just a dish on the menu - you want leg, or the breast?
For I know that my womanhood can't match up to the rest.
I'm not like the pictures you see on the bus
or the silk legged teenagers that scream look at us!
I'm not of the type that wants to wear heels,
or lie about my age with chemical peels.
But I want just for once to feel like I fit,
go out with no makeup and not look like shit.
Wear tights that aren't as opaque as a glove
to the scars on my legs feel not hatred but love
feel a vague sense of pride in this body of mine,
instead of the shame that I feel all the time.
The shame that no matter what I do I can't match
halfway up to the women who're seen as a catch
The ones who don't need to make love in the dark
The ones with smooth skin that bears not a mark.
Not a scar, not a vein, not a pimple or bruise,
the signs of beautiful women; And besides them, I lose.
Saturday, 24 September 2011
Oh hai, I done a poem.
Months ago, I mean months and months and months ago, I heard a poet called Hollie McNish on Radio 4.
I liked her. It reminded me I like poetry a lot, though I never read it.
I got the chance to see her the other day, in an intimate scratch session for mum's with babies while she works through her latest project of turning her album 'push kick' into a theatrical piece about motherhood. I felt like a total fraud being there, and took the toddler (and my boss) as cover for being the only non-mum in the room.
But, she and the performance poet I saw later in the night whilst working on a cabaret show (sexy burlesque dancers, then the poet made everyone cringe with works about sex addiction, depression and wanking - the last line of which was apparently 'It takes two to tango, but only one to wank'....I say apparently, because I'd actually left the room by that point to cringe in privacy) inspired me to start writing things again myself. Once you're in that lyrical flowing language mindset, it's hard to shake off, and I've been trying to rhyme and measure my timing whilst talking on the phone ever since.
But, here are some things that I started working on, which need work, but were a quick off the cuff reaction at midnight last night. They work better spoken, and I may upload audio at some point.
Things to do someday
Every night when I sleep,
I write a list of things 'to do'
someday.
And when I wake, they're not done.
When I work, when I play,
if I try hard all day,
they're not done.
These lists, theses schemes, my plans and dreams,
they're waiting for me, someday
some magical time
when I'm free, when my time is for me,
someday.
When I'm not running behind,
trying to keep up with the daily grind,
the list will diminish.
But I can't see the day when I'll be close to finish
For any item ticked of is replaced in a flash
by three or more other things waiting for me to be free.
Someday.
Someday I'll work through the things to be done,
some which have waited since 2001
And then I'll be free. Free of the list that needs my attention
And then I'll pause to consider
if life would be better
without the hope and the waiting, the anticipation
of the goals yet to score.
And then I think I'll add more.
Yes. Someday,
I'll write a list of the things to add
to the list of the things that I'd like to achieve,
though right now I find it hard to believe, that
someday
I'll even find the precious time to.
To write this list, of things, 'to do'.
I liked her. It reminded me I like poetry a lot, though I never read it.
I got the chance to see her the other day, in an intimate scratch session for mum's with babies while she works through her latest project of turning her album 'push kick' into a theatrical piece about motherhood. I felt like a total fraud being there, and took the toddler (and my boss) as cover for being the only non-mum in the room.
But, she and the performance poet I saw later in the night whilst working on a cabaret show (sexy burlesque dancers, then the poet made everyone cringe with works about sex addiction, depression and wanking - the last line of which was apparently 'It takes two to tango, but only one to wank'....I say apparently, because I'd actually left the room by that point to cringe in privacy) inspired me to start writing things again myself. Once you're in that lyrical flowing language mindset, it's hard to shake off, and I've been trying to rhyme and measure my timing whilst talking on the phone ever since.
But, here are some things that I started working on, which need work, but were a quick off the cuff reaction at midnight last night. They work better spoken, and I may upload audio at some point.
Things to do someday
Every night when I sleep,
I write a list of things 'to do'
someday.
And when I wake, they're not done.
When I work, when I play,
if I try hard all day,
they're not done.
These lists, theses schemes, my plans and dreams,
they're waiting for me, someday
some magical time
when I'm free, when my time is for me,
someday.
When I'm not running behind,
trying to keep up with the daily grind,
the list will diminish.
But I can't see the day when I'll be close to finish
For any item ticked of is replaced in a flash
by three or more other things waiting for me to be free.
Someday.
Someday I'll work through the things to be done,
some which have waited since 2001
And then I'll be free. Free of the list that needs my attention
And then I'll pause to consider
if life would be better
without the hope and the waiting, the anticipation
of the goals yet to score.
And then I think I'll add more.
Yes. Someday,
I'll write a list of the things to add
to the list of the things that I'd like to achieve,
though right now I find it hard to believe, that
someday
I'll even find the precious time to.
To write this list, of things, 'to do'.
Thursday, 8 September 2011
The people I (probably) won't be dating: Part 2. The internet.
So, I'm back on the internetty shelf.
'Dating'.
By the virtue of being female and not looking like an utter troll, I'm having to clear out my inbox of dating site messages 200 at a time.
Unfortunately, only about 2% are worth reading beyond the first sentence - if there IS more than one sentence that is, as an unsurprising amount of emails are one-line wonders from utterly unsuitable men, this despite me adding to my profile that I'm a fan of intellect, can be a grammar nazi, and
And yes, these are the emails IN THEIR ENTIRETY.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!
'Dating'.
By the virtue of being female and not looking like an utter troll, I'm having to clear out my inbox of dating site messages 200 at a time.
Unfortunately, only about 2% are worth reading beyond the first sentence - if there IS more than one sentence that is, as an unsurprising amount of emails are one-line wonders from utterly unsuitable men, this despite me adding to my profile that I'm a fan of intellect, can be a grammar nazi, and
sorry, I don't respond well to messages in text-speak, or ones that start (and finish) with 'hi babe wanna chat'....EDIT: No punctuation, NO response.still. There they are. Rolling in. Without punctuation. Here's some examples of the men who due to their opening gambit, I shall not be touching with a bargepole. Unless possibly, the bargepole is on fire, and they're doused in petrol.
And yes, these are the emails IN THEIR ENTIRETY.
- hi their (this guy sent me the same message twice in 2 days. Didn't pause to consider grammar either time.)
- Hey how you doing? Your right you are a walking attraction with those dredz! But i sopose it what makes you unquie :) (Spelling? What now? Spelling?)
- Raaaaaaaaaaaaar!
- Duck herding sounds like fun quak quak quak lol have you ever played the duck song game? You have to quak a song and the other person has to guess the song sounds rubbish but is super fun :) (OK, so, I may have opened myself up to oddballs by suggesting duckherding as a date, but seriously people, PUNCTUATE! And never LOL at me.)
- Hey :)
Im Ant x (hi. I'm unimpressed.) - love ur look
- hay hi fancy a chat sometime, xxxxxxxxxx (from a man dressed as a sexy woman in a serious way. The cross dressing tempted me, I have to be honest. But my email standards won.)
- wow u so sexy!!!
- Its really good picture of yours, just wondering Is that your real hair? (no, clearly I stole it.)
- Hey :o) You sound fun. Are you into music?x (oh, ffs.)
- hi how are you how is your week going x (better before your email)
- like u r style, your a hippy babe right (is that even a sentence, or just words in a line?)
There were more, but everytime I sign on to the site to go through my old messages (most of which got the delete button halfway through....) I get 5 new messages come in, and frankly, I have enough to handle right now... if Mr.Right is currently trying to get in touch... he'll have to wait. I have a list of 5 Mr.He-might-be-ok's to thoroughly vet before I go through anymore!
The vetting process is now incredibly important, having gone on a spontaneous date without chatting to the guy first the other day.
Amongst other things, he....
When I've recovered from my 2 weeks of dating 6 people simultaneously, I shall blog the best (and worst) bits of it. Until then, I'm going to sleep.
And leave you with this email I received from a 'large' gentleman who's picture made me shudder (not in a good way....
The vetting process is now incredibly important, having gone on a spontaneous date without chatting to the guy first the other day.
Amongst other things, he....
- sang me the Tigger song (with a lisp, and all the actions, and not in an ironic way)
- referred to himself in the 3rd person (ie. "Jasons' don't like that")
- tried to touch my face repeatedly having just been told I have a phobia of face touching.
When I've recovered from my 2 weeks of dating 6 people simultaneously, I shall blog the best (and worst) bits of it. Until then, I'm going to sleep.
And leave you with this email I received from a 'large' gentleman who's picture made me shudder (not in a good way....
that is one amazing picture,i wanna live in that picture,marry it and rais a family of tiny pictures
Thursday, 11 August 2011
On why I'm still single....
Earlier today, I had the following conversation with the 5 year old I look after.
She was having lunch while her toddler sister was sleeping, I was picking play-doh out of my hair and peeling the hello kitty stickers off my clothes.
'Do you have any boyfriends?'
'Erm, well, do you think I have a boyfriend?'
'*thinks very hard* No, I don't think you do.'
'*nods sagely* Indeed. *then, (very much perplexed myself...).* why do you think I don't ever have a boyfriend?'
'I think you don't have one because you have me.'
'That much is probably true sweetie, that much is probably true.'
DOUBLE FACEPALM
Tuesday, 9 August 2011
Jokes from the riots my Mum didn't appreciate...
Hopefully this is actually making some kind of impact on the world news, not just the UK. Although I don't begin to rate the current mindless violence and thuggery on the same page let alone scale as the famines, world disasters and looming financial ruin facing the world, London is in the midst of a meltdown.
We have riots.
High streets (including my local one) have been smashed, looted, and set on fire. As have train stations, houses, cars, buses.....
I came close to rioting myself when I travelled an hour across London yesterday to attend a long booked appointment with the laser hair removal people to find the entire town on lock-down and patrolled by police, without so much as a text from the clinic to advise me all bookings we off. I mean honestly. Even in the midst of a riot, I expect general politeness and decency from the services I'm paying through the nose for.
While London had merry bonfires, I had my mum 200miles away texting and calling in panic every 10 minutes convinced that, as a Londoner, I was currently being carried off into the night by a gang of youths. (Or, even more of an affront to her delicate sensibilities, I may have got caught up in it and was currently kicking a policeman in the shins with my size 6 DMs.)
So, I get messages like this, received while I was (attempting) to walk to a bar with my boss and her stepdaughter for a girls night out....
"Just seen the 10pm news, rioting is happening in Clapham now. Hope you're home safe..... are you? xx"
(ye gods... how does she always know when I'm not at home?!)
As a Brit, and a firm believer in deflective wit, dry, dark humour, making light of sticky situations, and never admitting to fear or true emotion, I stand by my decision to never give her a straight answer or act like a responsible adult when replying to her texts....
"yes, know what's happening*, but keep me posted on the latest - we only have internet, no TV.... Unless we go down the road and nick one. x"
(*because a group of men with hoods up just ran past dragging metal bars on the ground)
She didn't find it amusing.
I sent her a reassuring message later on too:
"All's good here. Can't talk, battery dying on phone. ...it got shot by the police, innit."
Again. Apparently making light of the subject is not well received 200miles away.
Meanwhile, half a mile down the road where destruction hit last night, shops emptied and trashed, several homes were gutted by fire (and a fancy dress shop... seriously... who targets a fancy dress shop?! Unless the riots are a front for people with clown phobias to rid the world of their nemeses) all the locals have got up, dusted themselves off, and picked up dustpans and brushes to tidy up the mess left behind.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is British grit. Blitz spirit.
And although I don't necessarily agree with the way things are being dealt with by the 'authorities', this following internet find just made me spit out my tea through my nose:
I realise I'm lucky- no one I know has been hurt, made homeless or suffered anything more than seriously annoying road closures as yet, but, in the words of Monty Python, always look on the bright side of life.
We have riots.
High streets (including my local one) have been smashed, looted, and set on fire. As have train stations, houses, cars, buses.....
I came close to rioting myself when I travelled an hour across London yesterday to attend a long booked appointment with the laser hair removal people to find the entire town on lock-down and patrolled by police, without so much as a text from the clinic to advise me all bookings we off. I mean honestly. Even in the midst of a riot, I expect general politeness and decency from the services I'm paying through the nose for.
While London had merry bonfires, I had my mum 200miles away texting and calling in panic every 10 minutes convinced that, as a Londoner, I was currently being carried off into the night by a gang of youths. (Or, even more of an affront to her delicate sensibilities, I may have got caught up in it and was currently kicking a policeman in the shins with my size 6 DMs.)
So, I get messages like this, received while I was (attempting) to walk to a bar with my boss and her stepdaughter for a girls night out....
"Just seen the 10pm news, rioting is happening in Clapham now. Hope you're home safe..... are you? xx"
(ye gods... how does she always know when I'm not at home?!)
As a Brit, and a firm believer in deflective wit, dry, dark humour, making light of sticky situations, and never admitting to fear or true emotion, I stand by my decision to never give her a straight answer or act like a responsible adult when replying to her texts....
"yes, know what's happening*, but keep me posted on the latest - we only have internet, no TV.... Unless we go down the road and nick one. x"
(*because a group of men with hoods up just ran past dragging metal bars on the ground)
She didn't find it amusing.
I sent her a reassuring message later on too:
"All's good here. Can't talk, battery dying on phone. ...it got shot by the police, innit."
Again. Apparently making light of the subject is not well received 200miles away.
Meanwhile, half a mile down the road where destruction hit last night, shops emptied and trashed, several homes were gutted by fire (and a fancy dress shop... seriously... who targets a fancy dress shop?! Unless the riots are a front for people with clown phobias to rid the world of their nemeses) all the locals have got up, dusted themselves off, and picked up dustpans and brushes to tidy up the mess left behind.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is British grit. Blitz spirit.
And although I don't necessarily agree with the way things are being dealt with by the 'authorities', this following internet find just made me spit out my tea through my nose:
I realise I'm lucky- no one I know has been hurt, made homeless or suffered anything more than seriously annoying road closures as yet, but, in the words of Monty Python, always look on the bright side of life.
Wednesday, 27 July 2011
I am.....
tired.
Out of patience.
Out of cash.
Out of my mind.
I am...... done in.
Above all, I am totally sick of being so hopelessly single - somehow it's come as a bit of a shock to me that I would ever be on the shelf like this - I've been pretty much in relationships or being strongly petitioned to be in one since I was 15.
Flirting is even harder in an already tricky city, when you're generally chained to a buggy when out and about.
Like the guy I saw twice today, who checked me out in a long and hard over-the-shoulder-stand-still-to-look way, twice, while I had two children in tow. How can I respond to that?! It's not as though I can stop the kids and drag them back 200yards and go 'hiiii..... they're not mine, you know. Please. Date me.'
Still. It might be worth my while getting a T-shirt printed with words to that effect.
Thus disillusioned with my eternal spinster status, I actually signed back up to the dating site..
I got this far into my profile....
And so, I am, again, single and without the time, cash or energy to even try doing anything about it.
Out of patience.
Out of cash.
Out of my mind.
I am...... done in.
Above all, I am totally sick of being so hopelessly single - somehow it's come as a bit of a shock to me that I would ever be on the shelf like this - I've been pretty much in relationships or being strongly petitioned to be in one since I was 15.
Flirting is even harder in an already tricky city, when you're generally chained to a buggy when out and about.
Like the guy I saw twice today, who checked me out in a long and hard over-the-shoulder-stand-still-to-look way, twice, while I had two children in tow. How can I respond to that?! It's not as though I can stop the kids and drag them back 200yards and go 'hiiii..... they're not mine, you know. Please. Date me.'
Still. It might be worth my while getting a T-shirt printed with words to that effect.
Thus disillusioned with my eternal spinster status, I actually signed back up to the dating site..
I got this far into my profile....
London can be an isolating place when you're single.
I know, I was warned, I should have listened.
Foolishly, I arrived in London for work without having packed a man in my luggage, and am now stuck in the single-girl-in-London-loop where I work too hard and meet too few!
Seeing as my downtime is mainly spent catching up on work and friends on the internet, it makes sense to utilise it for the hopeful expansion in my dating life too, and so, here I am.
I am...
A girl
A dreamer
Hopelessly excitable about pointless things
Stubborn & feisty, but hate confrontation
Shy but flamboyant
Totally confused by simple things
Impressed by conversation, good manners and intellect
Unimpressed by money, big muscles, and heavy drinking
I hate making decisions.
And I get myself in trouble for being brutally honest.
Would like to meet someone...
who thinks outside the box
who can keep me grounded
....and realised it sounded more like a blog post in the making than anything a prospective mate might read or respond to. Although... the kind of person I would like to have about would of course be utterly charmed by the way I write, and my description, but ultimately, on the internet, (and from experience, particularly this site) the men checking you out rarely have more to say then 'hi you look nice want to chat xxxx' GAH.
Also, as ever, I found myself on the verge of signing up for dates when I'm about to leave for 10days to work at a festival in deepest darkest countryside, which renders it beyond the utterly useless idea it already was.And so, I am, again, single and without the time, cash or energy to even try doing anything about it.
Monday, 18 July 2011
The creepy local shop.
I live in London. On a busy bus route, and a 15 minute walk from one of the busiest train stations in the country. We're not short of shopping choices in the local area.
There's a choice of 4 major supermarkets (and an M&S foodhall) within about a mile of the house, and the normal London abundance of newsagents and smaller shops.
So today, I volunteer to run out and buy some bread so the boss's sickly husband can eat dry toast (I swear to god, if he passes on the vomiting bug I've managed to avoid getting directly from child no.1, I shall kill him with my bare hands.)
Me: *grabs jacket, handful of small change, heads for the front door.*
Boss: Where are you going?
Me:......erm.... Tescos? To get bread?
Boss: Why are you going to Tescos? Go out the back door, go to the corner shop, it's half the distance.
Me: Oh... yeah.... I guess so. But the corner shop scares me.
Boss: scares you?
Me: Tescos fine. Really. I'll go there.
Boss: How can the corner shop scare you?
Me: It smells funny and it creeps me out. And I don't trust it.
Boss: .............
Me: *sigh* Ok. I'll go. But I don't trust it....*walks to corner shop*
Approaches corner shop while on phone to sister...So, yeah, I thought I'd call, I've got a minute, just been sent off to the shop. I'm going to the tiny one I don't like, it smells funny.
Sister: How can you not like it? It's just a shop.
Me: Yeah, well, it smells, and there's..... a.... flashing...light.... SEE!!!! There's a police car outside. Something has happened in the area around the weird shop. Wait...2 cars.... I wonder why they're..... oh.. the shutter on the shop is half down...
Policeman: Sorry love, it's closed right now.
Me: *rolls eyes, turns for home, it starts to rain.* I KNEW IT WAS DODGY!!!!!!
I'm now wondering if that funny smell was a dead body hidden under the floorboards all this time.
What else warrants 2 police cars and 6 policemen in a corner shop in a nice family area of London?
Surely if it was a burglary, it only takes one policeman (if any bother showing up) to take a statement (that'll be filed away never to be seen again).
The other problem with not going to Tescos, is the fact that galaxy chocolate is currently £1 in there, and I was wearing clothes that I could smuggle it home in. The quest for toast was cancelled, and I'm now feeling deprived of sugar to such an extent that my nails are at risk of being bitten again after 2 months of growing them really nicely... BRB. Off to raid the cupboards....
There's a choice of 4 major supermarkets (and an M&S foodhall) within about a mile of the house, and the normal London abundance of newsagents and smaller shops.
So today, I volunteer to run out and buy some bread so the boss's sickly husband can eat dry toast (I swear to god, if he passes on the vomiting bug I've managed to avoid getting directly from child no.1, I shall kill him with my bare hands.)
Me: *grabs jacket, handful of small change, heads for the front door.*
Boss: Where are you going?
Me:......erm.... Tescos? To get bread?
Boss: Why are you going to Tescos? Go out the back door, go to the corner shop, it's half the distance.
Me: Oh... yeah.... I guess so. But the corner shop scares me.
Boss: scares you?
Me: Tescos fine. Really. I'll go there.
Boss: How can the corner shop scare you?
Me: It smells funny and it creeps me out. And I don't trust it.
Boss: .............
Me: *sigh* Ok. I'll go. But I don't trust it....*walks to corner shop*
Approaches corner shop while on phone to sister...So, yeah, I thought I'd call, I've got a minute, just been sent off to the shop. I'm going to the tiny one I don't like, it smells funny.
Sister: How can you not like it? It's just a shop.
Me: Yeah, well, it smells, and there's..... a.... flashing...light.... SEE!!!! There's a police car outside. Something has happened in the area around the weird shop. Wait...2 cars.... I wonder why they're..... oh.. the shutter on the shop is half down...
Policeman: Sorry love, it's closed right now.
Me: *rolls eyes, turns for home, it starts to rain.* I KNEW IT WAS DODGY!!!!!!
I'm now wondering if that funny smell was a dead body hidden under the floorboards all this time.
What else warrants 2 police cars and 6 policemen in a corner shop in a nice family area of London?
Surely if it was a burglary, it only takes one policeman (if any bother showing up) to take a statement (that'll be filed away never to be seen again).
The other problem with not going to Tescos, is the fact that galaxy chocolate is currently £1 in there, and I was wearing clothes that I could smuggle it home in. The quest for toast was cancelled, and I'm now feeling deprived of sugar to such an extent that my nails are at risk of being bitten again after 2 months of growing them really nicely... BRB. Off to raid the cupboards....
Thursday, 14 July 2011
Dead Thing Thursday
While I was in California...
I found a dead squirrel. Yeah. Highlight of the trip right there:
Mmm, pretty dead lady.
Oh, and then, a few days after taking a picture of the picture of a pretty day of the dead lady with flowers, I saw another one in living breathing 3D at the Labyrinth of Jareth Masquerade Ball. Which was awesome. I was a swamp pixie. And met a steam-punk Batman. (Details of that one to follow...)
Also courtesy of the Californian sun, I have a vast collection of dead peeling skin due to sunburn, but somehow I didn't think that would make as interesting a blog post photo..... so here's the pretty lady:
YAY for pretty hot dead thing thursday!
I found a dead squirrel. Yeah. Highlight of the trip right there:
And we saw lots of shops selling Mexican stuff. Although we didn't actually get to go to Mexico due to the high chances of ending up on dead thing thursday ourselves because people keep shooting people. I mean. Honestly. Naughty Mexico.
Oh, and then, a few days after taking a picture of the picture of a pretty day of the dead lady with flowers, I saw another one in living breathing 3D at the Labyrinth of Jareth Masquerade Ball. Which was awesome. I was a swamp pixie. And met a steam-punk Batman. (Details of that one to follow...)
Also courtesy of the Californian sun, I have a vast collection of dead peeling skin due to sunburn, but somehow I didn't think that would make as interesting a blog post photo..... so here's the pretty lady:
YAY for pretty hot dead thing thursday!
Tuesday, 21 June 2011
Men, maintaining sanity, and rainbow tuesday.
I have, once again, a broken laptop.
And very little time to write now, as I, me, she - the cat's mother, Ali.... am going on a holiday. Over seas. On a long flight. I'm going to go and find G and her boyfriend. They're in a van driving across a desert.
I'm going to LA, baby!
Before I go I wanted to share a strange weekend.
On Friday night, I ended up in a mosh pit with M (the ex I've spent a year getting over) rubbing ice (in a totally platonic friendly way) on the back of his neck while we bashed our way around a gig that brought back memories for both of us. It was like hanging out with a brother. It was lovely. And peacefully platonic.
On Saturday, I broke contact for what promises - again - to be the absolutely final (yes, final) time with the boy who inspired my last blog post. This time I've even deleted his number from my phone. I got a bit teary over it on the phone to my mum. It was like chopping off my little toe. You don't think it'll be that bigger deal until you're standing there with a hacksaw.
On Sunday, I spent the day with (and largely in the arms of) a nice hippy I met 3 weeks ago and have been too busy to see since. He's been the first man I've met who I've had a real spark with since I met M, over 3 years ago. I know. I couldn't believe it either. The first total stranger I've gone to bed with for 3 whole years. And I wasn't expecting to meet anyone that day. I hadn't even shaved my legs. And neither of us cared. We spent 24hours together grinning at each other and saying things like 'this feels so... normal. So....easy.' And 'I really like you....'. So Sunday was about re-affirming that. This time with smooth pins.
Then, on Sunday night, as I was trying to go to bed before midnight for the first time in weeks, a guy I met the week before I moved to London starts trying to keep me awake and chatting by flirting on facebook.
On Monday, I have this email from him...
dear jesus,
can you build a bloody great theatre in exeter please? one that does all that postmodern/hippy shit so Ali can have a good job and be able to move back to devon. i don't really believe in you and all that christianity jazz but its a bit early for santa, so please mate, after all we go way back don't we?! basically, i really fancy her (and she's probably got a good personality n that as well) so i kind of need a bit of a break here man. at least make her come back for a weekend or something eh? go on, you're the son of god, supposedly.....
xxx
Which, whether I particularly fancy him or not, or wish to pursue anyone but the delightful hippy boy, I felt deserved a reply...
Dept of Prayer
God's Office
2nd Star to the left
Dear Mr T,
As you may know, Jesus is on sabbatical (AWOL for the last 2 millennium, and frankly, pushing his bloody luck if he wishes to pursue his career in this department). I have passed your query on to his deputy, Tinkerbell, who is currently running the office until the second coming.
Unfortunately, my great nemesis, the Devil, has dealings with the government, and art funding keeps being cut back, which means the theatre idea is fairly unlikely, and I have received a tip-off that Ali quite likes London anyway.
Here at the department of prayer, we tend to ignore drunken pleas, however, if you wish to repeat the request in a sober state, I can review your case for a weekend visit.
signed, GOD.
So. I wait with slightly bated breath for a reply to that one.
And, AND, then later on Monday, the really hunky distractingly-attractive-could-lift-me-in-one-hand lighting guy at theatreland work told me I looked lovely.
*dreamy sigh*
But still. All these men related mini dramas, and still no man to call my own. The search continues.
At least I have work experience to keep me busy. Where I get to do things like this to people....
And very little time to write now, as I, me, she - the cat's mother, Ali.... am going on a holiday. Over seas. On a long flight. I'm going to go and find G and her boyfriend. They're in a van driving across a desert.
I'm going to LA, baby!
Before I go I wanted to share a strange weekend.
On Friday night, I ended up in a mosh pit with M (the ex I've spent a year getting over) rubbing ice (in a totally platonic friendly way) on the back of his neck while we bashed our way around a gig that brought back memories for both of us. It was like hanging out with a brother. It was lovely. And peacefully platonic.
On Saturday, I broke contact for what promises - again - to be the absolutely final (yes, final) time with the boy who inspired my last blog post. This time I've even deleted his number from my phone. I got a bit teary over it on the phone to my mum. It was like chopping off my little toe. You don't think it'll be that bigger deal until you're standing there with a hacksaw.
On Sunday, I spent the day with (and largely in the arms of) a nice hippy I met 3 weeks ago and have been too busy to see since. He's been the first man I've met who I've had a real spark with since I met M, over 3 years ago. I know. I couldn't believe it either. The first total stranger I've gone to bed with for 3 whole years. And I wasn't expecting to meet anyone that day. I hadn't even shaved my legs. And neither of us cared. We spent 24hours together grinning at each other and saying things like 'this feels so... normal. So....easy.' And 'I really like you....'. So Sunday was about re-affirming that. This time with smooth pins.
Then, on Sunday night, as I was trying to go to bed before midnight for the first time in weeks, a guy I met the week before I moved to London starts trying to keep me awake and chatting by flirting on facebook.
On Monday, I have this email from him...
dear jesus,
can you build a bloody great theatre in exeter please? one that does all that postmodern/hippy shit so Ali can have a good job and be able to move back to devon. i don't really believe in you and all that christianity jazz but its a bit early for santa, so please mate, after all we go way back don't we?! basically, i really fancy her (and she's probably got a good personality n that as well) so i kind of need a bit of a break here man. at least make her come back for a weekend or something eh? go on, you're the son of god, supposedly.....
xxx
Which, whether I particularly fancy him or not, or wish to pursue anyone but the delightful hippy boy, I felt deserved a reply...
Dept of Prayer
God's Office
2nd Star to the left
Dear Mr T,
As you may know, Jesus is on sabbatical (AWOL for the last 2 millennium, and frankly, pushing his bloody luck if he wishes to pursue his career in this department). I have passed your query on to his deputy, Tinkerbell, who is currently running the office until the second coming.
Unfortunately, my great nemesis, the Devil, has dealings with the government, and art funding keeps being cut back, which means the theatre idea is fairly unlikely, and I have received a tip-off that Ali quite likes London anyway.
Here at the department of prayer, we tend to ignore drunken pleas, however, if you wish to repeat the request in a sober state, I can review your case for a weekend visit.
signed, GOD.
So. I wait with slightly bated breath for a reply to that one.
And, AND, then later on Monday, the really hunky distractingly-attractive-could-lift-me-in-one-hand lighting guy at theatreland work told me I looked lovely.
*dreamy sigh*
But still. All these men related mini dramas, and still no man to call my own. The search continues.
At least I have work experience to keep me busy. Where I get to do things like this to people....
Yup. My happiest days are the ones where I get home at 9pm from an unpaid job with fake blood crusted under my fingernails, too exhausted to even take the dog out on a quick stroll. And I wonder why I'm single.
Still.
Happy half-arsed rainbow tuesday to all:
....and this.
Because she's quite colourful. And really hot.
Wednesday, 25 May 2011
Darling, you fucked up.
A short story told through the media of we heart it finds that have made me jolt across the months. In the case of the first image - years.
It's always the same person they make me think of. Always bitter sweet. I've never behaved so callously, never been so angry, never played such cruel games, never kept going back to anyone else.
My reasoning to never be with them is the thought 'if we were actually together, we'd destroy one another.' But it seems that breaking contact with them does that too.
And it's something that should be long dead (fittingly for Dead Thing Thursday). But it just keeps coming back to life. It's like he's a bad habit I cannot break. It worries me that it'll keep happening. We'll keep haunting each other until it's too late and we're far too old to do anything about it, and we'll look at each other through rheumy eyes across a nursing home and say 'it should have been you. All these years. It should have been you.'
Tuesday, 24 May 2011
Rainbow Tuesday
Thank you Scar for this photo!
Oh, how I wish my hair looked like this.
I spend a long time plaiting the manes on my bosses children's my little ponies, but never does it look quite this cool...
Monday, 23 May 2011
Do something good today.
I did. Thank you for asking.
And I really didn't want to.
It was horrible.
I gave blood.
It hurts. It makes me nervous. And twitchy.
It makes me want to smack a nurse when they take a sample, never mind a fucking pint.
Hear that, nursey?
I mean, seriously bitch, I need that stuff to live. What if I leave the building after donating and cut myself? You've just drained an 8th of what I've got. And I have really heavy periods. I have a limited supply of the stuff. I should taking a donation, not giving mine away. You've bagged it up nicely.. maybe I could just.. take it with? Just in case?
Still.
I've been meaning to donate blood for ages, thinking about it for years, but somehow nice friendly needles containing ink or metal bars keep getting me before the medical team can get to my veins, and piercings and tattoos (which I'm not scared of in the slightest) mean you can't give your blood for 6 months or a year or something. It seems to be my brain's natural response to the slightest subconscious urge to donate my vital fluids.
*Sees ad campaign for blood donation, gets all emotional, triggers subconscious urge 'I should give blood.'*
'heeeeyy.... Ali....brain here. I know what would be a swell idea... lets go get you a new shiny piercing!'
'but, brain.. we can't really afford to get a new piercing right now, they're kinda pricey, and there's a blood drive next we....'
'LETS GO GET PIERCED!!!! NO ONE IS ALLOWED OUR BLOOD! IT'S OURS! OOOUUURRRSS!!'
*Brain overules wallet (who's screaming in protest), feet take us into a nice friendly piercing shop. The end of that.*
The actual giving of the blood was terrifying.
First off, the computer kept wanting to log my details in as a man.
'No, I'm definitely female, I promise!'
Then, once I'd been through the 12 interviews and forms and the 'did you read all of the leaflet' lecture,
'Yes...?' (no, I scan read the back, saw the word bruise and got dizzy...)
I'm told to get comfy on the most uncomfortable bed thing ever and my arm gets pulled in an unatural and painful direction.
Then the nurse who's hovering over me like an obese angel of death asks someone else to attend to her previous patient because 'her vein is on the side and I always bruise those ones badly'
*startled look at nurse* 'That... doesn't fill me with confidence...'
'Oh, no don't worry, you have a great vein there. Really big one. Easy target.'
'I feel sick.'
'You'll be fine'. *hangs on to my rapidly retreating arm for grim death* 'You'll beee fiiiine' *STAB*
*FUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKKK fucking ow fucking ow, get this thing out of me. It stings. It aches. Something isn't right.*
I was surprised I wasn't gushing out over the whole room having burst the bag, my heart was beating so fast. It hurt. I tried to be all brave and normal like the nice man reading his book next to me. But it hurt.
And I could feel this line of heat going down my forearm where the tube was running across my skin. I could feel how hot my blood was on the outside of my body. Through plastic tubing.
'You doing ok there, love?'
'No... I don't like this. It hurts'
'You're not bleeding very fast...hmm... nothing's really happening.'
'Huh?! You're tapped into a vein! It does hurt though. It's...dragging.. it stings, it's really fucking sore... is that right?'
'Oh, right. Yeah. *fiddles with my stinging puncture wound* the needle has slipped a bit.'
'Ya reckon? It was scraping bone back there lady..'
'Ooh, there we go. It's working now. Oooh, you're a right little bleeder, aren't you?'
'I feel sick.'
I then, (already in panic mode) started squeezing my hand so much that I had filled my bag way before the guy who'd started 5 minutes before me had filled his. Even after they'd taken out the needle and told me to relax, I realised I was still there, pumping away with my fist on a squeezy toy. Oops.
Stressed much? Me? Never.
I wanted to leg it out the building immediately, but they wouldn't let me.
'First time, love, we like to make sure you're doing ok, you're not going to faint or anything. Wait for 10.'
'Me? Fine. I'm fine. Gotta get back to work. Gotta fly. Can I leave? Now? Now? Can I leave?'
'Do you feel ok?'
*dizzy, sick, panicky* 'yup, fine. Really fine. Can I go?'
'Eat something? Have a biscuit.'
'No, I'm ok.' *bitch, I'm on a starvation diet. Fuck off.*
'Well, if you're sure you're ok.. just don't do anything energetic straight off. Take it slow.'
'Fat chance. I work as a nanny. For a toddler. I need to go chase her now.'
'......er, I think you should stay here for a minu.....'
'BYE!' *legs it*
And power walked up the hill. And then promptly stopped after 20 steps to prevent myself falling over.
Ooops.
That precious pint of glorious red nectar better go to someone who really really deserves it.
And I really didn't want to.
It was horrible.
I gave blood.
It hurts. It makes me nervous. And twitchy.
It makes me want to smack a nurse when they take a sample, never mind a fucking pint.
Hear that, nursey?
I mean, seriously bitch, I need that stuff to live. What if I leave the building after donating and cut myself? You've just drained an 8th of what I've got. And I have really heavy periods. I have a limited supply of the stuff. I should taking a donation, not giving mine away. You've bagged it up nicely.. maybe I could just.. take it with? Just in case?
Still.
I've been meaning to donate blood for ages, thinking about it for years, but somehow nice friendly needles containing ink or metal bars keep getting me before the medical team can get to my veins, and piercings and tattoos (which I'm not scared of in the slightest) mean you can't give your blood for 6 months or a year or something. It seems to be my brain's natural response to the slightest subconscious urge to donate my vital fluids.
*Sees ad campaign for blood donation, gets all emotional, triggers subconscious urge 'I should give blood.'*
'heeeeyy.... Ali....brain here. I know what would be a swell idea... lets go get you a new shiny piercing!'
'but, brain.. we can't really afford to get a new piercing right now, they're kinda pricey, and there's a blood drive next we....'
'LETS GO GET PIERCED!!!! NO ONE IS ALLOWED OUR BLOOD! IT'S OURS! OOOUUURRRSS!!'
*Brain overules wallet (who's screaming in protest), feet take us into a nice friendly piercing shop. The end of that.*
The actual giving of the blood was terrifying.
First off, the computer kept wanting to log my details in as a man.
'No, I'm definitely female, I promise!'
Then, once I'd been through the 12 interviews and forms and the 'did you read all of the leaflet' lecture,
'Yes...?' (no, I scan read the back, saw the word bruise and got dizzy...)
I'm told to get comfy on the most uncomfortable bed thing ever and my arm gets pulled in an unatural and painful direction.
Then the nurse who's hovering over me like an obese angel of death asks someone else to attend to her previous patient because 'her vein is on the side and I always bruise those ones badly'
*startled look at nurse* 'That... doesn't fill me with confidence...'
'Oh, no don't worry, you have a great vein there. Really big one. Easy target.'
'I feel sick.'
'You'll be fine'. *hangs on to my rapidly retreating arm for grim death* 'You'll beee fiiiine' *STAB*
*FUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKKK fucking ow fucking ow, get this thing out of me. It stings. It aches. Something isn't right.*
I was surprised I wasn't gushing out over the whole room having burst the bag, my heart was beating so fast. It hurt. I tried to be all brave and normal like the nice man reading his book next to me. But it hurt.
And I could feel this line of heat going down my forearm where the tube was running across my skin. I could feel how hot my blood was on the outside of my body. Through plastic tubing.
'You doing ok there, love?'
'No... I don't like this. It hurts'
'You're not bleeding very fast...hmm... nothing's really happening.'
'Huh?! You're tapped into a vein! It does hurt though. It's...dragging.. it stings, it's really fucking sore... is that right?'
'Oh, right. Yeah. *fiddles with my stinging puncture wound* the needle has slipped a bit.'
'Ya reckon? It was scraping bone back there lady..'
'Ooh, there we go. It's working now. Oooh, you're a right little bleeder, aren't you?'
'I feel sick.'
I then, (already in panic mode) started squeezing my hand so much that I had filled my bag way before the guy who'd started 5 minutes before me had filled his. Even after they'd taken out the needle and told me to relax, I realised I was still there, pumping away with my fist on a squeezy toy. Oops.
Stressed much? Me? Never.
I wanted to leg it out the building immediately, but they wouldn't let me.
'First time, love, we like to make sure you're doing ok, you're not going to faint or anything. Wait for 10.'
'Me? Fine. I'm fine. Gotta get back to work. Gotta fly. Can I leave? Now? Now? Can I leave?'
'Do you feel ok?'
*dizzy, sick, panicky* 'yup, fine. Really fine. Can I go?'
'Eat something? Have a biscuit.'
'No, I'm ok.' *bitch, I'm on a starvation diet. Fuck off.*
'Well, if you're sure you're ok.. just don't do anything energetic straight off. Take it slow.'
'Fat chance. I work as a nanny. For a toddler. I need to go chase her now.'
'......er, I think you should stay here for a minu.....'
'BYE!' *legs it*
And power walked up the hill. And then promptly stopped after 20 steps to prevent myself falling over.
Ooops.
That precious pint of glorious red nectar better go to someone who really really deserves it.
Sunday, 22 May 2011
On being alone; The room where I used to live.
One room, the over seer of relationships that come and go, the love that flows and ebbs between them all.
The girl watches the artist paint. Paint on the walls, on the floor, mixed with the melted wax on her cushion covers. Her favourite room. Taken. His studio. Setting up for painting sessions. Door shut fast, heater on high. Dressing, stripping, corsets cinching her waist, ribbons around her neck, then, his fingers in her hair. Pressed back against the cold glass of the high reaching window as the winter night looks in. His hand, unwelcome yet delicious between her legs.The hands around her throat, the play acting, the sexual tension. The rape.
Silent tears on her unmoving face, body stiff with revulsion. When she leaves, the rhythmic slap of his leather belt arching over his shoulder to cut deep into his own back.
She brings a boy home. Lies entwined on mattresses upstairs, they listen to the artist storm around his studio. The sounds of anger. The rhythmic slap. The artist stands in the doorway to that room. Threatens the boy with violence if he stays. The artist marks his territory with his stance, his attitude. The room is his. In extension, the house is his. The boy is not welcome.
Months later, the artist is gone. Gone is the easel, the boxes of supplies, the leather belt. The paint remains on the wall. Furniture added, removed, rearranged.
A man sits with his back to tattered white curtains that sway in the early summer breeze through the open window. He plays the guitar softly, accepts her apologetic kiss as she looks out, down to where the boy approaches to say goodbye. A single wrapped flower to say what words can’t. She shies away from his attempt to engage her, to kiss her. To remind her of what is leaving. She indicates the window where soft music plays; he might be watching. The man doesn’t look up from his guitar. Only the room looks on, its high reaching window silently watching them.
Two years later, furniture added, removed, rearranged. The paint remains on the wall. A bed pushed up beneath it. Photos of the man pinned to the headboard. Of the man, and her.
She has brought the boy home. Almost as if he’d never been away. They lie entwined on the bed, underneath the photos of the man. Underneath the paint left splattered on the wall. He promises her he will always kiss her like this. He will always touch her like this. She welcomes his embraces greedily, selfishly. The embraces she turned down two years ago, on the other side of the high reaching window that now lets in the first light of dawn, the birdsong at the break of an early summer’s day.
Weeks later, she lies awake. Startled out of a dream by the light. A fat sleeping tabby lies stretched out beside her on the bed purring deeply. She lies awake. Alone, but for the cat.
She lies on the pillow that she fancies still carries the boy’s clean scent. She lies under the headboard where photos of the man remain. She lies on the bed pushed up to the wall where paint is still splattered. And the high reaching window is thrown open, letting in the sounds of a new day beginning, the traffic and the birds of a midsummer’s day.
Thursday, 19 May 2011
Saturday, 14 May 2011
Dead thing Thursday and the Zombie Princesses...
Obviously, with my job as a nanny for two very young girls, my exposure to Disney princesses has increased tenfold in the last 3 months. I used to ignore pictures of princesses. Now they catch my eye.
Particularly when they're looking fairly deranged.
Now obviously, Alice in Wonderland has been well represented in creepier form over the years. We've all seen (or dressed up as) 'Bad Alice'.
This one found at We Heart It appealed muchly.
However, Zombi-fied versions of the more traditional princesses are harder to come across. Porn versions, easy. Porn versions of Disney men, also apparently exist, as found here. (And some, surprisingly hot for a gay porn cartoon...) But zombie? I like. I like loonngg time. For the whole series, go here. Unfortunately, this is only the weheartit link, as beyond that it comes from tumblr land.
Now I just have to persuade the one who's turning 5 this weekend she wants a princess party with a twist.
Particularly when they're looking fairly deranged.
Now obviously, Alice in Wonderland has been well represented in creepier form over the years. We've all seen (or dressed up as) 'Bad Alice'.
This one found at We Heart It appealed muchly.
However, Zombi-fied versions of the more traditional princesses are harder to come across. Porn versions, easy. Porn versions of Disney men, also apparently exist, as found here. (And some, surprisingly hot for a gay porn cartoon...) But zombie? I like. I like loonngg time. For the whole series, go here. Unfortunately, this is only the weheartit link, as beyond that it comes from tumblr land.
Now I just have to persuade the one who's turning 5 this weekend she wants a princess party with a twist.
Apple-bobbing, anyone?
Tuesday, 10 May 2011
Rainbow Tuesday
Today G and her lovely boyfriend left the country. Potentially forever. I helped them take their massive bags across London and just about held it together at the airport waving them off.
G had tied a length of rainbow ribbon I'd wrapped her last present* in around the handle of her suitcase.
I had a gay pride moment, despite not being gay. Although, the number of people who assume I'm a lesbian these days is seriously making me consider my options. And I do like pretty girls quite a lot. Preferably tattooed. And raunchy. But somehow I've never imagined myself in a proper grown-up romantic gay relationship. I think I might try it out. But as for now, I think I'm off to bed. My very last reserve energy tank has been drained and I may keel over at any minute.
I feel ill. but as it's Tuesday......
(*There will be an update on the present I made G when my camera stops being broken, as the present was rather rainbow-hued in itself.)
G had tied a length of rainbow ribbon I'd wrapped her last present* in around the handle of her suitcase.
I had a gay pride moment, despite not being gay. Although, the number of people who assume I'm a lesbian these days is seriously making me consider my options. And I do like pretty girls quite a lot. Preferably tattooed. And raunchy. But somehow I've never imagined myself in a proper grown-up romantic gay relationship. I think I might try it out. But as for now, I think I'm off to bed. My very last reserve energy tank has been drained and I may keel over at any minute.
I feel ill. but as it's Tuesday......
I has an rainbow ills.
(*There will be an update on the present I made G when my camera stops being broken, as the present was rather rainbow-hued in itself.)
Thursday, 5 May 2011
Dead (creepy) thing Thursday
.......wtf?
Imagine peeling your breakfast to discover that inside. I knew there was a deep reason behind my distrust of bananas. The devil's fruit. Clearly.
Tuesday, 3 May 2011
Rainbow Tuesday.
Today, I thought I heard strange voices in the early morning. I ignored it, and went back to sleep - through my planned jogging excursion around the common. (Funny how I slept through that...)
Then I got up. Went downstairs for work, and discovered a Korean TV crew filming in the kitchen. Somewhere, on a Korean TV set near you (or not so near) my pissed off, make-up free morning face will be on display. Mouthing 'what the fuck?!' at my boss. Somehow, the fact we're featuring in a foreign TV documentry slipped her mind, and I never got the memo.
I have finally had a bit of time recently to be creative again, and will soon be posting some rather vibrant creations of my own. Until then, happy rainbows.
Then I got up. Went downstairs for work, and discovered a Korean TV crew filming in the kitchen. Somewhere, on a Korean TV set near you (or not so near) my pissed off, make-up free morning face will be on display. Mouthing 'what the fuck?!' at my boss. Somehow, the fact we're featuring in a foreign TV documentry slipped her mind, and I never got the memo.
I have finally had a bit of time recently to be creative again, and will soon be posting some rather vibrant creations of my own. Until then, happy rainbows.
Thursday, 28 April 2011
Dead Thing Thursday
My brain. My brain can be today's dead thing.
Also, this picture:
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is that love affair over with. Sometimes we need reminding exactly why we broke up with 'loves of our lives'. So we could get on with having one. Which isn't dominated by their interests.
Have a glorious dead thing Thursday. I'm off to get ready for a date. Where I won't be giving M a second thought.
Also, this picture:
'cause it's purty.
And also, my love of M.
It's finally over.
Honestly.
I'm done.
I spoke to him in the first time in months the other day, melted into goo at his voice, we had a nice bit of banter and a good old catch up, and I was wondering whether 'I love and and miss you' or 'let's be friends (then one day I'll pounce)' would be the best option to go for, and then he asked me a direct question about something I'd said.
And so I started explaining what I meant.
And in the middle of that, he suddenly shouted...
" Oh my god, yes, that's the most amazing goal we've ever scored! GET IN MY SO..."
....." M. M? Are you.. are you watching the football while we're talking? When we haven't spoken in months? Are you listening at all? Are you... I mean... you know what? I'm going out in a minute, I should really go and get ready. So, yeah, bye.."
"No, sorry, I'm listening, it's just that......."
"...byebye now! *click* "
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is that love affair over with. Sometimes we need reminding exactly why we broke up with 'loves of our lives'. So we could get on with having one. Which isn't dominated by their interests.
Have a glorious dead thing Thursday. I'm off to get ready for a date. Where I won't be giving M a second thought.
Wednesday, 27 April 2011
Belated Rainbow Tuesday (again)
Having spent rainbow tuesday awaiting my laptop being fixed (for the second time in a month), I had to delay posting this.
Having spent today sandwiched between a nearly 2 year old and a nearly 5 year old in the backseat of a car, this post could not be more relevant.
Oh, how I wish for a room (with a lock) entirely to call my own.
I'd paint it rainbow, obviously:
And Scar, if your attic looked a little more like this, I might be tempted to move in, rather than just spend the odd night freezing my butt off up there!
Happy belated rainbow tuesday
Having spent today sandwiched between a nearly 2 year old and a nearly 5 year old in the backseat of a car, this post could not be more relevant.
Oh, how I wish for a room (with a lock) entirely to call my own.
I'd paint it rainbow, obviously:
it would have lots of books in it.
this would be my walk in wardrobe.
I'd probably make it quite psychedelic.
In fact, after today, unlike me, but I might just fancy a rainbow cigarette in it.
And Scar, if your attic looked a little more like this, I might be tempted to move in, rather than just spend the odd night freezing my butt off up there!
Happy belated rainbow tuesday
Sunday, 24 April 2011
The people I (probably) won't be dating
- The man who called me over to his car, told me I was lovely, then started singing he wanted to put his hands all over me. I thought he was going to ask directions.
- Any of the young men in Brixton who call me rasta, try to sell me drugs, then hit on me.
- Any of the old rasta men in Brixton who assume I dig old toothless rastas.
- The really lovely blue haired friend of G's who was living in Brixton when I accidently slept with him and haven't really spoken to since.
- Probably anyone who lives in Brixton, come to think of it.
- The bastard I kinda left M for who called out of the blue a month ago to tell me he missed me, loved me, but wouldn't call again for the sake of his relationship.
- The theatre techie at theatre-land work experience who spent half a drunken evening trying to touch me up, then assumed I wanted his number.
- The uber-gorgeous lighting guy at theatre-land who's totally unavailable but very flirtatious
- Any of the men I have actually been on dates with recently
- Any of the hot joggers or dog walkers on the common because I'm generally carrying poo bags, screaming at the dog, being dragged away by the dog, restraining the dog (who is trying to bite them), or a fun mixture of the above.
Or....
- The Russel Brand styled hipster who spent an evening in Reading trying to chat me up with carefully crafted hair and image, and affected speech delivery.
Although I can't say I fancied him in anyway, he was quite fun - in as much as he'd based his entire persona on a man with drug issues, carefully crafted hair and image, and affected speech delivery. Actually finding someone who is willing to converse in a flowery, pontificating mock-Dickensian fashion with a mockney accent in a horrid bar will never fail to amuse me.
Or as he'd probably have it;
'stumbling upon the type of chap who might be willing to participate in some elaborate banter in a convesational stying what is packed full of creative flair and wit with a mug rather like myself in an 'orrid, sordid little drinking establishment such as the one we 'appened to be lending our custom to, will never fail to somewhat tickle my fancy.'
So, we had a little giggle, people watched together, and when I left, I had no regrets about not exchanging digits (or bodily fluids). He said he'd track me down on the internet. As he only had my first name to go on, I scoffed at it. 8.30am the next morning saw this first email arrive through facebook, and the following conversation between us go on over the next week....
HIM:
Now, I dont know about you but I think my unassailable detective skills deserves some kind of credit, as soon as I saw that bejeweled sparkling object attached to your forehead, I knew, I had to track you down In order to make arrangements to buy one for my own human head. So what was the afterdark like, was it still dark and dingy with sticky floors?
ME:
I was about to congratulate you on your suberb (albiet slightly stalkerish) reconnaissance skills.... and then I discovered you'd managed to get my surname from my sister. But never the less - I doff my hat to you!
Afterdark was indeed dark and dingy, and I ran away long before the end. How was your night Mr.Sherlock?
HIM:
touché AlI, in one sort sentence you have managed to knock me off my rarther impressive detective pedestal, and reduce me to nothing but a desperate stalkerish pervert of a man. I can assure you I'm not a stalker but instead a kind hearted level headed man.. that decided to go to your sister to extract as much information as i possibly could on you so I could then find you through cyberspace. My night was ok, nothing special, I pretty much went home as you were leaving for the afterdark. So where did you run away to at the end of the night?
ME:
I ran away to the circus. But on the way there I stopped to help an old lady across the road, but she was a decoy, and I was kidnapped by a pirate and have been forced into slavery on the seven seas since the weekend, hence my shamefully slow response. Please inform the coastguard, post-haste.
The ship is easy to spot - it's pea green, and the captain is an owl.
I'd like to be rescued. Living on honey is tiresome after a while.
HIM:
I had a funny feeling that might have happend to you. What can I say Ali, never trust a pensioner, there sinister creatures even when its not a pirate in disguise. Seems to be you got yourself into a terrible ordeal here, but fear not for your owl captain is a twat, choosing such a prominent colour for his pirate ship, his capture is inevitable, the metropolitan police force should have no problem putting this nocturnal jack sparrow behind bars. Just to clarify, If I inform the coastguard of your situation, and then utimately save you from a life time of slavery and honey... what do I get out of this, prize money? chocolate? a cuddle?
ME:
I can get you a pussycat as a hostage?
HIM:
That could be good, then I could put it into a hat which would be hilarious. Actually Ali I have a better Idea, come and have a drink with me at some point in the near future, strictly business, it will be good for your soul, and of course if you say no I will not inform the coastguard of your situation
ME:
There is a flaw in your plan... don't you live in Reading? Or am I assuming you do, because you were drinking wine in Reading? Perhaps you don't live in Reading, but just prefer their wine. But, the point was, I don't live in Reading... I've become one of those urban big city dwellers of late, and live in Laaandan town.
And I can't believe you'd blackmail me when I'm already in a perilous sea-faring situation.
You sir, are no gentleman.
HIM:
Ali you are correct, there is a flaw in my plan.. I dont live in Reading, I live in the rarther desolate and deprived town of Bracknell, not too far from Reading, In case you havent heard of Bracknell, Bracknell is a place filled with sadness, weeping childern and broken glass, Reading I find to be equally as poo, only difference is they have nice wine and it is the home of the purple turtle, so any chance I get to go somewhere different like Laaaaaandan town, especially Laaaaaandan town I will embrace it.
So Ali this is no longer a flaw In my plan, its a solution, I live in a crap town, your currently living on a crap colored pirate ship, why not meet In London for a few drinky pops? Just one final thing, I'll have you know I am a gentleman, I only tried to blackmail as I assumed your situation was a slight exaggeration, If you are in fact being held hostage by an owl I'm sorry..
ME:
It's a tawny owl. He's always got a close eye on me. Disconcertingly, even when I'm standing behind him. Or upside down.
You live in Bracknell? You poor thing. You should've said.
Perhaps I should allow you a brief escape to the shiny lights of the big city.
The roads are paved with gold y'know.
HIM:
Gold you say! my word, how the other half live. Thank you Ali, I always knew one day I would be walking down the golden pavements of the big city.
Or as he'd probably have it;
'stumbling upon the type of chap who might be willing to participate in some elaborate banter in a convesational stying what is packed full of creative flair and wit with a mug rather like myself in an 'orrid, sordid little drinking establishment such as the one we 'appened to be lending our custom to, will never fail to somewhat tickle my fancy.'
So, we had a little giggle, people watched together, and when I left, I had no regrets about not exchanging digits (or bodily fluids). He said he'd track me down on the internet. As he only had my first name to go on, I scoffed at it. 8.30am the next morning saw this first email arrive through facebook, and the following conversation between us go on over the next week....
HIM:
Now, I dont know about you but I think my unassailable detective skills deserves some kind of credit, as soon as I saw that bejeweled sparkling object attached to your forehead, I knew, I had to track you down In order to make arrangements to buy one for my own human head. So what was the afterdark like, was it still dark and dingy with sticky floors?
ME:
I was about to congratulate you on your suberb (albiet slightly stalkerish) reconnaissance skills.... and then I discovered you'd managed to get my surname from my sister. But never the less - I doff my hat to you!
Afterdark was indeed dark and dingy, and I ran away long before the end. How was your night Mr.Sherlock?
HIM:
touché AlI, in one sort sentence you have managed to knock me off my rarther impressive detective pedestal, and reduce me to nothing but a desperate stalkerish pervert of a man. I can assure you I'm not a stalker but instead a kind hearted level headed man.. that decided to go to your sister to extract as much information as i possibly could on you so I could then find you through cyberspace. My night was ok, nothing special, I pretty much went home as you were leaving for the afterdark. So where did you run away to at the end of the night?
ME:
I ran away to the circus. But on the way there I stopped to help an old lady across the road, but she was a decoy, and I was kidnapped by a pirate and have been forced into slavery on the seven seas since the weekend, hence my shamefully slow response. Please inform the coastguard, post-haste.
The ship is easy to spot - it's pea green, and the captain is an owl.
I'd like to be rescued. Living on honey is tiresome after a while.
HIM:
I had a funny feeling that might have happend to you. What can I say Ali, never trust a pensioner, there sinister creatures even when its not a pirate in disguise. Seems to be you got yourself into a terrible ordeal here, but fear not for your owl captain is a twat, choosing such a prominent colour for his pirate ship, his capture is inevitable, the metropolitan police force should have no problem putting this nocturnal jack sparrow behind bars. Just to clarify, If I inform the coastguard of your situation, and then utimately save you from a life time of slavery and honey... what do I get out of this, prize money? chocolate? a cuddle?
ME:
I can get you a pussycat as a hostage?
HIM:
That could be good, then I could put it into a hat which would be hilarious. Actually Ali I have a better Idea, come and have a drink with me at some point in the near future, strictly business, it will be good for your soul, and of course if you say no I will not inform the coastguard of your situation
ME:
There is a flaw in your plan... don't you live in Reading? Or am I assuming you do, because you were drinking wine in Reading? Perhaps you don't live in Reading, but just prefer their wine. But, the point was, I don't live in Reading... I've become one of those urban big city dwellers of late, and live in Laaandan town.
And I can't believe you'd blackmail me when I'm already in a perilous sea-faring situation.
You sir, are no gentleman.
HIM:
Ali you are correct, there is a flaw in my plan.. I dont live in Reading, I live in the rarther desolate and deprived town of Bracknell, not too far from Reading, In case you havent heard of Bracknell, Bracknell is a place filled with sadness, weeping childern and broken glass, Reading I find to be equally as poo, only difference is they have nice wine and it is the home of the purple turtle, so any chance I get to go somewhere different like Laaaaaandan town, especially Laaaaaandan town I will embrace it.
So Ali this is no longer a flaw In my plan, its a solution, I live in a crap town, your currently living on a crap colored pirate ship, why not meet In London for a few drinky pops? Just one final thing, I'll have you know I am a gentleman, I only tried to blackmail as I assumed your situation was a slight exaggeration, If you are in fact being held hostage by an owl I'm sorry..
ME:
It's a tawny owl. He's always got a close eye on me. Disconcertingly, even when I'm standing behind him. Or upside down.
You live in Bracknell? You poor thing. You should've said.
Perhaps I should allow you a brief escape to the shiny lights of the big city.
The roads are paved with gold y'know.
HIM:
Gold you say! my word, how the other half live. Thank you Ali, I always knew one day I would be walking down the golden pavements of the big city.
I found it quite funny, anyway.
So, yeah, No intention of dating him. He actually goes so far in his affectation as to say 'drinky pops'. But he might be someone who'd appreciate the some of the cartoons i steal from the interweb. Like this one, which I've been waiting for an excuse to post.
So there you have it. An entire post done purely to have an excuse to show this picture which kinda relates.
So, yeah, No intention of dating him. He actually goes so far in his affectation as to say 'drinky pops'. But he might be someone who'd appreciate the some of the cartoons i steal from the interweb. Like this one, which I've been waiting for an excuse to post.
So there you have it. An entire post done purely to have an excuse to show this picture which kinda relates.
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