Tuesday, 31 January 2012

How to Meet a Nice Man.

My mum thinks I’m a lesbian. (Nice one Ginge, a definite PB on the catchy first liner front). I'm just throwing it out there, in the vague hope that I'm not the only girl who's had this conversation: 

Mum: Who's that texting you? 

Me: Oh it's just *Insert Boy's Name*

Mum: (ATTENTION: We have reports of a boys name coming in from Audio. I repeat: boys name detected in Audio. This is not a drill. Activating 'cool and breezy' speech filters)
I see... And is this, *IBN*... a 'special friend'?

Me: (ATTENTION: you have just been exposed to the term 'special friend'. Make sure there is no chance of you being sick before commencing speech)
He's just a friend.

Mum: Oh. Any other 'special boy friends' I should know about?

Me: No

Mum: Or 'special girl friends'?

Me: No

Mum: It's fine with me if there were.. you know..

Me: Mum, not having a boyfriend does not make you a lesbian..

Mum: I know! I'm just saying! It's fine if you are.

Me: I'm not a lesbian.

Mum: Ok.        ..But it's fine if you are.

This ghastly conversation likes to crop up every once in a while, and unfortunately will continue to do so for a while longer because even though I'm 22 and University failed to find me a husband, (it did get me a nice, shiny, degree though, so not a complete waste of time) I'm still in no rush to couple off.

It probably doesn't help that I maybe haven't got the best track record when it comes to being 'wooed'. 

Now boys, I can't imagine how excruciating it must be; the pressure of approaching a girl and trying to capture her attention with a single line that could, potentially, be repeated over and over in years to come to your friends and family (and hers) in what will become known as 'the official story of the first time you met your dearest, loving spouse'. 

Just thinking about it makes me want to scratch myself.

So when an eligible gentleman approaches, I am fully aware that this maybe, probably, almost definitely won't be, the smoothest moment of his life. I'm not going to hold this against him, I like to keep an open mind.

The thing is, there's being open minded and then there's this cavalcade of no

‘Most guys wouldn’t.. I’m not most guys'. (A romantic response to my lustrous gingerness). 
Ahh the old back handed compliment; knock her self esteem and then give her a glimmer of comfort. A classic tactic and nicely played. Good effort my lovely, most girls would reward you for it.

Moral: .. I’m not most girls.  

‘You look about 14 but you’re actually legal- you’re like a paedophile’s dream!'  (Yes, really). 'A. Paedophile's. Dream'. A hideous example of what can happen when the back handed compliment gets into the wrong hands. 

Moral: Where possible, try not to mention sex offenders. It frightens us.

 'I've just studied the fallopian tubes in Medicine- I could never be girl, I don't know how you do it.'  (Again, yes really). If the only common ground you can find to talk about is the female reproductive system, your relationship is a sham.

 Moral: Fallopian tubes aren't sexy.

‘Are you open to Glaswegians?’  Haha, oof well aren’t you a cheeky- hang on, is this still harmless banter or was that an expression of genuine concern? Like when a doctor asks me if I'm allergic to penicillin.. I.e. ‘This has been an issue enough times that we’ve had to put it in our standard list of questions for everyone.. It’s a thing’. Is Glaswegians a thing? Have I been recklessly exposing myself all these years? No wait! I lived with a girl from Glasgow, she was just the same as everyone else.  Ha, nice try laddyboy... Thanks for making me momentarily racist. 

Moral: I wasn't racist before you started talking. This is your fault.

‘I love your hair, it reminds me of when my mother used to make me..’ Switch to inexplicable French accent, take (my) hand & bite finger really, really hard ‘.. zee ginger cookieez..'  

Moral: Just don't do any of that. 

On second thoughts it might just be easier to become a lesbian  Xx

Monday, 9 January 2012

My Very Very Grown Up New Year's Resolutions.

Happy new year lovelies!

I turned 22 at the weekend and because of this not really a milestone, milestone age, I started thinking it’s probably time to accept that I am now an actual, bona fide, legal grownup. Thus, it’s about time I made some grownup resolutions. Starting with the use of 'thus' in more sentences. 

Anyway here's what I've come up with:

1) Drink more water: Default resolution. Won’t happen. 

2) Make fewer cat noises: Paying particular attention to when there are other people in the room. 

3) Read more books: Let's be honest, you have definitely got stupider since you finished your degree- and before you start arguing, just cast your mind back to last week when you went to work with only one contact lens in and believed you were experiencing the phenomenon of ‘seeing in 3D’. 

4) Stop singing The Little Mermaid in the shower: You are not The Little Mermaid. 

5) Stop wondering which Hogwarts house you belong in: There is no place for grownups at Hogwarts. Anyway deep down you know full well you’re a Hufflepuff. You'll just have to get over it. 

6) Pass driving test: That means stop treating lessons like go-carting sessions with a safety human there to stop you crashing, and actually learn what the fricking hell the clutch does.

And should these improvements fail to turn my life around, I will just remember the pearls of wisdom spoken to me by my dear dear, 90 year old grandmother on my birthday:

Nana: Now you're 22 I think we should sit down and talk about your next step. Now, I've been seeing these girls your age and they come on the TV at 4 o clock every day to win money and pay off their student loans. And Noel Edmonds helps them.

Me: Are you talking about Deal or No Deal?

Nana: Yes! Deal or No Deal. So all I'm saying is, I don't want you to worry, there are always options.

SO! My official motto of 2012: There's always Deal or No Deal. Xx

Tuesday, 8 November 2011

A Day In The Life of An Unemployed Graduate.

(WARNING: contains graphic imagery and examples that some readers may find disturbing).

7am: Waking up in the morning, gotta be fresh gotta go downstairs..
                 (No, but seriously, we should send them Jedward). 

8am: Check ‘sensible’ job applications email. No messages. Die inside.
                  Switch to fun Facebook/Twitter email. No messages. Consider suicide. 

9.30am: Decide suicide a bit melodramatic. Watch Jeremy Kyle to feel more like the Queen. (First bowl of porridge of the day). Cry hysterically every time Jeremy screams at a wife-beating, crack addict to ‘get a job’.

Oh Jezza, I do love a man with a stiff moral compass.

10am: Wash up bowl of porridge and despair tears. Do the rest of the washing up while I’m there to reinforce that I am still a valid member of the household. 

11am: Receive my daily cleaning from the cat. We're on the same wavelength now so whenever he washes himself, he takes it upon himself to give my arm the quick once over while we watch Homes Under The Hammer and discuss Sartre. Cat makes some valid points. I learn a lot from him.

The Magnificent Hawk
12pm:  Second bowl of porridge of the day. 

1pm: Start doodling picture of Ann Widdecome in her flight harness heyday on Strictly Come Dancing. Doodle gets out of hand. Decide to send it to my little brother at University, under the rationale, 'everyone likes getting post'. 

 4pm: (Yes I did spend 3 hours on that last bad boy). Discover my trusty plant companion has given up the ghost. He is the third this year.

4.02pm: Hold 2 minutes of silent contemplation in honour of the late Cofernicus III. Sleep well, my leafy baby. 

Cofernicus III

4.03pm: Refuse to be defeated by horrendous 'plant prevalence' track record. Start growing my own mug tree forest instead. I have high hopes for this new project. (Will keep you posted).

Current Tree Count in Mug-Tree Forest: 2

4.15pm: Find a brand new pack of Post-its. Things just got exciting.

5pm:  Daddy Ginge returns home. Stop labelling everything in the living room and put on my 'normal human' face.  

5.30pm: Enjoy a well earned coffee and swap hectic day stories with Daddy Ginge. He's had 2 meetings and 3 unresolved cases to deal with. I show him my picture.