Smidge

Do you describe yourself as high maintenance? No, i’m not meaning the type of woman (and it’s mainly women) that has the ability to make a drama out of a crisis, who starts rows just to keep people on their toes, that demands a man pay for everything.

I’m talking about the mild form of vanity that comes with the need to beautify yourself. You know the one that makes you brush your hair and put make up on in the morning. The one that thinks high heals make your legs look longer and therefore are an essential part of everyday life. The one which thinks spending £100 on curling tongs is normal. The one who thinks designer handbags and shoes are a great idea.

Somewhere along the line I didn’t get this gene.

I fully admit that i’m a tomboy; I’ve always worked this way. If I put make up on, I forget it’s there and smear it across my face in a childish manner. With a childhood either spent barefoot or on wheels of one type or another, i’m not very good with shoes. High heals mean I have to plan for being 20 minutes late. My washing routine is soap and water and a little Nivea moisturiser. I don’t fake tan, I don’t wax (I do use a razor though, i’m not totally disgusting), I dye my hair once a year. I rarely have a manicure. I hate pedicures. I wear clothes that are black, brown, blue or cream.

I can canoe, abseil and go kart. I play poker competitively. I like football; I understand rivalries, 90 minute bigotry and the offside rule. Get me outside and i’m a 5 year old boy who has found a patch of mud to play in. My ripped, torn and generally scruffy collection of jeans pays testament to this. I can put Ikea furniture together without instructions, programme a dvd player, computers, websites. I can do d.i.y. I know what an angle grinder is and can use it. I even did woodwork for A Level. I love motorbikes.

I can’t be described as either gentle or pretty. I pull men, I don’t wait for them. I kiss first. I offer coffee. I like a challenge. I don’t wait for you to call. Lesbians like me.

I’m a hopeless case. I think a bit of balance is needed in my life and i dont mean i need to learn to knit.

Honestly, I need some help, where do I even start?

Kx

P.s Happy St Andrew’s Day to all Scots for Sunday.

I like a challenge, so when Andy over at Wild ARS Chase as part of his ‘get to know him week’ (in which he has written one of the funniest 100 things i’ve read, oh and let the world know his favourite band is Radiohead. But don’t hold that against him) asked us new bloggers reading his site to write a post about:

A) Something nobody knows about you,
B) One of your favourites stories from your childhood, or
C) Your 10 Top Favourite (Fill in the Blank).

So, as i’m pretty open about who I am (read my about me, its all there, ok, apart from my blog secret post – did you find me?) and I generally don’t have enough things to fill a top ten (I’m a one dinner, one cake, one movie, one drink type of gal, a creature of extreme habits) I thought i’d tell you the story of how I ‘discovered’ a willy for the first time.

Yes a willy; I might prefer the word cock now (and fud has to be my favourite word for lady bits), but at the time I was probably about 5 years old and my parents preferred willy.

Now I had a favourite toy, it wasn’t a care bear, or a wuzzle, or even my old teddy that I had had since birth. It was a pyjama case. Ok, it was in the shape of a leopard, but it was still a pyjama case. It roared if you shook it and had a long thick tail.

Now you see where i’m going.

For some reason, I was a little advanced at 5 years old and one of my favourite things was to suck this leopards’ tail. It was a kind of comfort blanket, a good suck and I was off to sleep. Now one night this hadn’t worked so I had crawled into my parent’s bed and fallen fast asleep between them.

Sweet dreams at last.

But upon waking in the morning, I felt something strange against my leg. At first i lay there in disgust and surprise until my 5 year old warped logic had kicked in and I leapt out of bed screaming that daddy’s willy was against me.

It wasn’t.

Daddy didn’t have a ten inch furry willy. But I think he was impressed that I thought he did.

Unfortunately this story has never gone away and the day I met daddy’s willy is written up proudly in our family history books.

And got told at my wedding.

Kx

I’m petite, little, short, small, tiny, but never vertically challenged. I’m the height of an average 12 year old girl. If I was 1 less inch you could call me a midget. Genetically I should really have been Vietnamese, Peruvian, Pilipino or Mayan. I’m not; i’m white, of mongrel race (mostly Irish).

It’s not something that I can hide unless I buy all my shoes with 5 inch heals (Unpractical unless you are Victoria Beckham). I’ve spent my life wondering how all the organs I have fit into my tiny body and whether they are fully formed; will I stay a child for my whole life because I am the size of one?

I permanently carry my passport around with me because I can’t buy cigarettes or a bottle of wine without it. I can’t go to a bar or a club and even an 18 film can be wobbly. I don’t look 12, but people can’t see past the fact I don’t come up to their elbow. Tailors are my friend. Kid’s shoes are not sexy. Obviously.

People’s manners are what I notice the most. I’m below their nose, they just don’t see me. People don’t look down unless they are looking down on something. At gigs, at events, it’s more “why are you here?” not “sorry you can’t see”. Elbows are the worst.

People treat me like my life needs a metaphorical pat on the head. That they are surprised to see me doing the things I do. At school I did woodwork for my A-levels and built the biggest project that year – to me size wasn’t an issue. 6 years after university people still think I have just left. I have achieved my aspirations, people just don’t believe me.

Being small has defined my life, of course I hate it, I hate the way i’m made to feel. In the adult world, looking 12 means you are 12. In my experience, size really does matter.

But once in a while, people have to re-adjust their sets. They get surprised.

I like being a curveball.

Kx

I’m sorry this is a bit of a mish mash today; i’ve a few things to tell you and not a lot of time before I want to go home and sleep (I just haven’t been able to stay awake for the last two days…) but hey ho, here’s Tuesday’s need to know…

§ I’ve joined twitter – you can find me here if you haven’t already. If you want to add me to facebook or anything else which would equal stalking, well i’m up for that, my email address is at the top of the blog, just drop me a line.

§ I’m still off the fags. Ok, i’m off the fags in the day, i’ve been having one or two in the evenings, but i’m slowly getting my head round to the fact I can no longer smoke ten a day (or more!) as id like. Ill find out in January if all this has been worth it (why is a bit too personal and far more than you need to know)

§ Today I got an email from a university professor whose students I looked after last week. It was forwarded from the boss man and said “Special thanks to WeeH and colleague for providing the on-site support. Although the weather was bitter we gained a good understanding of the scale of what is being undertaken. Wee-H, in particular, is a credit to your organisation.” Gobsmacked. Think it’s the best praise I have ever received!

§ I nearly buggered my blog with setting up my feed burning. Im still here if you’ve had to click through to find a new post. I’ve taken off the partial feed thing too as I heard everyone hated it. Fingers crossed this will be all working properly by tomorrow…

And to finish here are the blog posts you need to be clicking to this week…

§ Over at More is Better a wee blog secret Santa is in the offing. Nicole has started to organise a sweet treat exchange. That’s right, you bake or make your gift, whatever it is it has to be edible (I guess you don’t really have to be a good cook). Unfortunately this is a US secret Santa only and we Brits can’t join in (not that id know what to make, but i’m sure I would have had fun) but if you are in the states then just click on over to here to register to join in.

§ Woo Hoo, everyone’s favourite advice giving small dog ‘Sassy K’ is back. It’s genius. My favourite question? How do I convince my husband that getting a pet rabbit is NOT a good idea? Actually the photo shopped illustrations are even more genius. Fierceness.

§ This weeks, ‘oh my god how many comments post’ has to be from superstar blogger Brandy (over at its like i’m mmmmagic) about friends with benefits. I’m on the friends with benefits side of the fence if you need to know, booty calling is so much fun at 2am. Ok, the sex is mostly crap, but the snogging – woah baby!

§ Today’s question – from insertmyblognamehere is what superpower would you have? I like her idea of being able to see into men’s heads in a “What Women Want Kind of Way” but id much rather have xray eyes to see if they have a hairy back or god forbid a hairy bum.

§ And finally yesterday was Marmoset Monday over at CuteOverload. This made my crappy Monday a little more bearable. So cute!

See you later in the week

Kx

Whilst skimming my reader I came across this post from with eyes wide open about Helen’s mum being in the Women’s Institute. My Mum has been a stalwart of the WI for over 30 years and can make a very fine apple pie!

Mum joined the WI at 32 and this weekend was telling me I really should think about it, that I was the right age, I wasnt getting any younger and oh the WI does such good work in the community (they picked up 30 bags of rubbish in the town centre the other weekend).

But am I really ready for jam making and learning the words to Jerusalem? Making scones and having talks from leering local artists?

But then I thought about it, for such a stuffy organisation, the WI has had a few scandals in the past…

• How about two WI ladies touring the world to find the perfect brothel (a campaign to legalise prostitution) or
• Eco-Activism on the Rainbow Warrior II, or
• that Calendar (and the film Calendar Girls of course) or
• how about sex tips for the over sixties (best position to make sure you man doesnt have a heart attack anyone? yes it is a video!!)

The WI? Seriously.

And then she told me about something called WI Lite, a very new and very un-WI like organisation. WI lite is different, i’m liking the sound of getting the best fitting bra, to naked male model sketching, to sex therapy and learning burlesque, to an outing to see Puppetry of the Penis. Is the WI really moving into the naughties and letting go of local flower and vegetable shows? WI lite sounds much more fun than joining a book club. I guess there may be hope for my 30s yet!

Yikes.

Kx

(Thanks Helen for reminding me of this!)

I slept in this morning which meant my first word of the day was “shite*”. A great start. I was grumpy to the boy, didn’t have time to inhale caffeine before I left, have no money on me and i’m properly starving. Plus I’m still off the fags**. I’m still trying to wake up at 11am and I feel a crappy cold coming on.

So, today’s mood is: Sulk.

Yup, things are back to normal.

And the topic of today’s rant? Parents.

I know its not really the done thing to rant about your mother openly on the internet (imagine if she found this blog), but if I promise to be quick will you listen?

Ok, thanks.

Like most 30 year olds, I left home over 12 years ago and never looked back. I’ve reached the dizzy heights of being able to pay my bills (mostly), brush my teeth without being told to (new electric toothbrush!) and make a risotto (red pepper and chorizo?) but a visit from my mother sends me back to high school.

Particularly the stomping off and slamming doors bit.

Not long ago I had an almighty rant about the state of my life (which you can read here), but so you don’t need to go clicking, basically it ended like this…

“there is nothing wrong with the choices I have made in MY life. Okay, it isn’t perfect right now, I admit, but at least I am free to make my own choices, not a slave to what should be. So this is my teary eyed, snotty nosed request to all of you out there – go back to worrying about your own life. It aint perfect either”

After the weekend I have just had, I just needed to reiterate this.

Oh and just in case you do read this mum….

I am a romantic, my heart is always going to rule my head and I’m never going to marry for money.

Thanks

Oh and as a post script… i saw this on Tara’s blog and thought it fitted well…

“People don’t want their lives fixed. Nobody wants their problems solved. Their dramas. Their distractions. Their stories resolved. Their messes cleaned up. Because what would they have left? Just the big scary unknown.”

~Chuck Palahniuk

Yes, mum thanks for the hand out to help finally get rid of the student loan. Im grateful, but can we step back from you knowing too much about my finances now?

Kx

*my dad’s favourite Scottish word.
**ok, I had one after the parentals left yesterday – I deserved it

Urgh, what a load of self indulgent tripe this blog has become.

Its all the fault of BlogSecret in my opinion, well done to Nilsa for organising it, but can we all stop being so introspective about everything now? I even had to take down a bloody awful I-need- to-sort-my-life-out-so-bad post last night before anyone read it and decided to delete me from their reader (all 10 of you – hello!). It honestly was that bad.

It’s taken me until now to stop feeling like life is generally shit for all of us.

Come on guys life isnt all shit.*

To cheer us all up, the best post on the day of BlogSecret was actually this one by RS27 and it wasn’t even anonymous. Or this one about National Toilet Day or how about (imo) one of the best FAILs ever. See all fun. Or if you are feeling suicidal how about trying a whole website of animal loveliness – Cute Overload. For some reason I can’t stop sniggering at this site and it doesn’t have anything remotely to do with sex on it…

But my favourite thing about today? This…. (worth clicking)

“A search of his car uncovered pornography, a homemade sex aid, women’s stockings and a Jack Russell terrier.”

Spaghetti car-boner-a!

Hoorah!

Mwah

Kx

*ok, just some of it, but im in a better mood today…

Ok, if you were wondering where the ‘ready to mary yourself?’ post went to, well I’ve shelved it for just now. It was a self indulgent I need tough love and please please please come join in kinda post that needs some more work before I unleash it on the world. And I’ve stopped feeling quite so sorry for myself – so we’ll leave it for just now. Ok? Cool.

Anyways, im on day 3 of not smoking so can I have some congratulations?

Mwah

K

The Blog Secret post is here if thats what you are here to look for….kx

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Last night after a glass of wine I really shouldn’t have had I got a little maudlin. Actually, make that a lot. The cat even started pacing up and down the end of the bed wondering what the hell had happened to his normally pretty sane mum. I let out a massive dose of self-pity and had to run to the bathroom to hide the hysterical sobbing (eww, that sounds horrible). Those brackets aren’t even needed, it was disgusting.

Self pity: a wine induced emotion that induces tears and boyfriends want to run a mile.

Was I good enough for him if I had no friends? Would he respect me if I admitted that things had gone really wrong for me?

I explained that for the last three years I had been happy. That I had grown up out of the ashes of my long term relationship where my life revolved around him. I had gone out, put myself out there and made friends totally unconnected from what had gone before. That I had learnt to stand on my own two feet. That I had been proud of myself. That last year it all imploded around me.

But of course he hugged me and reminded me that it wasnt my fault, that this wasnt uncommon, that i wasnt as alone as i thought. He reminded me of the friends from uni that I only kept half in touch with, the new ones I had started cultivating that had fallen by the wayside after a couple of drink dates, and the ones that id just been too lax to reply to. He reminded me that this was the wine talking and everything would be ok.

But last night that glass of wine made me realise that I hadn’t moved on. That I was still hanging on to the coat strings of friends that were no longer friends. That it was time to accept it and move on.

I guess alcohol does have other uses.

Kx

So, today is blog secret day and this post has been sent in anonymously by someone brave enough to reveal something close to their heart….i’ve also put a secret out in the world for strangers to read, to judge, to comment on. If you are taking part in blog secret, as you read each post, think about it, it could be mine, so be gentle. You can read the rest of the participants here and visit Nilsa to say a big thanks for organising it!

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