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