Smidge

P.S. If you are new to this blog you can catch up on this thread of posts by clicking on the ‘bucket list’ tab….

You either stress insanely about things or, like me, parcel them so deep in your head it takes a claw hammer to get them back out. That said, I’ve been pussyfooting around my ‘health issues’ both on this blog and in my own head more than I should be; if I’m honest I’ve been trying not to think about at all.

Case in point: despite the fact the operation is tomorrow I have spent the last week vainly posting nice photos of myself and even today, I’m considering talking about my new gorgeous purchases from Cocosa.com (a private designer UK sale site, email me for an invitation!) instead of addressing the fact that tomorrow a man (yes a man, huh??) will be investigating why they have suddenly discovered further abnormalities that weren’t there 6 months ago.

So I am going to post some pictures of Lily the new kitten.

See, diversionary tactics.

Kx

We all know that supposedly that ‘first impressions count’, so we paint a picture of ourselves, whether that’s how we dress for work, for boys, for friends, for our blog readers of how we want others to see us. But first impressions can be deceiving and misleading, as can the first time you meet a person, well, in person.

I’ve spent years painting myself as a tomboy, scruffy, baggy jeans, trainers, no make up, bad hair. But that’s not the whole story; it’s not the whole me, and I think I’m deceiving you, my readers by saying that is all there is.

• Sometimes I want to be girly and talk about shoes, and clothes and my new extremely hot ‘Michael Kors’ 3.5 inch stiletto heels that scream ‘fuck me’ and how they make me feel like a hot, attractive and sexy GIRL;
• Sometimes I want to be soppy and talk about how much I loved The Notebook (watched it last night, loved it, especially Ryan Gosling – how did I miss him?) and how I want that kind of romance for myself, but I cant because tomboys don’t do romance; and,
• Sometimes I want to scream at comments from friends that I’ve become ‘different’ recently, that i’ve changed, that i’m not so shy (no it’s just how you saw and treated me before) .

But this blog has me stuck in a rut. I’ve become my own first impression; and i’m more than that. We are all more than that.

So I’ve decided to post a picture(s) of me, of how I see myself. To take a step towards being more than the scruffy girl I think you all see me as.

But before I do, I wanted to ask the question – how do you see me? and in return how do you think your blog makes people see you?

Kx

I’m moonlighting today as a sex blogger (in a non-slutty way, of course)

So head over to The Secret Lady Garden to check me out…

Back later

kx

In the eyes of a parental type having a man by your side ensures that you are no longer the recipient of the looks, the sympathy, and the indignity of the single 30something. Being at home with my family, alone, single, is a type of torture reserved for those who have carried out the most dastardly of deeds (not buying a round, not liking football, not taking a joke), so whilst I certainly don’t define myself by having a man by my side; I must say this weekend’s visit home was rather easier on the shame factor than at Christmas.

This time there were no shoulder squeezes from my papa, no ‘well you’ve been through them before, you’ll meet one again’ from my mum and no random flirtations from the only single man left in the village under 45 and old enough to legally be in the pub. A weekend without humiliation doesn’t require copious alcohol, long walks in the country and wistful (read, evil) looks at every happy couple. Ahem.

Instead there are family bbqs, sober(ish) trips to the pub, day trips to Liverpool (where I manage to feck up meeting LizSara of If Music Be and Brennig, oops) and taking in my dad’s comedy show, where he humiliates himself enough for the whole village (pictures at the bottom).

Pretty much going away, getting out of the city, weekend in the country bliss.

That is unless one is expected to spend much of the weekend on Skype cooing over a pixel-ated 3 month year old sprog which whilst undeniably cute (picture at bottom too), doesn’t actually do anything interesting yet. Not only is it hard to feign the dutiful auntie act over the course of an entire weekend, but it’s twice as hard when all the women of a certain age (mainlining HRT), delighted by the fact you have caught an attractive, sane, and still young-enough-to-be-fertile man; keep implying that you too must be ready for procreation.

For the last and final time, I am not.

Despite the fact that I can admit to wanting some of the wedding-house-bigger house-nice car- stuff that my sister has (yes I know that makes me sound shallow), it’s the stability-marriage-family stuff I desire. The sense of belonging, of you aren’t going anywhere, the look in someone’s eyes that tells you they can catch a dose of your crazy and love you for it. Yes, that’s what I want and if that involves babies at some point in the future, then so be it. I guess you don’t get family without them.

… but, I have no desire for the 3 months of sleepless nights my sister has just had, or the screaming post natal type depression she is currently enduring, or the fact my mother has to tell everyone about it. Everything. And I mean everything.

Chip off the old block me.

Mwah

Kx

Before you start to read, this is an update post on a heavy topic, i could private it, but I need to talk about it somewhere and these things in my mind should be out there and heard. So bear with me if you please. If you want to catch up, I suggest you read this post first, oh and then this one. Thanks.

So, I should be writing in detail about how I feel about yeaterday’s ‘shock’ that made me smoke 3 fags last night and eat two cupcakes today, but to be honest I’m hoping its just another insensitive letter from the NHS calling me in for another operation with no explanation further than ‘abnormalities’. As a friend said today via email “a little bit of clarification goes an awfully long way”.

But, as to date every other ‘abnormality’ that they have found or removed has been nothing serious, I’m trying not to upset my IBS by stressing out too much, or looking things up on the internet. These things move so slowly, that unless they have missed something the first time around, this is all precautionary and there is no need for fear. I guess hope in this situation is all I have. But hope in the NHS? A joke in a post about cancer? Yes, I just made one. Anyways, as I said, I’m trying not to worry ‘too much’ and ‘yet’. It’s only human to worry a little bit, I guess.

So that’s all I’m going to say about it. That’s all I have to say about it, I’ve made my point in the past about this whole thing; but I thought id just, well, let you know, an update. Anyway as you can probably guess, last night I broke the smoking fast to keep myself calm; so, I’m feeling rather disappointed with myself today. But whatever; the smoking caused it in the first place, they are going to remove all the bad shit, ill give up, problem solved.

Yes, I really am that flippant today.

Kx

In November last year, I wrote one of my favourite blog posts I’ve ever written; the post ‘mmm..gonna try with a little help from my friends’ was a cry for help, a call for advice. Looking back, I remember scoffing at your answers; not taking them seriously and indeed in the depth of being dumped right before Christmas forgetting all about them.

But then a recent search brought one visitor to my site looking for the answer to “why do tomboys usually become lesbians?*” and it reminded me of it; it made me realise that deep in my heart I always assumed (as i’ve put it to many people) I’m “a boy in a girl’s body”.

I’ve always thought that I fancied girls more than men; (Kate Beckinsale is top of my top 5) that women were hotter in porn, in movies, in music; that men were there to be ‘friends’. (Indeed that is how each and every one of my relationships have ended up, the sex dwindling away to nothing, Saturdays spent on the terraces rather than shopping for sexy underwear treats.) I’ve never seen myself as a girl, and in turn I always thought I had potential to ‘come out’ as it were.

So now is that time.

Ha! Had a heart attack yet? I’m only teasing; i’m not outing myself as being a lesbian, but as being straight.

It’s a strange epiphany to have, a major change in perception for me. I honestly thought that one day I’d stop messing around with guys and get the girlfriend I always thought wanted but was way to scared to try out. But as i’ve grown older, become more confident in my skin and how I see myself – being attractive and being attracted, its men that I see myself with.

But whatever advice I ask for, however much I think I desire to change I’m honestly never going to wear fake tan, bronzer, manicure my nails, pluck my eyebrows or straighten my hair everyday. I’m never going to stop being a wall flower next to some girls. But that is ok. I can look good in my own way.

So, over the course of the weekend, I gave both the cleavage and the legs an outing just for a bit of a shake up, a bit of a reminder to myself that, despite how differently my mind works, that I do have a girls body, that I deserve to treat myself like one, that beneath the tomboy skin lies a sensitive soul that needs to be found attractive – and that really deep down I am a girl.

Oh and the Boy needs me to look like a hot girl once in a while. And hot I did.

Mwah

Kx

*i’m trying not to worry about the other Google searches – “backstabbing sluts” “how to make a girl fuck happy” “hard fast sex” “drink girl fucking” and “make a girl do anything”.

It’s time for a little more reflection, so here are a set of photos taken on Easter Monday at Kenmore on Loch Tay and The Falls of Moness at Aberfeldy, where Robert Burns wrote the poem ‘The Birks o’ Aberfeldy’. If you don’t know (and i didn’t) ‘Birks’ are Birch Trees. 

The Birks o’ Aberfeldy

Now simmer blinks on flowery braes,
And o’er the crystal streamlet plays;
Come, let us spend the lightsome days,
In the birks of Aberfeldie!

While o’er their heads the hazels hing;
The little birdies blithely sing,
Or lightly flit on wanton wing
In the birks of Aberfeldie!

The braes ascend like lofty wa’s,
The foaming stream, deep-roaring, fa’s,
O’er-hung wi’ fragrant spreading shaws,
The birks of Aberfeldie.

The hoary cliffs are crown’d wi’ flowers,
White o’er the linns the burnie pours,
And, rising, weets wi’ misty showers
The birks of Aberfeldie.

Let Fortune’s gifts at random flee,
They ne’er shall draw a wish frae me;
Supremely blest wi’ love and thee
In the birks of Aberfeldie.

I hope you all had a fab Easter weekend! So, my Easter weekend was blissful, busy but relaxing, alcoholic but healthy. I took in:

• birthday drinks at Isobar (well behaved on my behalf, but full of drunken lunges on others);
• good tapas at a new restaurant in Leith (Tapa – Barra Y Restaurante) with the Boy;
• a party at a recording studio (The Depot) with a band that only played Ryan Adams covers (enjoyable but weird) with an early exit after the Boy mixed his wines and decorated my bathroom;
• a 8km walk down the Water of Leith walkway, through Dean Village and Stockbridge, two of my favourite parts of Edinburgh, with a gorgeous lunch at Circle Cafe;
• sitting in the sun at not one but two bbq’s, the first peppered with more acoustic guitar music from friends (including Ryan Adams and a great cover of Ingrid Bergman by Woody Guthrie);
• and, finally the trip to Kenmore, Loch Tay and Aberfeldy in Perthshire (pics above).

Phew. I think I actually achieved enough for a month, not 4 days, and today it all seems like a bit of a blur.

Kx

Happy Easter everyone! Ok, I know it’s not technically until Sunday, but ill miss it as i’m off work for the next 4 days (excellent). I love how christian holidays are forced on us in this country… anyways, I’m still in a bit of a funk; problems don’t go away over night so I though I’d cheer myself (and you all!) up with a couple of pictures of my new kitten Lily (yes named by the boy after that lily) who will be arriving at chez Smidge in about 3 weeks time.

Im not sure how impressed the current resident cat is going to be with a cheeky wee new one invading his space…

Have an amazing Easter weekend off, roll an egg for me and gorge on chocolate.

Mwah

Kx

Forgive me for any snippy behaviour I might exhibit today; I’m fully aware its PMT, I don’t need to be told for the third time. Right now I’m sitting at my desk itching, fidgiting, sitting like a battery hen reading the driest new policy ever written by the Scottish Government. Time is passing far too slowly and not just because i’m off to visit my new kitten again tonight, nor because I haven’t seen The Boy in 3 days*.

For some reason nothing is getting done, nothing is going in right now, it’s Mañana, Mañana, Mañana. In fact, I actually think that right now i’m stuck on a red light waiting for an inept council official to come and fix it for me. I’ve been sat here so long its way passed the time i should have realised walking was the way forward. But no, im still sitting here.

Recently, i’ve stopped caring about most things; not just my work – I have yet to employ a decorator for my house; I have yet to sort out a gardener; me and the new flatmate have yet to go out for a drink; I haven’t organised his housewarming party. It’s all yet, yet, yet!!

(Easily sorted I guess if I get my brain in gear, get off my ass and do it… sort of like how i’ve failed at going to the gym)

But there is a small niggle in the back of my mind that is telling me that this malaise goes a whole lot deeper than a minor laziness and a desire not to spend money on a house that my ex is going to sell from underneath me in a couple of years time (really, tell me why should I bother?)

Honestly though, i do know the reason; I’m bored. Deep down, bored… I’m sick of waiting for the right time to sell the house so I can get out of this country, i’m sick of waiting for the boy to be old enough to want to move his life to the next level (a kitten is a patch, not a solution, however cute). Relationship wise I cant shake off these negative energies that have been hanging around since I broke up with my ex, I cant stop seething that he’s getting married (or reading about it on facebook) or for some reason feeling dissapointed that a well known blogger is getting his moment in the sun (ok, thats a bit wrong of me, im just jealous of the excitement).

My life isn’t triumphant, full of success and sunshine and promotions at work; its stagnating and crushing instead. I’m not just unsatisfied with my life but completely and utterly over it.

But what is really pissing me off is that I thought i’d finally caught some happy.

But like I said, don’t blame this on PMT.

I warn you.

*and yes i am talking about needing a shag, i’m in no way that needy