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
right here right now
There are a million princesses out there and not enough like you for boys like me
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”.
right here right now
Tell me do you think itd be all right If I could just crash here tonight
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