Monday, 18 April 2011

papa don't preach

Something you should know about me:

I am a Daddy's girl.  Everyone who knows me, will pick up on the fact, very soon into conversation that I hold my Pops in very high esteem.  Everything I know, I owe to my Dad.  He emphasised the importance of learning and equipped me will the skills to find and critically analyse information.  Because he did shift work, my Dad was the parent that came on school trips in primary school (where everyone thought he was my older brother - but his secret stash of youth fountain water is another story entirely).  I once really upset my Mum, by declaring that "Daddy's are the best because they do things with you" and to this day she hasn't let me forget it!  

He is also my physical inspiration.  Blessed with good genes that convert excess food to heat not fat, he finds it near impossible to put on weight, but he isn't lazy.  His upper body strength even when he isn't training is phenomenal.

He can do this:

Yeah watch it - and feel the burden of inadequacy (and reluctant admiration and grudging inspiration) that comes from having a father that is physically fitter at forty-*ahem* than you will ever be!  He can fix pretty much anything, occasionally he reads instruction manuals, but not often.  I remember the slug-like keloid scar on his arm that he earned putting together the fitted kitchen in the house I grew up in.  To be completely honest, he is probably the reason most guys don't live up to my expectations - they definitely broke the mould when they made him.

Is he perfect?  Ha! Far from it, but who in life is?  The two flaws that I believe destroyed our relationship when I was a teenager, controlling and patronising behaviour, are funnily enough two flaws that I see in myself today.  They say you become your parents but I guess I was expecting my Mother's influence to weigh-in a little more.  I find his well worn parenting phrases in my mouth often (some of which I am sure he stole from Furious Styles - but apparently this wasn't intentional).  He is also solider for Patriarchy which, as I am an intern for Feminism, leads us to disagree...

Wednesday, 6 April 2011

sunshine in greenwich park

Today I had a perfect day.

I spent the morning studying and watching Archer - animated series that is just WRONG! Get on it if you aren't already! Thanks for the heads up my friend. Also had some issues with some meat - but the less said about that the better.

But today was a B-E-A-utiful day.  The sky was cerulean, the sun was actually warming the world for the first time this year, and since I had a rare day off there was no way that I wasn't going to enjoy it.

So I took my self down to Greenwich (one of (if not) my favourite places in London) and sat in the park by the lake soaking up the sun. I'm still as pale as ever, but I'd like to think I have a glow, and I hope it lasts at least until tomorrow.

I stayed in the park until the sun started to set, then walked over to Ben and Jerry's for a scoop of double chocolate fudge brownie *droooooool* but it was closed! Yep, I didn't get my ice-cream, but today was still perfect.

So I thought I share some of the music that made today special - and if you had a sucky day in an office somewhere I hope these songs bring a lil bit of my perfect day to you.

brokey mcpoverty

Studenthood begets brokeness

Brokeness begets stupidity

Stupidity begets hoping the meat that was frozen and defrosted and refrozen when I left the freezer door open accidently, will still be edible and cooking it up in a pot to check.

Not sure I actually want to eat it though - are times really that hard?

internet dating - a eulogy

To be completely and 100% honest, I have been involved in some form of internet dating since the age of 17.  Blackpeeps, MSN and Yahoo messenger, Face-pic, Hi5, Myspace and even POF.  I am currently single and I have never been in a relationship with a guy I have met on-line.  I have made a couple good friends who I am very grateful to have in my life, and I have made some stupid mistakes that lead me to count myself lucky that I am not one of any number of negative statistics.  

What was my stupidest moment?  

On meeting The DJ for the first time in person (after we had been talking on and off for about a year), I jumped into his car (no note of the registration number, no destination to text to a well meaning friend) late at night and was whisked to his home in that borough that claims to be part of South London.  Luckily I was wined and dined and returned home at my request.  He was a perfect gentleman.  The outcome could so easily have been very different.

My excuse:
Restricted childhoods create reckless individuals unable to adequately process risk - read "book smart, street stupid".

My corroborating evidence:
The vast number of Asian girls who go into halls in the first year of university and lose their damn minds to cheap alcohol (racial stereotyping? yes - but my blog, my rules!)

Anyway so I've come to the conclusion (after 8 years - I am really THAT slow) that internet dating does not work for me.  At ALL!

I just can't take it seriously.  I can't get excited about being written to by a profile picture and some well meaning text.  Trusting someone to accurately describe themselves online is like trusting homeopaths to put an accurate description of the contents of their remedy on the jar (read - placebo).  

The men are cheesy.   Many lack shame.  I have been messaged on more than one occasion by men older than my (grand)dad.  They tend to tell me that age is nothing but a number.  I tend to block them.

My flighty Gemini tendencies mean I get excited when a guy with hot pictures messages me, but then illiteracy and text speak turns me right off.  Is it too much to ask for, a sexy guy that reads? That knows that slang isn't appropriate for all situations? 

Ah who am I kidding, He could be Morris Chestnut with a personal library (*drools*, *daydreams about the many ways Morris and I would enjoy that library*, *drools some more*, *regains focus*, *ahem*) if the chemistry, physical attraction and compatibility aren't there then what's the point? And those are the things that I find impossible to judge online.  Which means I usually don't give a damn about meeting up.  Which generally defeats the entire purpose.

So on that note I pledge my allegiance to traditional face-to-face methods of meeting and greeting, and hereby declare my current POF page closed until further notice.  Internet dating will only be reattempted:

1) If my biological clock ever makes an appearance
2) If the pickings in Banbury are slim-to-none
3) If I get bored while studying and require some help with my procrastination.


Tuesday, 5 April 2011


"Studying" (and yes the quotation marks are intentional and informative) tends to form the bulk of my existence.  The thought is depressing.  But in the past 4 years every person in my life has told me...

..."It will all be worth it"

Bleugh! - clearly I am a slave to instant gratification because that well meaning platitude does nothing but irritate.

It is now 2 months until my exams.  The final exams.  The ones that will determine if my lazy, work shy attitude and perpetual lack of attendance have had any lasting effect on my ability to drill teeth (or pull them out - which is infinitely more satisfying).

I actually have nothing to say right now, this is just another procrastination attempt that I thought I would share with my reader (singular - also intentional - you know who you are my darling!)

Life updates:

I have a J-O-B! Which is obviously conditional on passing my exams and obtaining or qualification - or I would probably just go now. This j-o-b is in a country town called Banbury, seriously, the epitome of middle England.  My dental practice is in a grade 2 listed building near Banbury Cross (and if that sounds familiar, go back to your book of nursery rhymes)

Following on from that I have handed in my notice to my typing gig in the Palace - ecstatic about that.  It will free up a lot of time.  And recently it hasn't been pulling in the big bucks like it used to.  My last day is next friday and I will be attending for a lil Krispy Kreme doughnut party (going out in style).

My little (significantly taller than I) brother is turning 16 in a couple of weeks.  Six-freaking-teen! I don't even know how to process that in any useful way.  In my head he is still a lil fat-cheeked ball of fun (he'll never read this, it's okay), but the facts show that he is fast usurping my "golden child" reign.  He volunteers, he Dukes of Edinburghs, he Wu Shu Kwans, he gets straight As, and he has great skin.  He's lucky we are related and the bonds of siblinghood are strong or I would be plotting his downfall as we speak.

I hate my flat.  This antipathy was born of searching for flats in Banbury (see above for reasons) and realising that for what I am currently paying, I could be living in a 2 bed, 2 bath, top floor flat, rather than the box I'm in right now. London weighting is a joke.  It's hardly as if I am paying for location.  On leaving my flat on the way to work recently I was confronted by dried blood speckles tracing a route to my bus stop - nice.  You may call me an ungrateful bitch but while I appreciate the many benefits of living alone in London, I will fight for my right to bitch about the price.