Archive | July 2010 RSS feed for this section

Beauty In ‘The Geek’.

27 Jul

I was in the shower a week or so ago (I have returned there since. Stop fretting.) I was having a lovely time. A vision of glowing cleanliness, glistening in suds. I hadn’t yet put in my contact lenses, so I bent down and blindly groped around the charmingly mouldy corners of the shower, looking for the welcoming bristly-ness of the nail brush. I began to scrub away, and then brought my hand and brush nearer to my face so I could see what I was doing. As I squinted to focus the blur in front of me like a vulnerable nocturnal woodland critter dragged out of bed, I yelped in horror.

The brush was full of short, dark, wiry hairs…and now my hands were covered in them. Yes, I am 90% sure that I vigorously rubbed extraneous pubic hairs into my cuticles. I live with six gentlemen. I will never know who they originated from. And part of me thinks this is for the best.

Where am I going with this? I hear you cry. This is just one of the many trials that a person with frankly rubbish eyes has to face on a daily basis. It’s weird to think that since the age of around seven years old, I haven’t ever woken up to be able to instantly look around and see what’s occurring. Well, that’s not including the times I drunkenly pass out neglecting to remove my contact lenses. Or that time that I did a stint with contact lenses which you keep in 24/7 and throw them away at the end of the month… but I happened to get a dodgy piercing around the same time and the subsequent infection from that somehow got in my eye…

And, as you can see with this highly scientific eye diagram- an Eye-agram if you will, the infection then nestled all nice and warm inside my eye. The permanent cover of the continual contact lens was like keeping tomatoes toasty inside a greenhouse. Well, these vicious squatters started to kick the crap out of the inside of my poor peeper and I now have a permanent scar on my cornea (which I think is pretty cool) from where it had started to melt. Yes, MELT. Nobody had ever had such a horrific experience with melting. Well, not including the Wicked Witch of The West.

But eye trauma aside, those of us that are visually challenged have, for decades, been on the run from the negative stereotypes that go hand in hand with needing to wear glasses. I have always wondered why it is that glasses apparently makes for being a ‘geek’. But then again I have always hung my head in my hands when about 99% of people that fall into the contemptible brand of nerdish territory all do seem to wear them. Severely letting my cause for looking cool in spectacles down.

You know the sort... the ones that are condescending in a way you feel like they may push you to say something nasty to them in pure retaliation? There are sweet, harmless ones too though... the ones that quietly get on with their eccentric and socially stunting pastimes. But regardless... they really all do wear glasses. Sigh.

Is it some kind of freakish coincidence? Do all clever people have bad eyes? If so I would like you all to know right now that I can’t even see the end of my nose without my glasses. Yep…

It was the fear of the geek-branding that made me miserable about glasses as a kid. Not at first, mind. I remember when I initially had to get them actually. I was in class 3P of ‘Junior School’ and I thought it was a most excellent thing at the time as I had a note to hand to Miss Pearce notifying her of my absence that afternoon because of an appointment with the optician. Little did I know that the one blissful afternoon I enjoyed avoiding P.E. would bear a heavy price of a ticket to derogatory stereotyping through into my adolescence.

This is myself and my brother (sorry, Jack) circa 1995. My first pair in what was going to be a long line of glasses. I remember not minding my selection at the time. And do you know why? I was tricked. I was tricked into thinking they were fashionably viable because of a 2x2 millimetre illustration of Snoopy that was etched on the edge of the right arm. Nobody could see it. I certainly couldn't. Ahh well, we live and learn.

I’ve made it sound like I was horrendously bullied throughout my childhood. I think I may have slipped into ‘X-Factor’ sob story moment there erroneously. I wasn’t bullied. There were, of course, a few unkind boys here and there that would call me ‘boff’ which I frustratingly let bother me at the time. What is it about kids thinking it is cripplingly uncool to be intelligent? Yes, I was a boff! I wish I was now. God, I wish I could go back fifteen years and give little me a pep talk …

“You are clever, enjoy it while it lasts.

You are startlingly tall compared to your peers; in a few years you will be wearing heels hoping for more.

In a couple of years you will sprout enormous boobs a lot earlier than all the other girls around you. It is not a curse. It is the beginning of a very beautiful relationship. Fifteen years in the future you will be using them bad boys to get men to do what you want and get drinks before others. So don’t panic.”

And then I would ruffle little me’s hair and tell me to ignore that wretched saying that made me lose sleep at night in my early teens ‘Boys don’t make passes at girls wearing glasses’. I can thoroughly vouch that little Lucy will do alright for herself.  Ahem.

So jump forward fifteen years and now, very confusingly, apparently it’s exceptionally cool to be wearing glasses?

I would like to take the time to point out that I got these BEFORE they were cool, yeah? Got that? I'm within my rights to stake a claim on glasses trends after my years of service. So there.

So much so in fact that I now get infuriated by berks who wear pretend ones. They weren’t there at the beginning, when times were tough, when the insult blitz was a-raging. And now they want to jump on the bandwagon? Pah! The fickle folly of youth. I have to say that now I am a real person that has shed the skin of insecurity like a super-chic snake, I thoroughly love my glasses.  I suppose they fit in to the recent trend of ‘geek chic’. Golly. Who would have ever thought there could ever be such a thing.

So yes, glasses are something to not shy away from. They’re endearing. I find certain chaps look amazingly hot in them. Perhaps to a point where its a bit of a fetish…? They make you look clever even if you’re not. And you can feign sexiness through the ‘mucky secretary’ look. And best of all, you get to play with those camera machines in Specsavers.

That's an afternoon of fun right there.

‘Coolest Things On The Planet’… Coolest Things on The Schmanet.

26 Jul

In Saturday’s copy of The Sun, (yes, I read The Sun. A literary heavyweight with all the boobs, football and celebrity tittle-tattle you should ever need for 20p.) there was an article detailing the ‘100 Coolest Things On The Planet’, as voted for by a poll of 3,000 British folk. Now. I think the polling company just trained up a special sheepdog to round up the country’s dregs into a pen for goons for questioning… you know… ‘comedy’ rejects from ‘The X Factor’, the ‘troubled’ stars of ‘The Jeremy Kyle Show’ and the wretches that sit at the back of the bus with their tinny drum n’ bass straining the speakers of their stolen mobile phones. The list makes for incredibly depressing reading for the living, breathing, decent layman. One that appreciates the rich tapestry of history, the beauty of world cultures, the everyday miracles gifted to us by mother nature.

The Top Ten is as follows:

1. Iphone

2. Apple

3. The Internet

4. Ipod

5. Aston Martin DB9

6. Cadbury’s Chocolate

7. Sky+

8. Ebay

9. Mobile Phones

10. Facebook

It’s agonising reading isn’t it. Apparently the only ‘cool’ things we have to live for are gadgets. Confectionery gave it a go by sneaking in the top ten, Cadbury reppin’ it for his chocolate homeboys, but essentially it seems the only cool things in the world are gadgets (with ‘Apple’ as King Of The Universe) .  A few other highlights …

'Friends' are in at Number 16. I do sort of hope they mean the rapidly dating American sitcom. Because if they are willing to put 'friends', as in the life companions to share memories and laughter with after 'Ipad' in at Number 15, then it is worse than I thought.

Stonehenge, the prehistoric monument that remains to be one of the most famous sites in the world, baffling archaeologists for hundreds of years, comes in at Number 44. Just missing out on the Number 43 slot. Losing to 'Sex And The City'.

In at 69 ('lol') is the Spitfire. The short-range, high-performance interceptor aircraft that contributed to the success of the allied forces during World War Two, and helped ensure our freedom that we have the privilege of having today. It lies in between Beyonce at 68 and The Fonz at 70.

So. In an act of defiance against this utterly heinous list of what apparently THE COOLEST things planet earth has to offer, I have taken the liberty to construct a superior and more accurate list. A truer list. A more worthy list of the title ‘Cool’.

Here is ‘The Top Five List of Amazing Super Coolness That Is Utterly Taken For Granted’.

5. Daylight

You know, it really is such a useful thing. It’s something that we can assume will be there to wake up to in the morning. It allows for lovely strolls admiring nature. It lights the way on our way to the supermarket, it feeds the plants, it means I fall over slightly less than I otherwise would. People sometimes get real-life depression from not having enough of it, you know. It can make or break the sales of houses sometimes… ‘ooh yes, its very light and airy’ . Its allowed us to look cool in sunglasses for decades and invented sunbathing for us. Basically, it’s damn good. I think the people that live in them countries where it’s dark for 6 months of the year will tell you how much we take it for granted. Yep.

4. Wheels

It’s even been shoved out of the limelight by baked goods. ‘It’s the best thing since sliced bread’…we don’t need sliced bread. Those are just the words of a slothful and/or breadknifeless fool. No, it should be the best thing since the wheel. The archetypal invention. Only at risk of losing that title to fire, which, to be fair, is pretty good. Flames and that. Heating us and decorating hot rods for years. But no, think about how much we take this simplest of inventions for granted. We’d be nowhere without the wheel. Quite literally- it’d be a right hassle trekking everywhere on foot. The ones off wagons inspired a delicious mallow-based biscuit. And as my uncle pointed out the other day- it’s horrendous to think of a time before they thought to put wheels on suitcases… but it did happen. Shudder. Wheels are supremely cool.

3. Knees

It was my sudden Damascus-esque epiphany about the sheer incredible nature of knees that inspired me to think of other things we take for granted. I was idly gazing from the window of my bus when my eyes rested on the legs of a young lady. In the least smutty, voyeuristic way possible. I was just watching her walk and I just realised how clever it is for our legs to have inbuilt little hinges to allow us to move. Our knees will have made Mr Stair a millionaire with his invention that would never have worked without them. They have kept the porn industry afloat with their scenes having access to variety, which I hear is the spice of life. They have provided a perfect weapon for girlfriends to threaten their boyfriends with for millennia. They are a genius step for anatomy. Very, very cool. Thanks, knees.

2.  Not having  earache or toothache

Now, this is one that really is forever taken for granted. You can never really remember how excrutiating either of these are after it’s gone. But when it does first go, you have a short period of time where you vow that you will be eternally grateful as feel like you’re on a beach at the edge of heaven and the cool frothy waters of bliss are teasingly lapping at your bare, ecstatic toes. You thank everything from the stars to the A-Z of religious deities that it is no longer afflicting you.  But then, as time goes by, you take it for granted again. Your lovely pain-free mouth. Your perfectly happy eardrums. Take a second to think back to the all consuming agony of your last bout of tooth or ear ache. And now take a moment to appreciate the fact it aint there now. Pretty cool, wouldn’t you say….?

1. Toilets

I’m a girl that’s all about the simple pleasures in life. If I had time to have extended this to a top ten you may have been bamboozled by some of my other observations of coolness, before wholeheartedly agreeing. There are so many amazing things all around us that we forget about.The toilet is a marvel. Maybe I only really began to fully appreciate it after going camping for the first time, on safari in Africa, where I was exposed to the most extreme kind of long-drop imaginable. To be fair, the title ‘long drop’ was an illusion of grandeur. After that, the precious khazi will forever seem to be a close ally, a trusted and reliable friend. It’s been there for me after that kebab riddled with hygienic barbarism. It’s seen millions of goldfish across the world off to that big tank in the sky. And it’s taken so much crap from us over the years (ha ha ho ho.) Toilets the world over should have their time to be recognised, because just imagine the hideous world without them. Toilets, you are, really rather cool. Cooler than an Iphone. There are only so many ‘apps’ they can make. I don’t think your job is ever going to be threatened.

Chronicles of a Developing Spinster: Chapter One, ‘The Ideal Man’.

16 Jul

A lot of the features are already in place. I love cats. I have a growing collection of chinaware, some also featuring cats, which I dust. I must have at least… twenty… if not more, silk scarves. I like charity shops. I complain about the prices of basic groceries. I have a disastrous track record with gentlemen. So, I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I may be a spinster in training. Don’t assume I’m just being an awful pessimist here, I hold out hope for being the ‘old dear’ style rather than some monstrous  mothballed relic a la ‘Miss Haversham’ type. I don’t want the local youths to egg my house and mock my cats and draw Hitler taches on my garden gnomes and that.

So… as a sub-feature of this whole blogging lark I thought I’d just curveball the occasional smattering of titbits concerning the gossip and experiences from my life of love. Howzat? Rhetorical question, that. If you don’t like it, tough. It’s happening. And I’ve always wanted to construct a written something that could use the word ‘Chronicles’ in the title. Riddick, Narnia… ‘THE book of’… they’ve all done pretty well for themselves in the world of culture.

So!

I’m a pretty romantic individual. Apparently its etched into my being according to my star sign. Lets see here….

Libra

THE SCALES is the sign of the diplomat and the ditherer

Libra

It's uncanny... I even use scales when I make cakes... 'OMG!'

Falling in love comes naturally to Librans, whose reason for living centres upon happy and enduring relationships. A life without love is just not worth contemplating, Libra can not function without someone special, for they long for emotional security. Problems arise when the reality does not match the ideal, and a complete inability to make a binding decision about relationships, (or anything else for that matter).

The bright side
Libra is easy going, charming and pleasant, all relationships are important to Libra, this sign simply can not do without other people, and makes an excellent party host. People like being around Librans…they can, if they wish, charm the birds from the trees!

Charming, easy going, romantic, diplomatic, idealistic, refined, in love with love.

Yeah alright… I admit I only really pay attention to my star sign because it makes me sound super amazingly cool. Even my ‘bad points’ make me sound like a sexy rock n’ roller; ‘indecisive, resentful, frivolous, changeable, flirtatious, easily influenced, highly susceptible to flattery.’ The stars have made it official. I am swell. Thankyou intangible celestial body. I owe you a pint.

They talk sense though. I think I do have romanticised ideals. I was very much a ‘Disney’ child, and as much as even back then I

Arthur

PHWWWWWOOOOAR... no, it wasn't his animal-ness I was into I swear. It was more for his attitude and body language. Saying that even he was a bit of a tosser to the lady squirrel. I guess all men really are the same... grrr.

wasn’t into the clean-cut looks of Prince Phillip in ‘Sleeping Beauty’ or Eric in ‘The Little Mermaid’, I still clasped my hands and let outa girlish sigh wishing that one day I would have someone come along and kick the crap out of a dragon cos they thought I was hot. I say I didn’t fancy those chaps… but have I ever shared with you the fact that I sort of had a crush on Arthur in ‘The Sword in The Stone’… but only when he’s a squirrel? Oh, well I have now. Ahem.

I think this has resulted in me looking for a someone to fit the bill of perfection which frankly, doesn’t look like it’s going to happen. Or the other theory is that I am just looking far too hard… my means and methods for man-hunting will be discussed in a later chapter. I have made that sound like I am a Bear Grylls of sexual compatibility. I like it. I will only settle for prime time slots and a 6-figure fee Ithankyouverymuch dear licence payers. Although, with such an attitude I shall probably become unstuck and I shall get a ‘why oh why oh why’ prefixed complaint on BBC ‘Points of View’. Ooh… a little unrelated, but I can’t remember who I was mulling it over with… where we were discussing the strange ‘blah blah boobity ba ba blah blah’ theme tune. I started singing it and got a stern look of concern. It really is like that… see….

Back to topic… so yes I feel I need to drop my ideals of a man and take them on case by case. For example, my specific lustings for style, tattoos, height and the ability to make me laugh til I feel like my tummy will burst like that scene in ‘Alien’ (in a more pleasant way. Maybe blamange, glitter and Pokemon will tumble out.) We can hold out for the best but I don’t think its worth the effort or the tears. Of course we want them to be gorgeous, attentive, passionate, thoughtful, sexy… basically like this guy…

I got shown this clip of ‘Old Spice Guy’ a few months ago and loved it. Turns out everyone else does too. He has his own twitter and according to a fellow wordpress blogger, Lovelyandroid, he has spent time making hundreds and hundreds of replies  on youtube to people that have been asking him questions. All of them making me have kicky feet of joy and making me fall a little bit in love  with each one I watched. Here’s a couple of my favourites…

On Twitter, @bradkeys wrote “@OldSpice If you had only 5 minutes left to live, how would you spend it?”

On Facebook, April Johnson Allen wrote “Do you take calls from fans or just calls from the wild?”

And… I did an actual ‘lol’ at this…On Twitter, @mrskutcher (Demi Moore) wrote “Old Spice Guy- I want a special video response wow!!!!”

Yeah… I’m definitely feeling a surge of estrogen inside me. A tsunami of love for this caricature of a man. I even found this page which allowed me to create a voicemail message sparkling with the masculine tones of this Adonis. I do hope I don’t get any important or serious phonecalls.

Maybe with a combination of Old Spice Guy and an internet bookmark on the Ann Summers website I can live without my ‘ideal man’. For just a little bit longer.

Babblings of a Bibulous Twerp.

15 Jul

I reach out to you from what may very well become my death-bed. The arm I reach out with resembles the rotting claw like limb that pops up from the grave to try and scare you in a film… but you know its going to happen…but you still jump anyway and it makes you cross with yourself. I look grim is what I’m getting at. It wasn’t going to be like this. It was one of those situations where you say you’re going to head out for just one or two and then before you know it those little drinks multiply quicker than a Gremlin in a swimming pool.

In those first waking moments when you realise how grubby you feel, the first thing that drifted into my head was my biology lessons with Mrs Jenkins when I was about 15. I thought about the diagrams discussing the make up of cells. It always stuck in my mind because that was where I learnt of the words ‘turgid’ and ‘flaccid’ and my relationship with giggling at them began. But this morning I was just thinking about all the nasty alcohol pieces living it up in my bloodstream. They’re probably making a total mess of the place. They’re like gatecrashers at a party… the sort that still think throwing toilet roll about is hilarious and will probably sneak into your room and cross dress in your clothes ‘as a laugh’. Then they will be sick into your favourite shoes and pass out after reading aloud extracts of your diary, unfortunately having already reached the parts about your purchases from Ann Summers and that time you did a poo in a flowerpot. What swine. Then I remembered the diagrams of cells doing that whole osmosis thing and (I have googled this to assure myself that it aint possible) I imagined all of these wretched alcohol chaps laying siege to every cell and ransacking them. My already aching head did not need such added vexation.

Its a bit like that scene in 'Return of The King'. Them little green nice cell blobs don't stand a chance. They're all old men and young boys that shouldn't be fighting... they only have rudimentary insufficient weaponry and Legolas and Gimli are busy having a competition rather than fighting properly expressly to add a comic element to the film... That cell membrane don't look sturdy at all and the Alcohol Tribe have come with hooks on rope and ladders and catapults... They need a cellular equivalent of a surprise not-dead Gandalf to save the day. A white blood cell? I remember in my cell learnings that he was always like the don of the cell world. White Cell! I choose you!!!

I feel like a withered old hag. I had the textbook definition of beer-mouth. I’m going to go as far to say that I was able to scrape a bit of hangover from me palate. Looked like something that Lucifer would blow into his fiery hanky. I think the main problem, apart from all the booze I drank, was the fact I was a silly and didn’t drink any real drink when I got in before bed. The kitchen always feels like a million miles away when you first open your crispy eyes to the first light of day (especially when you discover that you disintegrated into sleep completely naked with the curtains wide open. In your ground floor front-of-house bedroom. In a house that’s on one of the busiest bus routes in the UK. Anyone on a top deck playing my own favourite game, ‘Nosy-a-peek-in-strangers-windows’ would have probably got a bit of a surprise. I do tend to kick the bed covers off. Particularly during my exhaustingly vivid booze dreams.) You tend to lie there picturing the tap. The glorious sink that you nearly puked into last night. The giver of life. That deliciously soothing water. But the thought of moving is hideous. You’ve not built yourself to even sit up yet.

I thankfully didn’t have to deal with this added issue this morning. I had a bottle of Vitamin Water in arm’s reach of the bed left over from my haul that they delivered to my house. FOR FREE! Yeah they’re nice like that. Even 50 Cent likes them. Well, he’s probably paid to… but still. Who’s gonna deny Fiddy?

Karma also got me good and proper with a true and literal example of ‘you snooze you lose’ as it turns out that according to their Twitter, they’re giving away three free iPads if you go on a Vitamin Water treasure hunt… and they were in Manchester today. Sob. I might have fought through the pain to play if I had known. However, the bottle you needed to find was located at Old Trafford. I don’t think even an offer of a free iPad could lure me there.

So, plan for the rest of the day. First, wash. Yes, I am still in my nasty grubby nest sharing my nasty grubbiness with you. Nastily and grubbily. I have already had my beer poo. Oh, don’t look at me like that. You can probably tell I am quite an open person and its a fact; there is nothing better for putting you on the road to recovery than that first trip to the water closet after a night’s heavy drinking. It’s literally flushing the pain away. I have always dabbled with the thought of getting a colonic irrigation.  Are they expensive? I don’t know… hello, Google old friend. I heard that there’s years and years worth of nastiness all clogged up inside you. It must feel lovely to be all empty. Only in the physical, not emotional sense. One thing I have always wondered though, is why do they make the tubes clear? I don’t think I’d actually like to see what’s coming out, and I fear nausea would mean I’d start emptying out through the other end too.

I’ve gone too far. I’m sorry. I feel like the social elephant man of the blogging world.

Heartbreak.

14 Jul

So, just over a month ago I embarked on a very intense and all consuming relationship. I fell totally in love. It was such a wonderful month. I couldn’t think of anything else. For the first two weeks I was at it three times a day. There was so much excitement, so much passion, there would be little surprises to keep me on my toes. There were only a handful of occasions that I missed out on the opportunity to spend time together and that’s because of work. I did consider pulling a sickie once or twice. I didn’t eat regularly, I neglected friends, some days I would do my make up in only ten minutes rather than the standard minimum of twenty five. I would leap out of bed early every day to make sure I didn’t miss a minute of being together. Those first two weeks this all-encompassing affair would prevent me from doing anything else freely. I planned my time around my beau.

But then things changed. The three times a day petered out to just two, then, to my horror I had to adjust to having entire days without. My infatuation and such heavy involvement in this heart-wrenching love affair made this too much to bear. He did come back. But I only got to see him once a day… and not for very long at all. All of my spare time was spent waiting, wanting to be reunited again. Then last weekend after the buildup of emotion and my free-fall to the realm of obsession, it was all over. He left me. World Cup 2010 is over.

I am heartbroken.

Part of me feels that the emotional impact of that song is somewhat undermined by the truly bemusing series of images they flash in front of your eyes… perhaps a tactic to baffle the heartbroken out of their misery.

I know I’m just in that break up stage where you can’t believe its happened. Its all a bit surreal and you feel a bit numb. You can’t really take it all in and you feel a little dazed like waking from some kind of hideous dream. I found myself buying two-for-one Ben & Jerry’s in Sainsburys this week. Obviously this is never a bad thing, but ’tis surely the sign of a broken heart. Or someone who just has a hankering for ‘Phish Food’.

My room is now in some kind of order at least. It took a while getting round to it. I’ve got clean underwear and I combed my hair. I just let these things slide I was so blinded by all the endless, endless football. I can’t even remember the last time I clipped my toenails. In fact I was playing with them yesterday and they are really rather claw like. I nearly tore through my leggings… yes, leggings, when i misjudged the location of the leg-hole.  Something about long fingernails on men make me feel physically sick. I was sat at the back of a Magic Bus the other evening watching a tall, slight man with a long pinched face and shoulder-length grey frizzy hair…hair that was so dry it could be used for kindling… thumb a cigarette he drew from his shirt pocket. He had such long fingernails that his hands naturally rested in feminine positions. I heaved a bit. Then when he began to claw through his awful scraggly hair with them and I think my facial expressions went on socially unacceptable auto-pilot. To cut a long story short, he was one of them that looked like the caricature of a sex pest.

I'm not talking as bad as this... I don't think he would be able to get his bus fare from his pockets. I don't understand this. Nothing can ever get done surely? If we were all like you, sir, the world would fall apart. He looks part man, part tree. Part pasta.

And I’m not talking like this either…

Bit less stabby.

I’m talking like this….

I don't know why but this goes right through me. Not in the literal sense like Freddy's would, but in the hideous cringe sense.

I was considering whether nor not I would share what just happened in the locating of this picture through the simple search of ‘man with long fingernails’. But what I discovered was just too weird not to share.

There is a site called ‘Long Unpolished Fingernails on Men: This is a positive website about (men with) long, unpolished fingernails, and people liking long, unpolished nails on men.’   http://nails.hyperphp.com/

There is an ‘images’ section, where gentlemen (like ‘Hans’ pictured above) upload photographs of their nails in various poses, holding oranges, stationery, in front of a boot, maybe in fetish wear; this is all detailed in the running ‘News’ feed on the main page. But even better there is a steamy ‘Stories’ section where you have the chance to read some of the following…

The System Administrator by Matthew
I’m at work as a computer expert and have to fix a software-problem during off-hours. It looks like it’s going to be a lonely, boring night, untill the local system administrator turns out to have longer nails.

The Fight by Matthew
Someone gets killed for being gay and I am the prime suspect. I meet the long-fingernailed friend of the deceased and he swears he wants to use his nails on the killers.

The Amsterdam Man by Matthew
I’m dressed in jeans wearing my own fake long fingernails and meet someone into leather and having long fingernails too.

Matthew sure has been a busy boy. I don’t know how he would manage so much typing with his long nails. He better actually have these long nails he keeps banging on about or I will feel thoroughly cheated by the fickle veil of fiction.

Just to add the the thoroughly odd corner of the internet I had found myself in, it was exacerbated tenfold by a pop-up I hadn’t realised had appeared which automatically played a video of a German chef detailing how to make Chocolate Mountains in his native tongue with a mildly creepy translator voice-over running over the top, talking about softened gelatine, bain marie’s, shaved almonds and whipped cream. I couldn’t work out where these voices were coming from on such a strange website. Deliciousness undermined by peculiarity.

This has been the ultimate digression.

To summarise, I am a bit football-less and sad. I was going to go onto the wider scope of my heartbreak and go into the fact that I have kicked the internet dating habit. I have some stories to tell. But they can wait til next time. It might end up becoming a bit Bradshaw but I’m sorry. I’ve gone awfully embittered over matters of the heart at late, not helped with each time I see someone from my year at school has got married or is having a kid or their fourth year anniversary or something. I will try and serve up what would essentially be a horribly whiny girly topic in the most rugged way possible. Like humus made from gravel.