Single V Taken

The side you take for this battle explains so much about you. Whether your fellow comrades in arms are pro-pringle or anti-single, the ongoing battle between relationships and the (arguably much more fun) alternative raises battle strategy questions from both trenches.  

Iiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnn thhhheeeee reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed cornerrrrrrrrrr...

We have the sickly variety of 'spoken for' saps.

If you are reading this, then it is not possible that you fall under this category, as it signifies that you have some semblance of a life outside of nussling your nose in your partners' armpit. These are the kind of people who's “Nah, I think I'm just gunna have a quiet one in with the Mrs/boyf” default response to any social invitation will make you feel more nauseous than an Embarrassing Bodies repeat after a shameful week-old Krispy Kreme consumption (queue all the bitter single ladies to join me in a shameful knowing head bow).

But doughnut fear! (See what I did there?) Codependency is an illness that, though not always terminal, can often lead to acute friendlessness when left untreated.

Here's how to spot the symptoms...

1. If you check in at Nandos with your partner more than once a week.

2. If you and your partner exercise together.

3. If you end each night listening to a complete break down of everything your other half ate that day.

4. If you take mirror pictures with your partner.

5. If you spend every minute of your day together and then still have a weekly 'date night'.

6. If you don't remember the last time you weren't both in matching joggers.

7. If you photograph and publicise all the food that one of you has ever cooked for the other.

8. If you (miraculously) agree to attend a social event and then spend the whole night talking to each other in the corner (probably about how much you wish you were back on the sofa in your his&her joggers watching Great British Bake Off).

9. If you have regular conversations about furniture and your future baby names.

10. If it has become physically impossible for you to stay awake any later than 11pm.

11. If your partner is tagged in the last 10 things you posted to Facebook.

12. Or if one of you actually starts shitting what the other has eaten.

If you find yourself suffering with any or (God help you) all of the above, then please seek immediate treatment in the form of 'stop being so fucking pathetic' pills (two a day should be sufficient until symptoms subside) or alternatively, purchasing an over the counter 'life' from any local chemist-- with any luck they might have a 'get some friends free with your purchase' special offer on.

HOWEVER

Iiiiiinnnnnnnnnn thhhhhhheeeeeeee bluuuuuuuuuuuueeeeeeeee cornerrrrrrrr...

YOU people. You people who smugly enjoyed the previous description so much. You are trouble and you know it! You scallywags who play the field and swan about making people feed sugar cubes to your high horses because 'being affectionate is for gays'. You people will undoubtedly become what you hate so much one day, its nature I'm afraid. After one too many bad bouts of chlamydia and an ever increasingly judgemental glare from the receptionist at your local sexual health clinic, you will turn to the dark soppy side of life. But until then, we know you as the people who resent your friends' partners who so selfishly stole them away from you. How dare your best mate skip a fortnight in Magaluf because they're saving up for a mortgage with the other half?! You beautifully confident and secretly lonely people who believe unalterably that your youth should be spent bent over a different chest of drawers or with a new pair of thighs wrapped around your face each week. Sure, it has its benefits...

1. Zero drama.

2. Morning star-fishing ability.

3. Much more time to socialise.

4. More booze money.

5. Nobody telling you what not to wear.

6. Significantly less judgement from your pillow than from a potential partner with regards to morning breath.

7. Nobody judging your alcohol intake and saying things like "haven't you had enough?"

8. ...and did I mention the no drama thing?!

The money you spend on nights out and condoms each year would just about cover a years worth of meals, gifts and cinema trips with any hypothetical girlfriend or boyfriend, and are probably a lot more fun, lets be honest! But who are you kidding?-- you're all desperate for cuddles.

The pattern you may be gauging here is that there doesn't seem to be a happy medium. A 'No Man's Land' between the two conflicting ideals. Sure, the soldiers can switch sides whenever they please-- we've all got that one friend that parties too hard one minute and then falls in love too fast the next (AKA the one on the battlefield that accidentally keeps shooting themselves in the leg...classic Daddy issues), but there is never going to be a definitive winner. 

There are, of course, the desperate exceptions: the bitterly single and seeking, or the shackled shacked-up pining for freedom, but neither of those sound all that appealing either. 

Are there any winners out there? Until we find a middle ground, I'll be avoiding the landmines just the same as the rest of you! Our Grandparents never had to deal with this shit #21stCenturyProblems

"The grass is always greener on the other side..."--Maybe we should all be a bit more ambitious and stop making being in a really green field our main objective in life...

Women; Harlots, Hair and Hormones...

Women

This post is one of much controversy, folks. Today is the day I brawl with the age old questions regarding women; why they do the shit they do.

A wise, insightful male once stated a fact that has become something of an acknowledged explanation for his fellow men to understand our kind: "Bitches be cray."

The "cray" that emulates from said "bitches" takes on endless forms that forever break and remould the boundaries of acceptability within society. However, whoever defined women as being more confusing than deciphering  Justin Bieber’s ever questioned sexual preference was a top notch fool. We are such simple creatures; stroking our hair and telling us we’re pretty will just about diffuse any gritty female related situation you find yourselves in. Another unsettling similarity we share with the common canine is that we want chocolate when we shouldn’t have it. Chocolate; known by all women as God’s apology for forcing us to regularly menstruate and also the reason I personally have no need for handbags, choosing instead to hide my belongings within my many rolls of flab. Sadly though, those around us when we are denied (or overindulge in) the sweet nectar will suffer greatly from our desperate craving induced mood swings and subsequently the self-loathing ‘I’m so fat!’ groans that immediately follow its animalistic devouring.

Tip for all you enduring men: Always keep a Galaxy stash and run far away after distribution. Be she Mum, girlfriend or wife, she will have always had a crush on Willy Wonka due entirely to his ability to distribute chocolate. She’ll never love you more than when you adopt this role for her (top hat and cane optional). Subsequently, when we ask you afterwards if our ass looks big in our new midi-dress, try to avoid giving us a look that implies our behind has the potential to take over the world with its sheer mass and you’ll be just fine.

We ladies have many shared weaknesses. We would make for the worst superheroes, with our kryptonite being as simple as a man in a suit or a teacup pig, and our heroic catchphrase being something along the lines of ‘So badass, God had to put our massive balls on our chest to avoid discomfort through chaffing’. Perhaps if this were the case, it might finally be considered socially acceptable for us to walk around wearing crowns and pass them off as some sort of costume.

Sadly, we as women are flawed on more levels than an unnecessarily oversized Primark. We repeatedly stab ourselves in the eye with mascara (FYI- there is no greater pain), genuinely don’t understand why we aren’t skinny after one gym session, and have really weird relationships with horses-- seriously, what is that about?! Maybe it’s that they’re the closest thing we can get to unicorns, I don’t know, but what I do know is that no rose is without its thorns just the same as no woman is without her psychotic tendencies. We spend our days moaning about our hair not being long enough and researching our recent crush (AKA our potential future husband) to see whether or not his Dad still has a full head of shiny locks (premature balding is a total genetic deal-breaker).

Yes, we’re crazy, but put down the Haterade lads; normality is dull. Admittedly, there is a definitive ‘bat shit’ line of crazy that should not be approached, and if she’s poking holes in condoms or saving all your used tissues then naturally it would be wise to distract her with something shiny and run for your life (whilst praying for the safety of her future hoard of cats), but otherwise you’re just going to have to embrace it and love us for it because they always say a good man can give a woman the confidence to feel pretty, fabulous and happy... Wait...or is that tequila?

Valentine's Day

Ah, the controversial day of ‘lurve’ doth approach. A topic socially tip-toed around by us singletons and YELLED ALL OVER FACEBOOK by all the ‘lovers’ out there. FY(effing)I, we ‘independents’ (I have taken the liberty of rewording the concept for the sake of mine and my fellow singletons’ dignity) do not wish to see images of your jealousy-evoking fluffy, flowery and glittery gifts courtesy of ‘the love of your life’ taunting us from the comfort of your Facebook profile high-horses...

Or do we?

Valentine’s Day seems to be the Marmite of most women; loved by the loved and unwanted by the...ahem...’independent’. Why is it that the latter of the bunch cannot merely tolerate the day? Although, as with many holidays these days, that mere 24 hours of celebration (or indeed, endurance for some) comes conjoined with the unavoidable month-long countdown that we are all forced to choke on like an accidentally swallowed piece of gum- (the fear-provoking feeling from which, might I add, is magnified greatly for us ‘independents’ who, in this particular circumstance, will often find ourselves completely alone and therefore more likely to choke to death-yippee!). Perhaps upon deeper analysis of this annual ‘situation’ we find ourselves in, it is the ability to completely loathe Valentine’s (and all its sickening merriment along with it) that enables us to survive the period with our anti-love shields unscathed; therefore our apparent distain and morbid bitterness is merely a coping mechanism.

In all honesty, I am actually pro-love. We all are. Of course I walk passed loved-up couples and hiss at them like a rabid goose, but don’t we all?! They deserve it for being so much braver than us! They wear their hearts on their proverbial sleeves and we merely use ours to wipe our noses on when we find ourselves tissue-less on a cold day- (don’t scrunch up your face like that, of course you’ve done it!). I am an absolute, both self-professed and self-loathing, lover of cheese; and though I am partial to the occasional mature cheddar or Nandos halloumi, I of course mean ‘cheese’ in the soppy romance sense. On Valentine’s Day this year, or ‘Single Awareness Day’ as it should be more appropriately named, I will undoubtedly be conforming to the Bridget Jones stereotype and inhaling chocolate by the pint whilst sipping the contents of an entire winery through a penis straw in a frail attempt to make light of the pathetic situation.

However, as the day comes to a close, amidst a drunken sugar-rush the clock will turn back to 00:00 and I, along with billions of my fellow independents across the globe, will experience an epiphany; Valentines Schmalentines! There’s a reason ‘Cupid’ rhymes with ‘stupid’ folks.

Selfish, needy, moany bitch seeks equally selfish, sweaty, unfaithful narcissist with an unattractively hairy bum for regular explosive arguments...

...sound familiar? Love aint always pretty folks.

So on the big ‘V’ Day this year, I will be drinking wine all day and throwing things at happy people, whilst rubbing at all my freckles and moles to make sure they’re not just melted chocolate.

But then comes the 15^th of February and I will remember that I get to have wild, emotionless, feel-good sex with random chiselled strangers at my will and I’ll feel so much better (even with the inevitable hangover) so I guess the grass is green on both sides after all...

If Life Were A Disney Film...

If life were a Disney film...

Ah wouldn’t life be but a dream if we were able to use our dusty vintage Disney video tapes as portals into Walt’s magical world? I can’t say I’ve ever known a beautiful, radiant princess to suffer from PMS induced facial break-outs or a handsome Prince’s valiant dignity reduced in size as he goes for his annual prostate check-up-- “If you could just remove your trousers and bend over the table please Mr. Charming? This might feel a tad uncomfortable...”.  Images of fairy Godmother’s and haggard old witches swapping menopause tips at their weekly WI meetings spring amusingly to mind.

“ A tale as old as time”- hunky Prince rescues beautiful Princess and the two live happily ever after; No checking through each other’s call histories and rowdy nights out at Oceana with ‘the lads’. I can’t say I’d enjoy the films as much if the characters regularly checked their Facebook pages, “Prince Charming was with Aladdin at Nandos”. The relationship status “It’s complicated” just wouldn’t seem to cut it for Arial the mermaid, don’t you think? -- “’LOL just Ebay-ing a new shell bra YOLO’- with Flounder”, lucky Prince... Witches would have more luck poisoning bacon double cheese burgers as opposed to apples. Bambie becoming addicted to ‘shrooms’ he comes across in the forest in order to deal with his mother’s sudden death and rebel against his dead-beat Dad, and let’s be honest, Belle clearly only married the Beast for his money...perhaps figured she could get him a Groupon for laser hair removal for Christmas? She can’t exactly have one of those days when you need a drop of bourbon in your coffee for fear of the teacup tattling on her... I don’t know about you folks, but in our house if we have a cup with a chip in it, we throw it in the bin and move on with our lives-- regardless of the wrath of maternal teapots.

Sometimes we all catch ourselves leaving the house accidentally still singing and dancing to our iPod’s, the shame of which is almost too much to bear here on earth (No? Just me?). Well fear not, for musical numbers seem to be a necessity in the world of Walt! Although singing a love-declaring song to the lass you’ve got a crush on after only just meeting her basically screams ‘needy loser’. Similarly, something the Disney world could learn from us is that nicknames hurt- especially politically incorrect ones; Dopey. Really? It’s just cruel.

If all the Disney baddies visited their local chiropractor to get their crooked hunchback’s corrected and simply got plastic surgery procedures to straighten their noses and relax their eyebrows, they’d be able to fool the goodies into trusting them with much greater success, especially if they invested in some fancy razors to get rid of those tell-tale evil facial hair characteristics- Calling all naive Princesses, if he has a creepy moustache and a pointy beard, just steer bloody clear!

I don’t suppose in the Disney world they have a local Tesco’s that you can pop to for some Gaviscon after a heavy meal, so perhaps a visit to their realm is not as ideal as it might seem... although you wouldn’t catch Cinderella slut-dropping the Prince at the grand ball and spinster cat-owners would positively die for the chance to be able to have real conversations with their magical talking kitties.

Still, the dream of meeting that one gorgeous heartthrob who will always protect you from life’s metaphorical dragons and love you for ‘ever after’ thrives within each of us 21^st Century ladies, even the stubborn “I don’t need no man” feminists! However, distant waters don’t quench the immediate thirst and so we all must settle for a life and love a bit less...Disney. Perhaps not such a bad thing when you think about it- I can’t see any Disney royalty enjoying a lazy Sunday in their joggers with a box of Cheerios, a pint of cider and a tub of Ben and Jerry’s. Although their dramas could make for some interesting Sunday Jeremy Kyle viewing... ‘Uncle, you killed my Dad and had me attacked by hyenas- why should I trust you?’, ‘Prince, admit you cheated on me while I was under the witch’s sleep spell!’, ‘Cruella, acknowledge you have a problem and leave our pets alone!’