Open Mouth: INSERT FOOT!

I'm not sure I should be allowed to talk to other humans, anymore.

I seem to have this weird problem with maintaining even the most vague interpretation of "normal," when I'm talking to people.  Consequently, I'm fairly sure that 99% of the people I meet must fluctuate between being utterly bemused by me, or genuinely terrified, wondering what the hell I'm going to come out with, next.

Seriously, whilst I'm fairly good at holding a conversation (and I can talk the hind legs off a donkey, given the chance), there are frequent moments during which my brain seems to part company with the rest of my body, leaving me to mindlessly fend for myself.  It usually happens if I feel slightly awkward or nervous, for some reason.  I'll be doing a passable impersonation of a regular human being, then suddenly out of nowhere, BAM, I open my mouth and insert my foot.

This happened earlier today, when I went to the doctors for a routine check-up, ahead of being prescribed another year's worth of the oral contraceptive pill (ah, there's nothing quite like being terminally single and broody, but still needing something to control your horrendous periods, am I right, ladies?!).

There I was, sitting in the room, happy as Larry (whoever he is), when I realised that silence had hung over the lovely GP and I for - ooh, a mighty five seconds at least - and I decided, for reasons I don't even understand, to start babbling about the fact that I wish I could have a baby.  Cue my GP looking at me slightly oddly, considering I was there for contraceptives, and asking: "Are you in a relationship and looking to start trying?"

Perfectly reasonable question, really.  I assume, had I said yes, that he would have given me some advice.  But I did not say yes (because I'm not in that situation, obviously).  What I did say, was:

"Oh no, I'm still shopping."

I'm frequently found wandering the high street with my bags of boys...

Of course, the rational part of my brain decided at that precise moment to pop back, just long enough for me to decide that "I'm still shopping" was an absolutely dreadful way of describing being single, particularly when talking to a GP who you've asked for contraceptives.  And so, I then blurted:  

"Oh my God, not like that.  On my last date, I just ate cake and talked too much.  I mean, like, window shopping, not... Trying on."

BECAUSE CLEARLY, WHAT THE SITUATION REQUIRED WAS FURTHER DETAIL.

I have literally no idea why I do this, but the sad fact is, I do it a lot.  Some people are blessed with the confidence and skill to excel at small talk.  I was blessed with no such things...

It started when I was still a kid.  I can vividly recall telling a complete stranger (to me, anyway) that my poor mum "fancies anyone in trousers."  I said it not because it was true, but because I'd heard the phrase somewhere (probably on TV) and my mum had paused to consider her answer after this person had asked her if she had a celebrity crush.  Even back in my youth, I just couldn't quite handle a protracted silence.  I associated silence with awkwardness, even if it wasn't.  And if it wasn't, I would fill that silence with awkwardness until it was.

It's a gift I have.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, yes: I got decidedly short shrift from my hugely embarrassed Mum, when we got home.  And rightly so.

You'd have thought that I might have learned from that situation that sometimes, a pause in conversation doesn't have to be immediately filled.  And when I'm with my friends, I'm great at shutting my big mouth and letting there be a comfortable silence between us, when one naturally occurs.

When I'm with someone I don't know?  TOTALLY DIFFERENT SITUATION.

My brain screams at me: "This person has nothing to say to you because you're dull; quick, rescue the situation by saying something witty!"

And that, dear reader, has led to roughly a billion terrible puns, bizarre questions and decidedly random comments, over the years.  Such as the decision I made, during a period of what I decided was highly awkward silence on a date, to tell the story of how I accidentally went to see soft porn on stage in Prague (it's a long story).  Because, you know, that's standard first date chat, right?!  "So, I've lived in this town since I was 16, I work as a nursery nurse and oh, I once watched two women sitting on a peach and touching each other's boobs, but it was meant to be Alice In Wonderland and I was very confused and I bit my tongue, trying not to laugh and then I worried that I was being culturally insensitive, but they were topless on a peach and that definitely never happened in the book OR the film..."

I think I just realised why I'm single...

Even worse, is the fact that there have been times when there's not even a silence and I still become overwhelmed with ridiculous levels of awkwardness and blurt out something either inappropriate or just weird.

Such as the time when, after a mechanic fixed my car and jokingly asked: "Whatever would you do without me?" I replied, without a single shred of irony:

"I think I would probably shrivel up and die."

Look, what I'm trying to say is: if you ever meet me, dear reader, don't pause for too long, during any conversation we have.  I mean, at least not until we know each other better.  Because until then, if there's too much silence, I might try to fill it with information you never needed to know, a dreadful "joke" or the kind of ramblings you would expect out of someone who's downed three espresso martinis, rather than a hot chocolate.

And even if there's no silence at all, don't be surprised if I start blurting out weird nonsense.

Basically, I'm exceptionally awkward.  I might manage to look normal.  I might even sound normal for the most part, but the weirdness will come out.  I've had to come to terms with it and I'm afraid you will, too.

I'm going to end this blog here, because... Well, if I don't, I'm probably going to say something we all regret.  If anyone needs me, I'll be in my room, rehearsing "normal person talk."

  

The A-Z of Friendship

The above image appeared in my Twitter timeline this morning and, sweet as it is, I couldn't help but think it was a bit... Much.  Sure, it's an ideal, but it's a rather sugary one.  I'm very lucky, in that I have an amazing best friend and a very close group of special friends I refer to as "my girls" (what was it I was just saying about being too "sugary"?  Whoops...), but this A-Z just doesn't seem to describe us, properly.  So, I figured it needed updating to cover all modern, realistic friendships.  Because as much as everything on this list is definitely important for a long-lasting friendship, it doesn't get into the nitty-gritty of being besties in reality.  Real life isn't a Hallmark card, after all.  So, here's my A-Z of friendship, inspired by my best friend Lydia and the rest of my "girls" - Kirstie, Lizzie and Kate.

Antagonism.

Friendship isn't about being 100% in agreement, 100% of the time.  You know who your real friends are, if you can rile each other up like crazy when you have opposing views, yet still find a way to respect one another's different opinions and carry on being buddies.  And of course, if it's really trivial things that you disagree on, such as whether or not a band are any good, or how a TV show should have ended, good friends can't help winding each other up on purpose, sometimes.  It's all part of that whole "I mock you because I love you" thing that happens when you get very close to another human. 

Bodily functions.

Oh, come on.  The day you can burp or fart in front of a friend in complete knowledge that they're just going to laugh it off, is the day you know you're onto a winner.

Crushes.

The best kinds of friends are the ones who tell you that of course you could get the object of your affections!  They encourage you to go for it and if it works out, they're genuinely happy for you.  If it doesn't, they'll give you chocolate and let you mope and cry on their shoulders.  And hey, if your crush is a celebrity, your best friend will send you gifs of that celebrity looking particularly gorgeous whenever you feel upset.  Or, at least, that's what my best friend does...

He makes me feel all warm and fuzzy and other, more adult adjectives.

Dream big dreams.

Yes, I'm agreeing with the incredibly sentimental A-Z above, with this one.  My best friends all fully support my writing dreams, even though they all know how hard it is to make it in a creative industry.  Likewise, I know my best friend has the potential to be an amazingly successful YouTuber and it's her ultimate goal. so I will support her forever in achieving it.

Encouraging one another's shared fandoms...

There is nothing like the joy of sharing a fandom with your friends.  My friend Kirstie and I are Manics gig buddies for life and we love nothing more than seeing "our boys" together.  Lydia and I share a ridiculously deep love for Dan and Phil.  It means we can spend an entire afternoon watching YouTube videos together and it's the BEST thing EVER.  Having someone close who shares your passion for something is an awesome feeling and it can even strengthen your friendship.

Flirting.

Platonic flirtation is one of my favourite parts of a close friendship, because it's utterly hilarious and makes outsiders wonder what the heck is going on.  If this isn't an aspect of any of your friendships, it goes a bit like this:

Me: "Does this dress look okay on me?" 

Bestie: "Phwoar, yeah.  You look hot.  I would."  

And then we both giggle because we find ourselves so damn funny.

When we giggle, we look like this.  Only *slightly* more youthful.  But only slightly.

Getting the giggles.

Seriously, giggling with your friends is paramount to the survival of your relationship.  If you're not laughing, you're doing something wrong.  There are few things more hilarious to me than when my best friend gets such a bad case of the giggles that she can't speak unless she says one...word...at...a...time, with...pauses...between...each...word...for...laughter.

Hating the same people.

This is not something you absolutely MUST have in a friendship, but it provides a common sense of unity.  Mention a certain hugely famous YouTuber who steals stuff from other people and passes it off as his own, and my best friend and I will combust with rage.  And on a more realistic level, if someone has hurt your friend, letting them know that you are as angry as they are about it can only strengthen your bond.  It's a kind of "cross my friend and you also cross me" type deal.

Insults.

If there is one sure-fire way to know that your friendship is truly real, it's the knowledge that you can utterly insult one another and not be offended.  When my best friend and I aren't pretending we fancy the heck out of each other, we're slagging each other off.  BECAUSE FRIENDSHIP.

I must remember to use this one.

Jumping to one another's defence.

I don't care who you are, how much bigger or stronger than me you might be, if you pick on any of my friends, you will unleash my feisty Greek side.  So, for your own safety, just don't upset any of them.  Ever.

Killing an entire day doing absolutely nothing.

Sitting with a really good friend, having a cuppa and talking about everything and nothing all at once for literally hours on end?  Sign of a pretty solid relationship, if you ask me.

Love you no matter what.

Yeah, I'm keeping this one from the sugary list, too.  A good friend doesn't just ditch you because you haven't been in touch for a while, or because you disagreed on something trivial.  A good friend loves you, even if you're a bit of an idiot, because you're their idiot.

Making memories.

Yes, "memories" were mentioned on the above list, too.  It's hard to come up with an entirely unique A-Z, okay?!  The fact is, memories don't have to come from big, exciting trips you've taken, together (although that's a pretty awesome way to make them); they can come from something really trivial, like a shared moment of total awkwardness in a public place.  Which, to be fair, is where a lot of mine come from...

Nicknames.

My friend Kirstie sometimes refers to me as Emmykins.  This is officially the cutest thing in the world.

Obscure references and in-jokes.

My best friend and I had a Skype chat the other day, in which a good five minutes of conversation time was taken up by us both hysterically laughing at a shoe.  A SHOE.  None of our other friends would understand the significance (or hilarity) of said shoe, but it had us almost crying with laughter.  My friend Lizzie and I laugh at the word "so," if it's said in a certain way.  It's those little in-jokes and references that can make a friendship feel special.

Putting up with stuff, because it means a lot to your friend.

My friend Lizzie is not a Manics fan.  In July, she's coming with me to a Manics gig, because she knows I adore them and her sister, my usual gig buddy, can't make it.  Likewise, my best friend is a big Kanye West fan.  I... Am very much not.  But when we go on long car trips together, she knows she doesn't even have to ask before she puts Kanye on.  Why?  Because she's my friend and God damnit, I will tolerate Kanye for her.

Queuing for stuff.

If there's a Manics gig, Kirstie and I will make damn sure we queue to get to the front.  If Lizzie and I want the best seats at Centre Stage when we go to Butlin's, we'll start queuing early.  If Lydia and I... Oh, you get the point.  Basically, if we know it means something to us, we're prepared to be very British about getting what we want.  This one is, admittedly, probably specific to my friendships, but I stand by it.

Reminding each other of the importance of your friendship.

Okay, so this is a soppy one, but I am BIG lover of "I love you."  Why should we only say it to family members and romantic partners?  Don't we love our friends?!  I try to regularly remind all of my closest friends of how special they are to me, because they absolutely are.

My bestie and I even have our friendship promises inked on ourselves.

Sheer stupidity.

If you can't completely let go of your inhibitions and be utterly silly around your best mates, then you're doing friendship wrong.

Talking stuff through.

The only times my closest friends and I tend to fall out is when one of us is keeping something in, rather than sharing how we feel.  Letting stuff out ensures that trivial issues don't get brooded over until they turn into massive problems.  So, even if it seems silly, if there's something bugging you in your friendship, TALK ABOUT IT.  

Understanding when your friend isn't themselves.

A good friend recognises when you're feeling a bit low from talking to you.  A great friend can tell something's up just by the tone of your tweets, or your responses to text messages.  Part of fostering a really great friendship is knowing what makes one another tick.  Picking up on unspoken clues as to when your friend is a little down ensures that you're always there for them when they need you, even if they're not the type to ask.

Verbal AND non-verbal communication.

My closest friends and I can speak volumes with a single glance.  Sometimes, friendship is about knowing what's in someone's head so well that you don't even need words to express what you're both thinking.

Waiting for the storm to pass.

Sometimes, life throws us a curve ball.  The relationship we were so excited about six months ago could become abusive and leave us in huge emotional turmoil.  The job we thought was for life could disappear due to budget cuts.  Real friendship is about sticking by someone during their darkest hour and not only being there when things are going well.

X-rated conversation.

I'm told that roughly 75% of my anecdotes are preceded with the words "this might be too much information, but..."  From weird sex dreams, to bodily functions, no subject should be off limits in a really close friendship.

Youthful outlook/mature view.

Our friends keep us young, when they encourage us to embrace our silly side and have fun.  But they can also help us to view ourselves through mature eyes when needed.  A really good friend knows exactly when you need to grow up a bit and when to encourage you to unleash your inner child.

Zooming to your side when you need them.

When you need a friend, a good one will always try to be there for you, even if they can't literally zoom to your side.  They'll be there with a text to let you know that they're thinking of you, or they'll call you so you can talk it all out.  Friendship is about support and the best friends do that constantly and unquestioningly.

There we are.  The very modern, less mushy, slightly more realistic A-Z of friendship.  

And on a totally unrelated note...

Hey, guess whose latest YouTube video is now up for you to enjoy?  Only mine!  Woohoo!

5 Things I Don't Understand

My "confused face" needs work.

I like to think I'm at least relatively savvy.  I might be something of a technophobe at times (it took a friend's help to get my podcast onto iTunes recently, because the whole process made my head hurt), but I'm pretty switched on about the world.

That said, there are some things that I will just never, ever understand.  And, because I love to share my very existence with people on the Internet, I thought it would be fun to list a few of those things...

1. Equations.

I am completely unashamed to say that back when I was at school, on more than one occasion, I literally sobbed over my total and utter inability to understand how to solve an equation.  I genuinely think your brain needs to be wired a certain way in order to actually know where to even begin when faced with a seemingly random load of numbers and letters, squashed together on a page, staring at you like a creature from the Hell Mouth.  And my brain, ladies and gents, is most definitely not wired that way.

Whilst doing my GCSE maths homework, I could frequently be found shrieking "WHY ARE THE NUMBERS HIDING BEHIND LETTERS?!  LETTERS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE MY FRIENDS AND I DON'T EVEN LIKE MATHS!" whilst rocking back and forth, with frustrated tears streaming down my face.  It was all very dramatic.  To this day, my stock response to the unlikely event of anyone randomly handing me an equation and asking me to solve it would be: "I don't care what X is.  I don't care what Y is.  Who are you and why do you hate me?"

Similarly, as an adult, if I ever accidentally click the "HTML" button on this blog, I have about five seconds of sheer heart attack, where I think I might have actually broken the entire Internet.  I might be a blogger, but I don't want to see that.  Give me sweet, sweet words, without bizarre bracket-y things and numbers that have no place being in a sentence.

I'm aware that if I were to have become a rocket scientist, I would probably have needed to have understood equations a little better.  But I'm not a rocket scientist and equations need to disappear into my murky past and stay there forever.  If I ever have children, I'm just going to have to hope that by some strange stroke of luck, I've had them with someone good at maths.  Otherwise, they're screwed.

2. Incontinence adverts making women seem as though they are THRILLED about wetting themselves!

According to the incontinence pad brand, Tena Lady, "oops moments happen."  Apparently, an "oops moment" is when you accidentally wee your pants.

Forgive me for being crude, but to me, that would be less of an "oops" moment and more of a "HOLY CRAP, I HAVE ACTUALLY WET MYSELF" moment.

Now, in no way am I mocking those who genuinely suffer with incontinence.  That must be horrible and I have nothing but sympathy.  However, the creators of Tena Lady (or at least, the makers of the adverts) aren't exactly helping the situation by filming women laughing and then going "oooooops!" in an almost "Carry On" sort of way.  I honestly expect Sid James to pop up, laugh dirtily and then pinch Barbara Windsor's bum on the way out.

And the women on those ads look so pleased with themselves!  I don't know if the director told them "try to smile as though you've had a wee in your knickers, but you're happy because nobody can tell" and the resulting secretive smirk was the best the models could come up with, but wow.

"Ooooops!  I seem to have accidentally attempted to make sexy eyes in an incontinence ad."

There could well be people thinking that I'm trivialising an embarrassing medical condition here, but I swear, it's the advertisers doing that.

3. Tall people who push to the front at gigs.

Insert photo of me in your average Manics gig outfit...

Let me make it plain: I am not tallist.  If you are massive in comparison to me (and chances are, literally everyone reading this is, because I'm five foot nothing), then GO YOU!  And if you get to a gig before me and you've queued all day to get to the front, then damnit, you deserve your place.

BUT...  If you turn up ten minutes before the band come on stage and you barge through the crowd on your crazy long legs, bashing people out of the way with your crazy long arms, before standing in front of me, so I see the back of your head all night (or, more accurately, the back of your...well, back), don't expect me to politely accept your utter lack of gig etiquette.  I may be short, but I am feisty.  Think of me as a slightly less hairy Jack Russell Terrier.  I will bite your legs if I have to.

Seriously though, why do you do that, rude members of the tall community?  You can see perfectly well with my tiny little head in front of you.  I don't even reach your eye line.

Now, it must be said that some tall people are awesome at realising that smaller people aren't going to ruin their view, whereas they might easily ruin the view for a short person.  Last December, I went to a food festival in Padstow and found myself in a massive crowd of people, trying to watch TV chef James Martin perform a cookery demonstration.  I could see several backs, a few shoulders and the odd back of a head if I stared fixedly forwards and that was it.  I'm just not tall enough to be in a squashy crowd like that.  After a while, I started to feel funny and I could feel an asthma attack coming on.  I coughed and reached to take my inhaler out of my pocket and as I did so, the couple in front of me turned round and said: "Oh, goodness!  You can't see a thing, can you?  Please, go in front of us."  Filled with the glow of humanity, I thanked them and walked past and a chain reaction was triggered; people were genuinely turning round and letting the ridiculously little person walk past them, until I found myself at the front.  I could see and everyone behind me could see too, because I'm never going to be tall enough (even in heels) to block anyone's view. 

James Martin made a cake and we all had a lovely time, wishing we could eat it.

Mmm.  Cake.

Where was I?  Oh, yeah.  Tall people: please don't push past me at a gig.  I'm the height of a child.  You really don't need to.

4. Ticket touts: how do they sleep at night?!

I like to think that I'm a nice person.  I try to be thoughtful towards others and I make an effort to think about how my actions might affect those around me.  None of which can be said for ticket touts.  Ticket touts are essentially walking piles of excrement, with faces drawn on.  And that's my polite description.

I recently watched a documentary about ticket touts (people who buy tickets for concerts or sports events etc and then flog them at a much higher price) and I swear I nearly passed out with rage.  One guy was casually buying standard-priced tickets to a huge concert that lots of people were clamouring to get tickets to, using several different email addresses to get around the "maximum ticket allowance" rule.  Then, when he'd bought literally dozens of tickets, he was asked how he felt about the many fans who had missed out on buying any because of people like him, and he simply shrugged, smirked and went: "If they want to go that badly, they'll buy their tickets from me."  And then he listed his £35 tickets on eBay at around £100 each.  At least I think he did.  I had thrown a brick at the TV by that point.

Seriously, the answer to the question "how do these people sleep at night" is, unfortunately, "on a bed made out of money and the tears of music lovers," but how anyone can look at themselves in the mirror and not be disgusted by their own greed and selfishness if that's how they make a living is beyond me.  On the documentary, not one of the touts interviewed had the slightest bit of regret about what they did.  But, speaking as someone who has sat on a website, clicking "refresh" over and over, desperately trying to get tickets to a concert that was selling out by the second, only to fail and then see tickets listed at £100+ elsewhere by ticket touts, I hope they all collectively develop ingrowing pubic hairs that become infected and start to blister.  And I hope all their underwear magically turns into sandpaper.

5. DUCKFACE.

You know exactly what I'm talking about and don't pretend you don't, dear reader.

I mean that thing, when someone whips out a camera and the person they're snapping (sadly, usually a woman - I mean come on girls, you're letting the side down), does something like this:

Such sexy.  Very model.  Wow.

Stop it.  I don't even want to say much more, because JUST STOP IT.

I'm all for pulling stupid faces in photos.  In fact, I'd guess that at least half the photos of me in existence are of me purposefully pulling a stupid face (the other half are of me pulling an accidental stupid face).  It makes me laugh, it - hopefully - proves that I don't take myself too seriously and it's just a thing I do.  

But the dreaded "duck face" isn't supposed to be funny (aside from when you're doing a spoof duck face, but let's not get into that or this blog will eat itself), it's supposed - believe it or not - to be sexy.

Yes, apparently people are supposed to find the image of a woman looking like she's chewing on a wasp whilst casually turning slightly to the side so she looks like the wasp contains no calories is meant to be GODDAMN HAWT.

Except it actually looks more like this:

Sexeh.

So, there we have it.  Five things I have never understood and never will understand.  I could have done five more, but hey... Let's save that for another day.  Is there something you just can't get your head around?  Let me know and we'll commiserate with each other, about how we're the only ones in the world who understand what it's like to just not understand.  Or something.

A Bridget Jones-style Review of 2015

Unintentionally appropriate gif...

So, it's almost that time of year when every single newspaper prints a cartoon of an old man with a long beard, wearing a sash that says "2015," walking past a newborn baby wearing a sash that says "2016."  Seriously, get a new meme, guys...

In honour of the end of the year, I thought I'd do a review blog.  But, seeing as I have a headache (from staring at this screen for way too long) and therefore don't fancy doing a review of actual, serious world issues and cultural developments in 2015, I'm doing a Bridget Jones-style one of my personal year.  You lucky devils.

Here we go, then...

No. of calories consumed: Roughly twenty million billion.  Diet starts next year.  Maybe.  If my clothes stop fitting.

No. of boyfriends: None.  Zero.  Zilch.  I'm fine, though, guys.

No. of celebrity crushes: Loads.  I may be terminally unattached in reality, but my subconcious gets around a lot.  From Johnny Galecki, James Dean Bradfield and Josh Widdicombe, to people whose names don't even begin with J, the list is long, this year.

No. of real-life crushes: If you don't count the brief "hangover" crush I had from last New Year up until February, then just the one (which I've been harbouring since bloody March).  My subconcious is a right tart with celebs, but I'm bizarrely faithful to real-life people who almost certainly aren't interested.  Good times.

No. of units consumed: Probably too many.  But you know what?  I really love you. *hiccup*

No. of holidays been on: I'm starting to wonder whether Butlin's counts, anymore, seeing as I'm there so often that if I was an MP, I could probably claim expenses on it as a second home.  But then again, if you don't count it, I don't think I've actually been on holiday this year.  It sounds much more impressive if I count my visits to Minehead, so... Um... Maybe six?  Ugh, hang on, this "review" is starting to sound like one of those awful "round-robins."

"Emma has been on six glorious holidays, this year.  Isn't she wonderful?"

No. of blogs written: Including this one and the final two children's bedtime stories I have cued up and ready to post, I think my final total for the year will be 114.  That's a whole lot of rambling for this curly-haired girl.

No. of books published:

Semi-autbiographical novel for adults.  Buy it here. Pretty please.

A week of stories for children.  Buy it here. It's good, I promise.

TWO.  That's two more than last year and frankly, I'm calling that a result.  I'm already planning ideas for the Seven Days... sequel, which I hope to release in Spring 2016, so here's hoping I can either match or better this record, next year.

No. of celebrities met: I think it's hovering at around 12 or 13.  I'm not a stalker, I promise...

No. of concerts attended: Only around 3 or 4, I think.  Not good enough.  Must try harder.  Still, the number of concerts I attended at which I cried my eyes out and filmed my own tears is only at one, so that's something...

No. of daily medications now being taken: Six.  I know.  This is what comes from having the lungs of a ninety year old miner, a belly that can't apparently digest anything without causing ridiculous pain and sinuses that block more often than a poorly-functioning toilet.  Come and get me, boys.

Tattoos gained: One.  I have one half of a song lyric and my bestie has the other.  Basically, I've branded her as mine.  Mwahahahaaaaa.

My foot, her arm.

No. of statues/funny signs/inanimate objects I have insisted on posing with for a photo: Too many.  Somebody needs to stage an intervention.

Seriously.

No. of times I've said I'm giving up on writing: Probably at least a thousand.  Every writer does it.  Very rarely do we ever mean it.

New Year's resolutions: 

• Lose slightly more weight and do slightly more exercise.  You know, slightly.
• Grow my bloody fingernails, so I can finally stop putting this on my resolution list.
• Plan more girly days with Mum.
• Plan more, er, blokey days with Dad?
• Write more.  Publish more.  Make EL James' sales look pitiful.
• Will find nice, sensible boyfriend and stop forming romantic attachments to any of the following: alcoholics, workaholics, sexaholics, commitment-phobics, peeping toms, megalomaniacs, emotional fuckwits or perverts.  Okay, I stole that one from Bridget...
• World domination.  Actually scrap that; sounds like too much pressure.
• Be happy and healthy in 2016.

Thanks for sticking with me, everyone.  I wish you all a very merry Christmas and here's to a fantastic New Year.  xx

20 Wishes For 2016

So, I think I blinked or something and suddenly 2016 is going to be here in less than three weeks' time.  I'm pretty sure last time I checked my calendar, it was still May, or something.  Maybe that's why I keep missing appointments...

...Anyway, it's that time of year when bloggers tend to review the past twelve months.  Me, I like to hone my position as the black sheep of the Internet family, so instead, I've decided to come up with 20 wishes for 2016.

Who knows, some of the things on this list may actually come to fruition in 2016.  Stranger things have happened...

1. World Peace

Because duh.  It makes sense to get the big one out of the way first.  We all want a nice world, free from fighting, right?!

2. Health & happiness for all my family and friends.

Again, because duh.  I'm pretty sure that's a fairly universal wish.

3. To sell lots of copies of my books.

I write books.  My latest is a children's book, called Seven Days With The Cherry Tree Gang.  If you buy it, you never know, you might be contributing to the day when I finally stop being a woman in her 30s, still living with her parents...  

Seriously though, I'm so passionate about writing and I genuinely think this latest book is the best I've written.  I promise if you check it out, I won't shamelessly self-promote anything else in this blog. 

I have an author page and everything!

4. For the guy I still have a ridiculously huge crush on to actually reciprocate (or to just, you know, not be terminally single).
You know, I'm pretty nice, really.  I can cook, I'm kind and funny (or at least, funny looking) and I know the offside rule.  Frankly, a bloke could do a lot worse.  Sure, I'm cool with being single - I'm never going to be one of those women who can't seem to cope without a man on her arm - but it would be quite nice to have someone special in my life, again.

5. For someone to invent a cure for cancer.
Imagine a world in which a diagnosis of cancer wasn't a scary thing, anymore.  A world in which a doctor just had to give you antibiotics for it, or something.  I want to live in that world.

6. To develop the ability to eat whatever I want, whenever I want and for the weight to only go to my boobs.
Okay, so I'd end up making Katie Price look flat-chested, but it's a small price to pay.  Mmmm.  Food.

7. To somehow invent time travel.
I mean, come on.  How cool would that be?!

8. To own a Shetland pony, like the one in the Amazon advert.
Because seriously, LOOK AT IT:

9. To become some kind of tester for Irregular Choice shoes.  
I'll write blogs reviewing them or something and in return, I will have the greatest collection of footwear EVER.

10. For someone to finally invent "meat" that can be grown in a lab (cheaply and quickly), which tastes exactly the same as real meat, but which doesn't have to be obtained by killing anything.  
I love meat (and yes, I am now giggling at how dirty that sounds) and I also love animals.  It's possible, guys. I support ethical farming practices, but I genuinely do wish we could have meat without any animals having to die.  If we can grow fully functioning human organs in a lab, how come we can't "make" a steak?!  Sort it out, science.

11. For someone else to invent a product called "Cellulite Bang!" to use on your thighs.
"Bang!  And the cellulite is gone!"

12. For all horrible "isms" to disappear off the face of the Earth.
Racism, sexism, homophobia-ism...  Oh, you know what I mean.

13. To become the Doctor's next companion.
Me.  In the TARDIS.  With the Doctor.  Hell, yes.

Make this happen, BBC.

14. For every copy of Fifty Shades of Grey, Fifty Shades Darker, Fifty Shades Freed and Grey to spontaneously combust, never to be reprinted.  Ever.

I think we all know that this is for the good of humanity.  And if EL James could show some kind of remorse for peddling a stalking, coercing, manipulating, threatening, controlling bastard as a romantic hero as well, that would be just dandy.

15. To form a band.  Or join a choir.  

Basically, what I'm saying is, I'm a frustrated diva who needs a stage to sing on.

16. For TV to stop making people famous for doing nothing.  

I'm looking at you, producers of TOWIE, Geordie Shore, Made In Chelsea and so on.

17. Actually, for a lot of reality TV shows to finally die the death they've been crawling towards for years.

Does anyone give even the slightest shit about The X Factor, anymore?  And if so... WHY?!

18. For all humans to suddenly be able to use basic grammar, so my brain won't have to explode, anymore.

"Should of" doesn't mean anything, people.  It's "should HAVE."  Don't make me hate you.

19. To visit DisneyLand in Paris with my bestie.

It's planned, so bring it on.  I need to meet Olaf.

20. To just be happy.

At the end of the day, life is short.  We make of it what we can.  So let's make 2016 a good one, eh?!

The 5 Stages of Having a Crush...

I try to be honest in this blog.  I figure that revealing myself warts and all might inspire someone somewhere to realise that they're not alone in the way they think or feel, or in the experiences they've had.  Life can be lonely when you go through something on your own, after all.  

This morning, something (and I genuinely don't know what) got me to thinking about my love life, or lack thereof.  See, I have this tendency to develop huge crushes that I never do anything about, because I don't believe for one second that anyone I am hugely attracted to could possibly feel the same way about me.  Maybe it's a weird form of self-preservation, having been in an abusive relationship and being genuinely terrified of being hurt again, but I just tend to fall for someone and then never do a thing about it.  

It's time that stopped.  

Because, you see, I'm tired of the endless merry-go-round that I put myself on, over and over again.  I'm sick of repeating the same old routine.  Once I really started thinking about it, I realised that there's a definite pattern to my crushes.  And, for the sake of total and utter honesty, I've decided to share the five stages that my crushes tend to take.  Maybe you'll recognise some of these stages.  Maybe you'll think I'm utterly insane.  Or maybe, just maybe, sharing this will be the kick up the arse I need to actually do something about it, once and for all.

1. The "Jane Austen" Phase.

Being the over-sentimental fool that I am, I don't really do the initial "I fancy him" bit.  Or if I do, I'll find that very soon after (once it goes from "I fancy him" to "I have a crush on him"), I dive straight into what I lovingly call "The Jane Austen Phase."  

Basically, my internal monologue begins talking as though I'm in a novel from the 1800s.  I'm less Lady Marmalade and more Lady Mary from Downton Abbey.

"Oh, heavens.  I do admire him, so!  And yet, I simply cannot express my feelings, for it is unladylike to do so.  I must wait for him to declare that he wishes to become my suitor..."

I have this propensity to swoon, should the object of my affections pass by.  I really ought to carry smelling salts, or something.  I'm all desperate longing, secretly hidden behind a polite smile.  And I smile because I am hopeless at talking to someone I have just discovered I really like.  So, I hide behind my metaphorical bonnet and play my metaphorical piano forte, or whatever it is ladies did in those days...

I hear ya, mate.

2. The "Dress To Impress" Stage.

Despite the crippling shyness I genuinely suffer from (and there are plenty of people who don't believe that I do, because I'm usually able to fake confidence when it counts), once I've decided I like someone, my brain goes: "Right.  I'm literally unable to initiate conversation with such a God-like creature, so I must plan my outfits with military precision."

If I know I'm going to be around my crush, then literally everything gets taken into consideration, from which bra gives me the best cleavage, to which eyeshadow compliments my eye-colour best.  I've been known to literally plan outfits weeks in advance, if I know I'll be seeing someone I like.

I guess this stage isn't really that silly, either.  An outfit that you think makes you look your best makes you feel more confident, after all.  And feeling confident means you walk that bit taller (which is useful for me, seeing as I'm tiny), carry yourself better and give off a vibe of "hey, you should talk to me, because I'm awesome," rather than: "please talk to me, because I am terrified and will not approach you EVER."

To be fair, this stage isn't really a stage.  It's more of a permanent state of mind...

3. The "WHY DID I SAY THAT?!" Stage.

There comes a point where you can't put it off, any longer.  Whether it's my brain being sensible for a change, or whether it's borne out of sheer adoration, there comes a point at which I decide "I am going to talk to him."  Hooray!

The trouble is, my brain turns to mush when I'm talking to someone I like.  I will either suffer from total verbal diarrhoea and talk at him, or the opposite will happen and I'll look into his big eyes and my brain goes: "Nope, I got nothing."

I swing so wildly from one to the other, that I am a mute one minute and a freakishly talkative idiot, the next.  I may give someone I like a compliment and then make an excuse to immediately leave, because I'm scared I've put myself out there too much and he might know I like him (which is terrifying and I can think of nothing to say that isn't "by the way, you're gorgeous and I secretly want to kiss you right in the face" which makes fleeing my only option).  Then, the next time I see said person (whether it's later the same evening, the next day or the next month), I may find myself initiating a conversation so obscure that I end up randomly blurting out nonsense about my choice of footwear.  And those two examples?  Are totally not made up.  I genuinely did once give the guy I like a compliment and then scurry off into the night, like a not-at-all-crazy person.  And I genuinely did once suffer from such a scrambled-brain, that I began casually telling him about my poor wardrobe choices.

I am beyond help.

Pictured: ME.

4. The Over-Analytical Stage.

True story:  I was once at a club and the object of my affections was standing in the opposite corner, having a drink.  My friend was desperately trying to get me to go over to talk to him, seeing as he was by himself, but being a total wuss, I kept refusing.  Anyway, after a while, he went to the toilet.  The toilet door was a few feet away from where I was standing, so as he approached, I smiled and waved and he was so busy looking back that he walked straight into the door.

Once I had finished privately wetting myself with laughter, this caused a major case of over-analysing.

"Was he distracted by my dazzling beauty?  Was he looking back and thinking 'I quite like her?'  Or was he just looking because I distracted him by waving and now he thinks I'm the bitch who could've caused him a broken nose?!"

I am an over-thinker at the best of times.  I do tend to brood on things and it's a curse.  But when I have a crush, that over-thinking gets so, so much worse.  Once I'm past the "too shy to talk" thing and I can actually communicate with the person I like, then my brain goes to town with the analytical nonsense.

"He looked right into my eyes whilst he was talking to me.  Isn't that a sign that you're attracted to someone, or do you think he was just being polite?  But I tweeted him and he didn't tweet back, so do you think he actually hates me and is physically repulsed by me?  Then again, remember that hug we had?  Maybe he doesn't find me utterly disgusting after all.  But perhaps he only did it because he's a nice person and he felt sorry for me because I have 'I am desperate for love' tattooed on my damn forehead..."

If there was an off-switch for these thoughts, believe me, I'd press it.  And of course, it's not just over-thinking, it's overreacting, too.  If he hugs me, I may simply return the hug and seem like a pretty normal human being on the outside, but inside, my heart's beating a Samba and my brain is screaming "OH MY GOD, I TOUCHED HIM!"  

Conversely, if I wave at him and he doesn't wave back, it is the end of the sodding world.

5. Depression and Acceptance.

The trouble with being too shy to do anything about it when you have a crush, is that the person remains oblivious to your romantic intentions and you never find out whether they might have felt the same.  The consequences of this are that you either dither too long, avoiding showing your feelings and end up getting your heart broken as you watch them go off with someone else, or you eventually become utterly convinced that your crush is definitely a one-way thing and you give up, entirely.  Either way, you've reached the wallowing, miserable, binge-eating-cake-whilst-watching-Bridget-Jones phase of unrequited love.  And it ain't pretty.

You do your best to put on a brave face in public, insisting that things are just fine and dandy, but if you're as sensitive as I am, inside, your heart is veritable tube-map of cracks, caused by this hideous realisation that you're going to have to let go of those silly dreams you've been having for however many weeks/months/years...

You're so not.

And so, behind closed doors, you get drunk on cheap wine, croon Nothing Compares 2 U at a frighteningly loud volume and watch Beaches because you "need a cry."  If you're really heartbroken, you watch Les Mis and refer to yourself as "life's eternal Eponine," whilst warbling along with On My Own.  

Or maybe that's just me...

SHUT UP AND DON'T JUDGE ME.

All of this really serves as a reminder that I am too damn old for this shit.  This is one hamster wheel I don't really want to run in, anymore.

Maybe, just maybe, it's time to break the cycle and actually do something about it.