Showing posts with label Terrifying. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Terrifying. Show all posts

Wednesday, 20 March 2013

The Possible End Of An Era...

So, although I’m not going to put money on anything as I’d hate to jinx it, I believe I am coming to the end of my single and dating days.

I know, that means that you guys aren’t going to hear many more hilarious fuck ups from my “wild adventures” (Ha! Yeah right...) or about any more crazy guys... In some ways, this is a sad thing because I’ll have to actually put effort into thinking of what to write, in another way, I am blissfully in lust (and maybe more - in time) with the Sexy Guitarist, and therefore I am not complaining. Definitely not complaining.

No one told me about guitarists, so it has been a complete shock to me. If you don’t know, I would advise asking your friends (NOT family or co-workers!) in case you ever need to know.

At the moment we’re in those clumsy, shy beginnings, where everything is perfect and sweet and romantic, but one wrong move could spell DOOM. For example – if I were to do something slightly too nutty, like inform him of exactly how much I LOVE cats. I’m trying to bring that one in gently. So far, it seems to be going well, but I REALLY had to restrain myself last night when a cat entered the room we were in at one of his band mate’s houses. Most of you are aware, I believe, of how psychotic I get about cats. I am incapable of just passing one in the street. I want to own about fifty of the furry bastards, and a shot gun, rocking chair, porch and some whiskey. See, to my friends this anti social cattitude has become something of the norm. They’re used to the glazed eyes I get when talking about cats, see it as “just ellie” and move on. But this has serious scaring off potential partner risk. Especially if they are dog people. Luckily for me, I did a bit of digging and discovered that he is not adverse to beings of the feline persuasion. Thank god! Hurdle number one cleared.

Next, of course, is the worrying about whether you’re coming over as a bunny boiler. We all know that I’m quite chilled out in relationships as to what my partner gets up to in his spare time. I’m not a jealous kind of girl, and I don’t feel the need to know where they are and who they’re with every minute of the day, as long as I know when abouts they’re going to be home so that I know whether or not to start ringing the hospitals’ A and E depts. BUT... due to the fact that I worry that I may come across as being a bunny boiler, I over-compensate – I go right through disinterested and out the other side again, back into bunny boiler potential. So, a question such as “Oh, you’re going to see her? That’s cool, have fun!” becomes, “Oh, you’re going to see her? When? Not that I mind or anything. I do CARE of course, because you’re involved, but I don’t think you’re about to sleep around. Honest.” And the poor guy I’m talking to is left with the distinct impression that I was implying that I did not approve of him visiting his sister.

Of course, guys have just as many problems. Where us girls are just trying to act like sane people, guys have to act like they are good with emotions and stuff. Which, let’s face it guys, you’re really not. Unless you’re gay or have Mummy issues. Not to generalise or anything, but that is usually the way it works. So you poor things have to go around being “romantic” and not mentioning sport or farting in front of this girl you’re interested in for at LEAST a week. Believe me, I feel for you, I really do. And of course, you may manage to keep this up for a good long while, until you take her to meet your mates and you get sabotaged – “Did you know that Will can squirt his drink out of his nose so accurately it’ll hit the bloke behind the bar in the eye?” - yells one of your mates before you manage to garrotte the bugger. And then it’s week’s worth of effort down the drain.

And finally, the BIG issue, the “am I moving too fast for the other person” worry. When is it right to hold hands? When is it right to greet someone with a kiss? Or take the piss out of them without causing offense? And finally, of course, the “L-Word”. Generally, I take my lead from the other person when it comes to the pace of the relationship. But this will only work as long as the other person is not taking their lead from me, or we’ll both be stuck in this perpetual motion machine and will never get anywhere. Naturally, this does not count with the L-Word as it is such a big deal to me. I’ll say it when I am ready. Whether that be after two dates or twenty – I don’t care. I’d far rather be honest than piss about with someone’s feelings. And I expect the same from the other side. Maybe I’ll be ready to say it before them, maybe they’ll be ready to say it before me. It doesn’t really matter. Either way, both parties should be headed in the same direction, just at their own individual pace.

I think that one of the things that we all forget when we’re in this fresh, shiny and new stage of potential coupling, is that the other person is just as worried about doing or saying the wrong thing and ruining it as we are. The fact is that if there wasn’t a connection then you wouldn’t have got together in the first place. We should all just stop worrying and get on with it. Unless the other person turns out to be a secret, alcoholic, mass murderer with a penchant for eating worms, in which case – RUN!

Before I go, if there are any sexy guitarists out there reading this – I totally exaggerated about the cats thing. Honest. ;)

Now let's just hope that this blog post hasn't messed it all up... LMAO!

Wednesday, 13 February 2013

Parents Mess Their Kids Up.

I don’t think parents ever realise how much stress they cause their children. The only reason kids are ever messed up is because of the parents.

I personally am very messed up. But this is not because I have a parent who treated me badly, or just didn’t care. It’s because I am absolutely positive my mother is insane.

I feel that you guys may need an example to explain why I am so sure that my parent is off the walls, so I’ll give you one. When I was about fifteen a pair of huge wood pigeons started to live near our garden, and every day they’d sit on our garden gate overlooking the fields behind us like a couple of lovesick teenagers watching a sunset. There they have remained year in, year out, with their offspring continuing the tradition. Lots of inbreeding in the pidgeons near us. I’m pretty sure one of them has three wings and an extra beak.

Despite this, ever since they nested my Mother has been drooling over them and exclaiming that she wishes she had an air rifle so she could have pidgeon pie (Please note that pidgeons in the country are not at all like their city cousins; they are clean and are about the size of a small van.). I never thought that this would actually happen because those pidgeons are so picturesque and sweet and they make lovely cooing noises in the morning, and besides, getting a gun for two shots seems a waste of money.

I was wrong.
A few months ago I got a phone call from my deranged parent. “Guess what I’ve got! An air rifle!!!” As if she knows that this is not enough to shock me into a state of heart failure she then adds, “So far I’ve only managed to shoot a hole in my trouser leg, which is annoying, but I’ll soon have pidgeon pie!” A HOLE in her TROUSER LEG. Are you fucking KIDDING ME?!?!? How she managed to miss her leg is beyond me. How she managed to get the gun into that position and fire is even more confusing.

Naturally I hit the roof. ” WHY did you think you’d know how to safely operate an AIR RIFLE?!?” Her reasoning? “Well, I used to do crossbow for the county when I was younger, so I thought it’d be easy!” she states, cheerfully. CHEERFULLY!
Now, in my opinion I feel that a crossbow and an air rifle are two very different things, I don’t know about you guys. And, although I have had basic training with an air rifle at scouts, I would not assume that I could transfer those skills to a crossbow. Because they are different. They have different mechanisms, are made of different things and fire different (although equally deadly) missiles. I think the important word in that sentence is deadly. They are DEADLY. Although my parent seems to be able to deflect bullets.

Despite my loud protests she has continued with her war against the tasty-looking-pidgeons. However, they are winning. 
A) They are both still alive and B) they now sit a few doors down where she can’t get them. 

The latest update is that she is gunning for the poor pheasants, who aren’t quite as clever as the pidgeons.

Now I hope you all understand why I am almost 100% certain that my Mother is completely barmy.