tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78704535256855960042024-03-05T05:30:55.480-08:00grammargalAll about my so-called social life..grammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.comBlogger352125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-54625364478634342962016-12-29T05:41:00.001-08:002017-01-30T09:42:21.712-08:00Introducing...My New Blog!Hello lovely readers!<br />
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I realise I haven't written on here for a LONG time. Over a year, in fact. I could have had a baby in that time. Christ.<br />
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But instead I've spent the year just throwing myself into uni - including the dating scene, which has been fun! I've cocked up quite a few times, I must admit. But if Julia Roberts can be a fickle numpty for most of <i>Notting Hill </i>then I'm hoping you can also accept me for my inability to settle down!!<br />
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Anyways, I'm just writing this final blog post to tell you about my exciting new blog! It's pretty much like this one, but more centred around questions about sex. No, it's nothing like Sex and the City (alas, if only my life was as glamorous as Carrie's!) It's much more tragic. As most of you will know, I don't really have a filter - I just say/write whatever comes into my head...<br />
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So check it out! It's called: www.sexandtheexetergirl.wordpress.com<br />
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I've had such a fun few years writing this blog, so I'm very excited about my new one!!<br />
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Keep you posted,<br />
xxxgrammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-89324408405900937422016-04-08T03:41:00.001-07:002016-04-08T03:41:48.574-07:00The 'New Woman'I realise that I never told you how that date went with Tinder Tom. Suffice to say, he was pretty darn perfect: he told me all about his love for Taylor Swift, his respect for his family and his hilarious teenage antics from growing up in the West Country (did I mention he had a dreamy farmer accent? AKA DREAM!!!) After our mini bar crawl, we went <i>dancing </i>(it was like Dirty Dancing - he was spinning me around and everything) and then he walked me home and didn't even expect to come in. Quel gent.<br />
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Things only went tits-up when it came to the second 'date'. He asked if I wanted to get pizza and watch a movie and I jumped at the chance. My friend and I planned my outfit to a T (denim skirt and pretty top - not too casual but looks effortlessly cool) and I asked Tinder Tom where we were meeting. To my dismay, he wanted to come round mine to watch Netflix and order pizza. That's right: he wanted to Netflix and Chill. Now, I was initially in denial. How could Mr McDreamy want to Netflix & Chill? Didn't he realise that this would not be a cute story to tell the grandchildren?! So I laughed it off and messaged him "Think our second date is a bit early to Netflix and Chill!" and I addeda crying-happy face emoji to pretend I found it hilarious (when really I was livid that Mr Fantastic was turning into Mr Fuckboy)<br />
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Anyways, he then said "Oh I don't see it as a date, just think of it as hanging out and having fun :P" Yep, he did the ':P'. Suddenly I was in year 8 again and my crush was MSN-ing me asking "how many boys have you kissed? :P" To say this message was a deal-breaker would be an understatement. So I went all sassy on him and told him I like being taken out on cute dates and we weren't well-suited so I hope he has a nice life. It was so badass, I felt like a Charlie's Angel. Only now I live in perpetual fear of running into him on campus on a day where I look like a diseased squirrel (pasty hungover complexion, crazy bed hair...)<br />
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C'est la vie. But the thing about the Tinder Tom episode is that I realised I really don't care that much about finding a boyfriend. Actually, I really don't want a boyfriend (much to my mother's dismay). They're a lot of hassle and bring all sorts of emotional complications and methinks life is too short for that!<br />
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It seems to me that there is a 'New Woman' emerging at the moment (we are learning about 'New Women' in the Victorian era at the moment - they were badasses that demanded equality)<br />
There are the girls who hop from one guy to another, desperately hoping for a boyfriend. And then there are those who are cool with being single. It's like in <i>He's Just Not That Into You</i> - the main girl, GiGi, is obsessed with finding a boyfriend. And I'm just like wow, girl, think how much time you've wasted thinking about boys. She could have gone way further in her career if she'd just channelled that energy elsewhere!<br />
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Don't get me wrong, there are some reasons I would like a boyfriend:<br />
1. I really want to wear my dungarees with no clothes underneath. I think it would look so cool - like a naughty farmer girl!<br />
2. You can do sexual things with squirty cream. I love squirty cream.<br />
3. You can hold hands in public and turn singletons green with envy.<br />
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Yeah that's pretty much all I've got so far. All the cliches of "someone to hold you" and "someone to spoon" don't apply to me because I love my own space! Literally. I brought a boy back from a night out t'other day and we were hugging whilst sleeping and I had to do the old Hug and Roll because I need my space!!<br />
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So there you go. Your mates may all have boyfriends/girlfriends, but at least you're getting a better night's sleep.grammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-3237257935133528512016-01-23T11:31:00.000-08:002016-01-23T11:31:10.807-08:00The First DateTonight is my first date since Mr Melon and I broke up. I mean, I seem to have been on a couple since then but they were accidental - I thought those guys were just my friends and then they were like "good date?" and I was like "whaaaaaat".<br />
But tonight it's official - I'm a single pringle (the Mayoress of Singletown, in fact) and I have a Tinder Date :O<br />
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To say I am unprepared would be a colossal understatement. The date is in an hour and I am sitting here in my sweaty onesie (I really need to wash that!) and mid-cooking disaster. I'm making spaghetti bolognese. I thought the hob thing was boiling my pasta but it turns out it wasn't, so now my mince is cooked but the pasta has 20 mins to go! Quel disaster.<br />
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Also, I decided to shave <i>down there </i>but I couldn't quite reach all of it because our shower is pretty tiny, so now half of it is clean-shaven, but the other half is a Lionel-Richie style afro!! Oh well, at least that gives me reason not to bring Tinder Guy back!<br />
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That, and my messy room. It looks like a squatter has been living in it for a month - or like Ross' girl's room in Friends with all the rats and stuff. OK, so I don't have rats (but then again, I could do - you literally can't see the floor so there could be a family of them living under my cupboard. Oh dear God, why have I gone down this thought path. Abort thoughts of rat family - abort!!!)<br />
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Not only am I unprepared physically, but I also just have no idea how first dates work. Is it like a job interview - will he mark me down if I'm late? Or is it cool to be late, because then I look all James Deane and cool??<br />
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FUCK MY LIFE! I JUST BURNT MY LIP ON THE HOTTEST PASTA KNOWN TO MAN - WHO KNEW I WAS COOKING IT ON THE SURFACE OF THE SUN????!!!<br />
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I'd better go and sort out my face/clothes/life.<br />
Keep you posted,<br />
Grammar Gal xxxgrammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-90807240561148866652016-01-22T03:28:00.002-08:002016-08-19T15:44:56.441-07:00S & M: Selfish & Misogynistic"You need to stop getting with random guys in clubs" <br />
This was my Mum's reaction to me crying down the phone to her because some Creepy guy started strangling me when we were drunkenly snogging in a club a few nights ago.<br />
Obviously, she went on to denounce the guy as a massive weirdo and creep, but she still blamed me for getting<br />
A. Drunk<br />
B. With someone I don't know.<br />
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I literally don't remember the guy's name - I probably wouldn't be able to pick him out of a line-up. All I remember is that he was quite tall, pretty chubby, socially awkward and very, <em>very</em> forceful. <br />
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I hate this whole situation. I am programmed to try to laugh off anything serious - anything that makes me feel miffed or upset is usually turned into a joke that I tell my friends over cocktails. But now it all just feels too...serious.<br />
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The more I tell the story the less serious it sounds, and I'm now at the stage where I feel like I am making a big deal over nothing. I told one of my best friends that and she was beyond shocked and decided to remind me of the facts:<br />
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Yes, I was very drunk. Completely intoxicated, in fact. I had just been to a Cheerleading speed-dating social, where my friend and I played a game called "drink when a hot hockey guy looks over at you but doesn't approach". It got very messy and, a bottle of wine later, we were pretty smashed. <br />
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When we got to the club we were crazy dancing like absolute loons, and being the sassy singletons that we always are. Then I caught Creepy Guy's eye and we started chatting. He said he wanted us to sit down and "talk". Even though I have seen every John Hughes movie and American teen sit-com, I was still naïve enough to think that he genuinely just wanted a chat. Or maybe just a cheeky snog. Alas, I was wrong.<br />
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He had sinister intentions. We were kissing and suddenly, his hands were travelling places down there...Now, since I was drunk and bearing in mind that the most action I've had since Mr Melon and I broke up has been from my battery-operated pal, Rodney (my vibrator, I like calling him Big Rod), I was kind of happy to let that bit happen. I didn't fully happen, however, because as soon as Creepy Guy felt that I was up to do stuff he went power mad. He grabbed me by the throat so I couldn't move. I pushed his hand away very quickly, but still let him kiss me because I thought "Oh, he is clearly into S&M but I'm not, and he knows that now, so it's fine"<br />
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Alas, wrong again. Despite seeing how uncomfortable his gesture had made me, he grabbed my throat again. It was scary. I ran away and cried all night (hysterical, horrible, Sally from When Harry Met Sally crying) and felt so worthless and violated. It was awful.<br />
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And now I can't help but feel ill-equipped to deal with assault of any kind. So, some guy did try to strangle me - but lots of my friends have said that I'm "lucky" that nothing else happened. Why do we live in a world where a girl is supposed to count her lucky stars that all that happened to her was that some chubby Creepy guy tried to strangle her??!<br />
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Absolutely not OK. The thing that upset me the most was the absolute lack of respect. It felt like he was playing out some twisted fantasy from PornHub on me. He was selfish, he didn't care that I was hating every moment of his company. <br />
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It was a horrideous ordeal. I spent all of yesterday crying my eyes out and watching Veronica Mars (she's a sassy character who knows what to do in times of crises). But today is a new day. You can't be constantly scared of guys - they make up half the population! I will be more weary in future, but my Mum is wrong in thinking that I am in any way to blame for what happened. I will keep getting with random guys in club for as long as Exeter sells alcohol and I have a tongue to kiss with. I'm not "asking for it" because I enjoy snogging. Guys shouldn't attack you, and it's not your job to tiptoe around them. <br />
<br />grammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-18177304797853853232015-12-31T18:39:00.002-08:002015-12-31T18:39:45.197-08:00How to do New Years as a Sober CobraIt's 2.20am on New Years' Eve and I have never been more awake. This is absolutely unprecedented, since I am usually passed out by 10pm (that's not even an exaggeration - last year I was vomming by 9.15!) But this year, I was put on antibiotics 2 days before New Years, meaning I absolutely could not drink (NB: these were "really strong" antibiotics, so I was told that I couldn't even have a cheeky glass of champers, or there would be some sort of weird chemical reaction...after images of me frothing at the mouth, I decided to pass on this)<br />
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Yet even though I am a Sober Cobra, I've actually had an amazing night hosting a party for my friends. So I thought I would share some tips on how to enjoy your New Years without getting White Girl Wasted:<br />
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1. Take a LOT of Caffeine. One or two Diet Cokes will not be enough. I'd already had 5 mini cans of Diet Coke before my friends had even arrived. And then I played a little drinking game called "Drink a Mini Diet Coke Every Time My Friends Top Up Their Drink". Needless to say, I've had over 10 of the cans. I also had a caffeine tablet when I started my Caffeine Crash at about 11.<br />
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2. Find Sober Allies. These are the people you will be popping to caffeine tablets with and trying not to judge your drunk skunk friends with.<br />
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3. Don't judge your drunk friends. Nobody likes the sober judgy friend who raises their eyebrows and asks "are you sure that Tequila shot is a good idea?" Like, hell yeah it's a great idea! So what if they vom? Let them have their fun, you have no right to judge!<br />
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4. Let go. Sober dancing is my least favourite thing in the whole world. Dancing requires coordination and rhythm, neither of which I have mastered. So the only time I like to slut drop and generally move in time to music is when I am absolutely smashed. But, alas, that was not possible tonight! So I was awkwardly trying to get my hips to move and not look like a puppet doll as I danced to Single Ladies, which was of course impossible. But then I looked around and realised that most of my mates were totally smashed. So I just thought I'd follow the YOLO brick road, and I was jumping around and using walnuts as maracas. <br />
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5. Embrace the DMCs. Throughout the night you will be hugged very tightly - kisses may even be involved. And then your friend will want to open up about the value of your friendship, or some deep secret they've been keeping on their chest for 5 months. And don't just shrug it off and be like "Oh, she's only saying we're besties because she's on her 8th Sambuca shot". Like, no. Drunk words are sober thoughts, so take the DMC love!<br />
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6. Don't tidy. When you're drunk you are usually oblivious to the mess around you, but when you are sober it is disturbingly apparent. My carpet is currently 50 shades of ruined. So many different drinks have been spilled down it, and there are also blobs of vaseline, and cracked walnuts scattered everywhere. But resist the temptation to get out the Cif and do a bit of scrubbing - you will literally spend all night on the floor, and you aren't Cinderella now that you're at the ball!<br />
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7. Invest in ear plugs. My friends have now gone home, but my sisters' friends (who were even more smashed than mine - who knew that was possible?!) are still here. And I can hear them alternating in vomming from my room.<br />
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So they are the top tips for staying sober but having a fantabulous time.<br />
Happy new year!<br />
xxxx<br />
<br />grammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-18442982560907264632015-12-28T05:58:00.000-08:002015-12-28T05:58:24.602-08:00Operation: Get a Tinder DateSo I met up with my ex, Mr Melon, on the week before Christmas. It was a rather dramatic meet-up and my emotions were on a Thorpe Park-esque rollercoaster the whole time.<br />
Lots happened, but the thing I want to focus on is when he casually dropped into conversation that he was seeing someone. And that's totally fine.<br />
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I mean, we broke up 4 months ago - how could I expect that he'd be Notebook-style pining over me? In 4 months I could have gotten pregnant, or written a novel, or made a viral Youtube video that made me Rebecca Black-style famous. A lot can happen in 4 months. So it's only natural that he has moved on, or is at least trying to.<br />
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And now I've decided that I want to move on, too. I don't want to go all gooey-eyed over someone, but I would like to go out on a date with a nice guy who laughs at my jokes and thinks I'm adorkable (is that too much to ask?!)<br />
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So I've decided to turn to Tinder, and get me a Tinder date.<br />
Now, I've been on Tinder for a while now, but I've never met up with any of the guys here because<br />
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A. I have too much fun being sassy with them. One guy started a conversation with "I'd like to nail you to the wall because you're a masterpiece". I replied telling him that that felt very cruxifixion-y and that I wasn't Jesus. We talked for a bit but I could tell I had insulted his masculinity, because he lost interest when I didn't fawn all over his cheesy line. And that happened a few times... Note to self: if I want to find a date, I must flatter the guy's ego (but what fun is that? Sigh)<br />
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B. I always swipe 'yes' for guys that I would never actually go for. Tim, 23, from Exeter is not the prettiest diamond on the chandelier, but he clearly put so much effort into his profile (and he 'super liked' me!) so I swiped 'yes'. But as soon as he started talking to me, I wasn't interested! Besides, he can't tell the difference between 'your' and 'you're' and, for me, that's a deal breaker.<br />
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C. Lack of common interests. So I found a guy who was so hilarious in his description of himself, and he was attractive (bonus!) So we got to talking and we realised that we both love food (yes, it's a bit of a fake common interest because we all love food - we need it to survive!) and then he went on about how much he loves lasagne, and I cocked up by telling the truth: I've never tasted lasagne. Clearly, for him, that was a big deal-breaker, since we stopped talking after that.<br />
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D. Three-letter names. I have a theory that all guys with three-letter names have been sent by Mother Nature to bitchslap my heart. Seriously: All guys that I've known who have been fuckboys have had three-letter names. Coincidence? I think not. So this guy, Cai, actually asked me on a date but he hada three-letter name!!!! I did say yes, but then I stopped replying to him because on my birthday he didn't say 'Happy Birthday' and instead said "I love me a birthday girl ;)" which I thought was gross, and I'm not looking for a horny gross boy, I'm looking for a <i>nice guy</i>.<br />
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But then I found a really nice guy, Tinder Tom. True, he has three letters in his name - but, hey, nobody is perfect! He's really cute and he likes fishing and he seems to find me real funny! Plus, he texted me "Merry Chrsitmas" (yes, we are on texting terms! Or, at least, we were until conversation dwindled...)<br />
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Well I've decided that I would like to go on a date with TT. But when, where and how?<br />
I'm going to have a think, and get back to you on that one! Maybe I will text him on New Years when I'm a drunk skunk. Something cool and nonchalant like "Happy new year, you! Long time no speak, how you been?"<br />
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OK, that needs a lot of work.<br />
Keep you posted,<br />
Grammar Galgrammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-74719921384293952632015-12-28T05:39:00.001-08:002015-12-28T05:39:59.188-08:00It's the Most Wine Flu-y Time of the YearAcross the country, millions of Brits have caught something that closely resembles what uni students call Freshers' Flu. Body parts are aching, we are too tired to get up in the morning, and our throats feel as dry as Frankie Boyle's sense of humour. In times like these, we can hardly muster the enthusiasm for the future drunken escapades of the New Year, and just the sight of red wine is enough to make us gag.<br />
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But darker times lie ahead - we all know that January Blues are a real thing. There's nothing to really look forward to in January - unless you're a disturbing couple and have already picked out your 'His & Hers' matching onesies for Valentine's Day gifts. January is also a bugger of a month because it is absolutely <i>freezing </i>- yet, unlike December, it doesn't feel magical because it's not Christmas. In effect, January sucks balls.<br />
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So with this in mind, I suggest that we all get out of bed, jump into the magical and warm embrace of something called a shower, and carpe that diem! We only have a week and a bit before the Most Terrible Month of the Year, so let's swear off alcohol until New Year's Eve, eat some gross healthy green stuff and get our lives together (or at least give the impression that we do!)<br />
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Pep talk over.grammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-54214689157925179202015-12-20T04:02:00.000-08:002017-12-01T13:59:38.118-08:00How I Went from Girlfriend Goddess to Mayoress of SingletonI am aware that I haven't written in a long time, but my (rather rubbish) excuses are three-fold:<br />
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A. I've been at uni. Now, I know that sounds like a generic "oooo I was busy" reason, but trust me: I spend my days either trying to be Hermione and living in the library, or sticking my head down the toilet and trying to Tactical Chunder to get rid of my hangover so I can carpe that diem .</div>
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B. Mr Melon and I broke up shortly after I wrote the last post. Now, don't be deceived: I haven't been Bridget Jones-ing (yes, it's a verb) and wrapped up in my duvet for the last 3 months. Instead, I've been trying (unsuccessfully) to not think about it... so I thought that writing a blog post about it would be redundant - <i>but, heyho, here we are!!!</i></div>
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C. My love life has been non-existent. I'm not even sure if I'm renouncing all boys...! I'm not sure what's happening, to be honest. The most I've fancied anyone this term was this random guy who was nice to me, but after we kissed he stopped talking to me. Now, I may not be the smartest cookie in the cookie jar, but I know that if a guy isn't making an effort with you then <i>he's just not that into you</i>. I know this from reading the Girl Bible (if you haven't read it, then do it!), so I am now sassy when it comes to interactions with the opposite sex. </div>
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So, due to my not wanting to think about Mr Melon as well as my lack of a love life, I haven't written in a long time. Hey, I think that these are pretty valid reasons, now that I think about it. I didn't go with the typical "I was busy" excuse (which is a sh-excuse, because if Noah can write to Ally every day for 365 days then nobody can ever be too busy to do something that's important!)</div>
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But now I'm going to briefly sum up how I cocked things up with Mr Melon.</div>
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So, we had a very intense relationship - it was very <i>The Notebook </i>meets <i>The Fault in Our Stars</i>. Only, it slowly became pretty one-sided on the intense front. He matured a lot at uni (and actually became a #LadLadLad) whereas I was still acting like Taylor Swift at the end of Blank Space when I hadn't heard from him in a while. </div>
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And most people could tell you that I'm an overthinker. Now, normally that's a good thing - I have carefully thought through what Beatles songs I want to sing at my wedding, what I would do if I won the lottery, and whether it would be quirky or cruel to give my kids really hipster names (I've decided to go for it). But overthinking is a pain in the nipple when you're in a relationship. I was blissfully happy when I was <i>with</i> Mr Melon and watching films or chatting or gallivanting around the city and being all cute and PDA-y (Disclaimer: we were <i>that </i>couple that held hands, skipped, and sang songs together). But when he wasn't physically there (which was a lot of the time, because we were doing long distance) my brain, Bernard (yes, I've named him) started being a difficult dick and overthinking everything. Was I happy? Did he really love me? Was I making him happy? Would he always stand by me? And, again, <i>was I happy</i>??? </div>
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And I've realised that my relationship with Mr Melon was great in so many ways, but it's OK that it's over. I don't think I'm mature enough for a relationship yet...!!! They're just so serious, and I put so much pressure on them to fill me up with happiness. Whereas, now that I'm back to being the Mayoress of Singleton, I can go back to making life a barrel of banter. </div>
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My New Years' Resolution is to just take things less seriously, and (oh, God, I'm such a cringe) to <i>find myself</i>. I sound like I'm about to go on a Gap Yah to Indonesia. But I'm serious - I'm now 20, so it's time I start taking care of myself.</div>
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Your twenties are there to learn from the mistakes you made as a teen, to move on, to try and be the best version of yourself you can be, and to have a LOT of fun! So, that's the aim for this decade.</div>
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Keep you posted on how that goes,</div>
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Grammar Gal </div>
grammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-1743480833847205942015-08-27T07:51:00.002-07:002015-12-20T04:03:44.867-08:00Classy Girls<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 22.7199993133545px;">I've always loved Audrey Hepburn. Not only does she have flawless style in all of the films I've seen her in (I mean, have you SEEN her little black dress at the start of Breakfast at Tiffany's?!) but she's just so...elegant. The way she climbs into a taxi and says "Step on it, darling!" is just so classy. She oozes sophistication throughout. </span><br />
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So I always assumed that I was an Audrey Hepburn type. I mean, this idea has been aided by the fact I went to an all-girls' Convent, where we learned (kinda) how to be ladies. Or we learned the next best thing - how to be sassy. And Latin - we had to learn Latin...</div>
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And yet...</div>
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The thing is, I'm about as classy as Simon Cowell is compassionate - the two just don't go hand in hand. I think that I only fully realised this t'other day. I was going out with some of my old Year 12 guy friends, and my best friend Yazz. Curly Haired Guy was also there - and he has not changed a bit!! He's still a cocky bum who is very charming and can be slimey when he's drunk!!</div>
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But in all seriousness, CHG is lovely - and he's such a hoot to be around! We were having a laugh at the start of the night, and I was being my usual Queen of Sass self...and then I hit the Vodka Wall. I was beyond drunk. The line of drunkness was a dot to me. Not only was I not allowed into the club we were going to, but I threw up on the pavement outside it. In from of CHG. Cringe-worthy or what?!</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 22.7199993133545px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 22.7199993133545px;">
And he was being so bloody nice - and he stayed outside and chatted with me for like an hour. And he let me rest my head on his shoulder. I was still with Mr Melon at the time and of course I dont think of CHG <i>in that way </i>but I have to admit that it was nice being taken care of. Maybe Freud was onto something when he said that we all secretly fancy our parents - because I seriously dig the protective vibe thing.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 22.7199993133545px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 22.7199993133545px;">
But anyways. Back to my point. I spent the whole night throwing up in the club's toilets (after they eventually let me in...A bad judgement call on their part) and being a genuine embarrassment. WHY DO I HAVE NO CLASS?!?!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 22.7199993133545px;">
Funily enough, I haven't really heard from CHG since that evening...</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 22.7199993133545px;">
Oh well, I guess my guy friends were under the false impression that uni would have changed me and made me more "mature" and "able to handle my drink". But, alas. A leopard never changes its spots!</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 22.7199993133545px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 22.7199993133545px;">
Keep you posted,</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 22.7199993133545px;">
Grammar Gal</div>
grammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-12455535787593543582015-08-07T06:06:00.000-07:002015-12-20T04:04:55.005-08:00Sleeping over at a boy's houseI blame my all-girls grammar school upbringing for my awkwardness around members of the opposite sex. Whenever I'm in a room with them, I can feel my heart beating really fast - not in a "oooh he's so dreamy" way, but in a "OMG WHAT THE HELL SHOULD I SAY TO THIS MYTHICAL CREATURE?!?!" way.<br />
So you can imagine how I was feeling when I went and stayed round at my friend's house t'other day. I had so many queries before I even left my house, like<br />
A. What kind of pyjamas does one bring to a boy-girl sleepover? I mean, it's hot so I want to wear shorts, but then do shorts give off a sexual message? Would the guys think I was sending off a "Come and Get It" signal?? So then I thought about taking long trousers but, alas, it's so hot in England at the moment that it's practically the south of France! So I took both shorts and trousers and decided to choose a pair when I got there (I chose shorts in the end because I realised that I have the sex appeal of a gremlin, and that my guy friends would know I wasn't coming onto them anyway!)<br />
B. Where does one sleep at a boy-girl sleepover? In my head, the boys and girls would be lying side-by-side in the living room, or top-tailing on the sofas. But does that constitute sleeping with someone else? If I did that then would that mean I was cheating on my dreamy Mr Melon??? In the end, my guy friend (who was hosting the massive sleepover) decided to let all the girls have the beds - it was a very Titanic moment (you know, where women and children get to go on the lifeboats first) and very...'gentlemanly' according to everyone there. The feminist in me was a wee bit outraged that women were being sectioned off in this way, since it implied that we could not deal with sleeping on the floor. But the sleepyhead in me was not in the mood to make a fuss and, besides, the guy's bed was super comfy!<br />
C. Is it OK to go to the loo at a boy's house? To this day, I'm not sure what the protocol is. I've been to parties at boys' houses before and I always try to hold it. If I'm reallllly desperate, then I allow myself to pee in their house. But what if I needed to do a Number Two?? (This did actually happen at the sleepover!!! I had to hold it in for DAYS. Oh, the agony :'( ). If I was sleeping over at a girl's house then I guess I would have the same dilemma... But it just seems so much worse at a boy's house!<br />
<br />
With all of these questions whizzing around my head, I was naturally nervous to stay over. But I ended up having a whale of a time - it was a real hoot and a half!! I also feel like I learned a lot...<br />
1. Beer pong is NOT fun, unless you are<br />
A. Drunk.<br />
B. Invited to play.<br />
<br />
2. Boys like to talk about sex when they're drunk.<br />
<br />
3. Boys like to lie about whether they vommed or not. My guy friend was vomming in the loo and I could hear him in there, but the next day he said "Yeah, I did chunder once - it was in your neighbour's front lawn - sorry about that!! Banter..?!?!" AND THAT WAS A LIE!! I heard him puking his guts out IN THE TOILET like a decent citizen :')<br />
<br />
4. Boys are obsessed with banter.<br />
<br />
5. Sometimes at a sleepover, the host will act like a Father Figure. This really baffled me. So I was getting into bed with my female friend, and we were getting all cosy when I suddenly looked up and saw the scariest tiger animal in the world! Its eyes were so piercing and creepy and oooo I'm getting shivers just remembering him. So, yes, I may have let out a little scream. Suddenly, the host was in our room and cracking up about my phobia of this tiger. He brought the tiger towards me and made me stroke it, then told me to take it to bed with me to cure the phobia. At the end of this chat, when my friend and I were back in bed, he said "Night girls" and turned the light off. It was so fatherly!!! I felt very much like a 5-year-old who had just been cuddled after having a nightmare. So bizarre!!!<br />
<br />
6. It's OK to use a boy's towel. Now, I had always thought that boy's towels were Strictly Off Limits - because they wipe their...bananas with them. And I don't want to wipe my face with something that boys have wiped their bananas (and oranges!) on. But at sleepovers it is apparently totally normal to borrow a boy's towel. Naturally, I tried to avoid using the towel on my...private areas (what if I somehow got pregnant?!?!).<br />
<br />
So anyways, it was a very educational and fun trip!<br />
<br />
I have a party coming up tomorrow night and it's fancy dress (Theme: Country of your choice) so, naturally, mother wants me to dress up as a sexy Hawaiin dancer or something. But I'm thinking of painting myself red and going as the dragon from the Welsh flag... I really hope this isn't going to be like when Georgia dresses up as an olive in Angus Thongs... That would be beyond awks!!<br />
Keep you posted,<br />
Grammar Galgrammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-6467724411881155222015-08-02T15:32:00.000-07:002015-08-02T15:32:35.482-07:00Meet the Artful DodgerThe other day I had the most mahoosive blast from the past, which came in the shape of a very tall boy with curly black hair...Yes, for those of you who remember him, it was <a href="http://www.grammar-gal.blogspot.co.uk/2013/03/confustion-and-mixed-feelings-drunk.html">Curly Haired Guy</a>. I've always liked that nickname because it makes me think of a boy with a Pubic Hair-style, and that's a giggle-worthy image. I mean, would the guy brush his hair if it was so short and curly?? Do people comb their pubic hair?? Ooooo I'm not liking this train of thought (or the mental images that are accompanying it). Must not google whether people comb pubic hair. Must stay on track with my story.<br />
<br />
OK, as I was saying. I saw CHG (whose hair does <i>not </i>look like pubic hair - just for the record!) t'other day at a gathering (yes, we are in year 12 again!) and we got to talking. The conversation was easy and light (partly because I was a complete drunk skunk, and would have had a very animating conversation with a lampost if I had happened to see one) and I don't remember much of it, but it was nice.<br />
<br />
Obviously that door is well and truly closed. There isn't even a twitch of longing there anymore which is gooooooood - CHG and I will forever only be amigos (ever since he ditched me for that 8-year-old two years ago...Totes over that...That clealry didn't wound my ego. At all...)<br />
<br />
I'm being side-tracked from my story once again. ANYWAYS. I was talking to CHG and I remember him saying "you're exactly the same as you were two years ago" (I think that's a compliment - I mean, I hate change - as my parents will testify, since I've been ranting about our new kitchen lights for a good two weeks now...) BUT THEN HE ADDED "well...your accent has changed a bit actually. You keep slipping into cockney".<br />
<br />
So it turns out that University has tranformed me into a member of the cast of Oliver. Yes, I do drop my 't's occassionally now - because I'm a lazy daisy (and 'wa'er' is the same thing as 'water' for goodnes' sake!). But I was not aware that my new-found accent was going to affect the way that people saw me. Hmmm....I guess, some people at uni do say I sound like I'm from Eastenders.<br />
<br />
But I don't know what's happening with my accent at the moment - it literally has a life of its own! One minute, I'm Stacey from Eastenders, then suddenly I'm posh tottie Miranda Hart, and then I sometimes sound like I'm from the West Country (think 'Alice' from The Vicar of Dibley - according to one of my best friends, which is the height of rudeness!!).<br />
<br />
So, CHG has made me start thinking... Do people frown upon the cockney accent? In this day and age, is it compulsory to be posh?? If I was in a job interview then I would probably put on a fake accent (the aforementioned Miranda Hart one) and then start dropping my 't's when they were stuck with me (mwahahaha). But when it comes to socialising with your friends...<br />
<br />
I don't know. I've also realised that my voice sounds a lot more...'London' when I'm nervous. It's like the accent has special poowers that make me into a social butterfly!<br />
<br />
So, to conclude, I'm happy with my weird accent! And CHG will just have to learn to speak the lingo :')<br />
Keep you posted,<br />
Grammar Galgrammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-61233983714166136092015-06-22T13:21:00.000-07:002015-06-22T13:21:04.610-07:00Feeling broodyI've never particularly liked children. Actually, that's not entirely true. From a distance, kids have always seemed really cute. You see them running along with ribbons in their hair and dirt on their trousers that makes them look like they're being filmed for a Persil advert, and you think: awwwww. They're so cute! And so tiny - their fingers are so little, how do they even hold stuff???<br />
<br />
But then you start talking to a child. And it's the most annoying thing in the world. The conversation goes around in circles and it's like you're on an Annoying Roundabout - every question they ask you gets more and more annoying!<br />
Like: "what are you doing?" Yeah, that sounds cute enough when the kid next to you on the bus asks that.<br />
So you reply "I'm reading a magazine"<br />
And then they ask: "What's it about?"<br />
So you answer: "Clothes and women and stuff"<br />
So they ask: "Why are you reading it?"<br />
And you say "I just like it, it's interesting"<br />
And they persist: "But <i>why </i>do you like it? Why don't you want to read something else?"<br />
<br />
And suddenly it's like you're being interrogated at a police station. Nothing you say will be good enough and, thus, you are on the Annoying Roundabout.<br />
<br />
But lately I've been feeling that kids aren't actually <i>that bad?! </i>I think it's because I played Hide and Seek with my little 5 year old cousin and his friend, and it was really fun. I'm such a kid at heart. And then my cousin kept cuddling me and climbing into my lap like I was a Kangaroo and he was my little kid sitting in my pouch. It was so adorable!<br />
<br />
And now BAM! Broodiness has begun. Rahhhhh I want a baby!!! (OK, but not in real life - please, God, don't do that thing where you now give me a child. Like Virgin Mary. Only, I'm not a Virgin. But then, was Mary <i>really</i>...? It's all very controversial!)<br />
<br />
Anyways, yeah. Babies are adorable. And so cute and little and aw.<br />
Totes adorbs!! Keep you posted,<br />
Grammar Galgrammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-20460937555125417642015-06-22T13:11:00.001-07:002015-08-02T15:53:52.697-07:00Misadventures in Cooking<div class="MsoNormal">
My mother has made what can only be described as a
catastrophic mistake. She has left me home alone and trusts me to cook my lunch
and dinner. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m a good cook. I’ve always been told
that my toast and jam is Michelin-Rating-Worthy. And as for my Microwave Ready
Meal – you’d think you were cooking something by Jamie Oliver.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But, alas, she has asked me to make myself boiled eggs for
lunch. So, naturally, I went shopping and bought some sweets, thinking I could
just eat loads of those and pretend I’d eaten lunch. But she’s quite a smart
lady, my mother. And she called me to ask how the eggs were going. And, of
course, they are still sitting snugly in the fridge. And I’m a terrible liar,
so now I’m here in the kitchen trying to make Eggs and Soldiers. Mum says it’s
“dead easy” and I just have to let them boil in water for 3 minutes. But what
if it goes wrong and I boil the eggs for too long? What if there’s still a
chicken in one of them and I end up eating a little baby chick by accident?? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I have far more qualms about dinner. Mum wants me to
make Pork Chops. Pork. As in meat. I’ve never cooked meat before – do I need
foil? I feel like in cooking shows they
use foil. But isn’t foil flammable? Would the foil set fire to my
kitchen? And meat is just scary to cook – if it goes wrong then I’ll get food
poisoning. And who knows if that could be fatal??<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nonetheless, I’m literally starving
so I’m going to force myself to become a Domestic Goddess.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Keep you posted when I burn my
house down,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Grammar Gal<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
PS How long does it take to boil
this water for my eggs? Swear I’ve been waiting for at least 3 days…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u>Cooking Update<o:p></o:p></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It turns out that the pork chops are out of a date by almost
a month. Now, does that mean I can still eat them because they were in the
freezer?? The back instructions are very ambiguous – it says “use by the sell
by date” but also “use within a month” – does that mean use within a month of
purchase or within a month of the sell-by date?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The chops themselves look a bit minging – there’s blood
coming out of them. That indicates that they’re still fine to eat because
otherwise wouldn’t the blood have mould on it or something…?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Heyho, I’m not taking the chance. After today’s culinary
triumph with the boiled eggs (I mean, they did crack whilst in the pan but that
was just a minor hiccup) I’ve decided to make scrambled eggs and smoked salmon.
I might even throw in some of my critically acclaimed toast. So now I just need
to google how to scramble an egg/eggs (do you use one or more??!).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wish me luck!<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Grammar Gal<o:p></o:p></div>
grammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-79553272143911066482015-06-22T13:07:00.004-07:002015-06-22T13:07:59.156-07:00At the Clingy Crossroads(I wrote this blog post a LONG time ago but my internet was being a little knob, so I'm only uploading it now!!)<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
There comes a time in every relationship when a guy starts
to withdraw a wee bit. <u>Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus</u> will tell
you that this is because men are elastic bands who need to stretch out and feel
independent before they can spring back to you. I’ve already called bullshit on
that theory. But, regardless of why the boy draws away, it inevitably happens.
As a girl, you find yourself at the Clingy Crossroads, faced with two paths
ahead of you.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->A.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->You cling on for dear life. Your phone becomes
your new source of Oxygen. Wake up? Check it. Go for a bath? Take it with you.
On the toilet? Check he hasn’t read your Whatsapp yet. Not only do you
obsessively pray he will reply to your messages, you actually send him more
than is normal. It starts with one ‘Good Morning Text’ (because he no longer
sends those any more) and then you decide to tell him about what you’re doing with
your day. And then you read an article that you obviously need to tell him
about. And then there’s a new sandwich you just tried that tastes exactly like
the one he had the other day from Pret… And soon you’ve sent 20 messages. Each
has been seen and not responded to. And how do you feel? Like a clingy koala
bear who’s unworthy of love.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->B.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->You distance yourself. He’s trying to be an
elastic band? Well, let’s see who can stretch the furthest. My mamma has always
said that if you treat ‘em mean then you keep ‘em keen. Pros of this tactic are
that you feel fantabulous about yourself – why reply to him when you can
instead spend the day focusing on you. Maybe today is the perfect day to start
doing Pilates (or maybe not…). Yet by distancing yourself, you create…well,
distance. And that’s not healthy – soon the conversation trickles down and
neither side is willing to start a conversation. Take it from the professional
– this is the path I took that made my relationship with Humbug go from Pretty
Bad to Completely Tits Up. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As we can see, both paths are recipes for disasters. I wish
there was a way that we could stay sassy and independent, but also be cherished
so we don’t feel clingy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But guys have lives too! Hmmmm… I’m not really sure what
advice to give now! I guess, we should just try our best to stay independent
but also loving.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well that’s what I think anyway. Keep you posted how that
turns out…<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Grammar Gal <o:p></o:p></div>
grammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-21738895314353439532015-06-05T10:33:00.000-07:002015-06-22T13:24:13.470-07:00Farting in front of the boyfriendIt's my least favourite 'F' word. When I say/write/read it, it makes me cringe and involuntarily say 'urghhh'. Nonetheless, it's something we all do - we can't help it, we're animals!<br />
<br />
But it seems to be an unspoken rule that one must not...'pop off' in front of one's partner. According to urban legend, the moment that the wind breaks, the relationship is changed forever.<br />
<br />
And that does make sense - he hears/smells you 'pop off' and then what next? Will he expect you to have burping competitions? Will having a shit become an activity you do together? When farting in front of your partner, the main concern is that it sounds the death toll of romance in your relationship.<br />
<br />
Yes, this all sounds like such hogwash and you may think I'm a total pillock for being so dramatic. But...<br />
<br />
Well...<br />
<br />
I did it. I was drunk and throwing up at the <a href="http://grammar-gal.blogspot.co.uk/2015/06/taking-leap-of-faithand-landing-in-pile.html">aforementioned predrinks </a> and as I was bent over and straining to throw up all of the Vodka I had mistakenly consumed, a little 'pop' came out of my bottom. And he heard. And I paused the throwing up to consider how best to die in that moment (drowning in my vomit was the best option I came up with) and said "I'm so sorry". He said not to worry and acted like it hadn't happened. Then the next day at lunch he mentioned it with a little smile on his face.<br />
<br />
And I knew that things would never be the same again.<br />
<br />
I farted in front of my boyfriend. Will he now think he can fart in front of me??? Well.... To be honest, farts don't bother me too much. It's burps that get me. They have the worst sound ever - it's like a duck being drowned and uttering it's last quack (can ducks drown???). And the smell...It's like when a dustbin truck is parked outside your house and wafting towards you. Ugh it's the definition of grim.<br />
<br />
So maybe we will be OK if he just doesn't burp in front of me. I mean, maybe this is all actually a good thing. Normally when I need to pop off I go to the toilet, turn the tap on, pop then spray an entire can of Lynx to cover the scene of the crime. Maybe it would be nice to not have to go through all that effort and to just...let it go (literally).<br />
<br />
Here's hoping!<br />
Keep you posted,<br />
Grammar Galgrammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-18176170453384654862015-06-05T10:20:00.002-07:002015-06-22T13:27:57.228-07:00Taking a Leap of Faith...And Landing in a Pile of VomitMay the record show that I was on my best behaviour. After deciding that my boyfriend's ex was <i>not </i>a threat and that she seemed perfectly lovely, Mr Melon and I went to her house for predrinks.<br />
<br />
Naturally, we were rather late because I got a wee bit flustered trying to find an outfit that said "friendly" for her, but also "sexy" for Mr Melon. I settled for a blue swing top and skirt, then realised that I looked ridiculous because my bra was 10000% on show. And I wouldn't have minded, but it was my granny bra that was really gross and bobbly. But, alas, my other bras were hidden under the blanket of clothes that is my floor, so I decided that the Granny-Meet-Stripper look would have to do. Besides, time was ticking and Mr Melon was huffing and looking at his watch a lot.<br />
<br />
So I turned up at these pre-drinks with Vodka and a desire to make friends. But it soon became apparent that the entire room was off their faces. They were literally such drunk skunks - in a very explicit game of Never Have I Ever people were confessing to 'ejaculating and evacuating' and making sex tapes. Mr Melon and I knew that we needed to catch up on the drinking front.<br />
<br />
Being a Convent Girl (aka a wee bit of a prude when it comes to...you know, <i>sexual </i>things), I didn't have much to drink for in Never Have I Ever. So instead I played my own game, called Drink 3/4 of a Vodka Bottle in 15 Minutes. Not my smartest idea.<br />
<br />
Oh, but it gets worse. Mr Melon's ex then asked him/'us' (it was 100% directed at him) if we wanted a tour of her house, namely of her bedroom. So off we went off, the strangest threesome (not in that way, hey!) to have ever had a tour. And upon going into her room it became apparent that stood in front of me was the female equivalent of Mr Melon.<br />
<br />
Same taste in books? Check. Same taste in posters? Check. Same taste in films? Check. It dawned on me that she was his ideal girl. And then she excused herself to go to the toilet because, as a wee bit of a drunk skunk, she had broken The Seal.<br />
<br />
And then I threw up in her friend's bathroom. I'm not talking cutesy throwing up either. My sister is adorable when she's sick - she coughs so lightly and you literally cannot tell that chunks of grossness are coming out of her mouth. But me? I was retching as loudly as a car being revved on Top Gear. And Melon's ex actually heard me from the other room. Before I knew it, me and Mr Melon were surrounded by a group of people (whom, aside from telling us a wee bit TMI during Never Have I Ever, were complete strangers). I was mortified. I tried to stop being sick but, alas, it was as if I was throwing up everything I had ever eaten in my life.<br />
<br />
And Mr Melon's ex was so nice about it - she said I could use her bed to have a nap in if I wanted. And after I unstapled my head from the toilet, I did go and lie down there. And then proceeded to tell Mr Melon all about my irrational jealousy for his ex. It seems that being drunk and being sassy are mutually exclusive when one is around your partner's ex.<br />
<br />
But things did finally pick back up - he told me that she is definitely only a friend and that he likes the fact we aren't too similar. Phew.<br />
<br />
But I'm naturally still mortified about the whole evening. And I had to see his ex the next day, and oh I wish I hadn't looked like I'd been eaten by a whale (I was pasty white and had unbrushed hair, wearing a cardigan that definitely clashed with my dress but was all that I could find in my room).<br />
<br />
Heyho. The moral of this story is: Vodka is <i>never </i>the answer.grammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-11919944775859187222015-05-26T10:05:00.001-07:002015-05-26T10:05:39.507-07:00Waking up with more than a hangoverYesterday was such a hoot and a half! I went shopping with a new friend in the morning, and then in the afternoon a big group of us "watched the cricket" aka got realllllllly drunk and sunabathed.<br />
There was just one tiny problem...I got absolutely off my face. I'm talking 'Drunk Skunk' x100000!<br />
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And whilst everyone does love a drunk friend, it turns out that not everybody loves a drunk <i>girl</i>friend. I went and cocked things up with my big ol' drunken mouth. Now Mr Melon and I are having some 'space' because he needs to revise and I'm a demanding girlfriend, who is appaz v selfish and clingy.<br />
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So not only have I woken up with bags under my eyes the size of the Grand Canyon, and nausea that could easily be mistaken for morning sickness, but I also have a very angry but gorgeous boyfriend, who seems to think that I'm an infuriating hippo (and not the cute hippos either - the ones that go around eating people and are really scary and need to be tamed!)<br />
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Maybe I should just respect his need for space. I mean, it must be hard to revise when you have a girlfriend who wants to talk to you and gets miffed when you don't reply. He's even turned off his "Last Seen" thingy on Whatsapp!!!<br />
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But it's going to be OK... As I (repetitively) told him last night, if two people love each other then they can work things out.<br />
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OH MY SWEET JESUS. I just remembered leaving him a voicemail and then he texted me saying it was too unbearable to listen to!!! I am past the Land of Embarrassed and heading towards the Cliff of Mortified!!!<br />
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Ok, let's just stay calm. The plan is to hide in my duvet and make myself a little fort. Who said you can't hide from your problems?grammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-19098057486182966182015-05-24T16:38:00.001-07:002015-05-24T16:38:15.824-07:00Men are Elastic Bands... No, wait, they're just bellendsOk, I'm not saying that all guys are bellends. But according to Mr Gray (author of <u>Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus</u>) guys feel the need to "get away" from their fantabulous girlfriends because they freeak out about commitment and need some alone 'man' time to 'go into their cave' and think about life. What a load of bollocks!<br />
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Mr Gray also says that women should just wait around for them to spring back, and that they shouldn't be mad if the guy ignores them, but should instead go shopping. Is anyone else seeing that Mr Gray is single-handedly excusing guys being bellends for no reason??<br />
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OK, let's say a girl needs a wee bit of space. Know what she'd do? Take the day to herself and then text her boy in the evening, making up some valid excuse as to why she'd been away so that she wouldn't hurt his feelings.<br />
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Know what boys do? They don't reply to your messages, and then they don't even bother coming up with a valid reason. Or if they do, then the reason has so many holes in it that it's practically a 3-year-old lace thong (we all have one that is way past its wearable date). He may say "Oh, yeah, I was so busy working today" but then casually slips into conversation that he managed to watch an entire season of Friends in that day...<br />
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And, as girls, we are meant to respect their space and respect their need to stretch away and go into their caves. Because if we don't then<br />
A. We are apparently Taylor-Swift-at-the-end-of-Blank-Space psycho girlfriends<br />
B. We are prohibiting boys from 'exploring themselves' and letting them become independent creatures away from us - this is according to Mr Bullshit Gray.<br />
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But where is the girl's opportunity to find herself? Where's our cave at?? <u>Men are from Mars</u> claims that women are like waves and when they're at the top of the wave they feel fabulous, but when at the bottom they get clingy because they feel shit.<br />
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Either way, a girl is clearly dependent on a boy. We aren't allowed this space - instead of being elastic bands, we are velcro.<br />
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And so I'd just like to call Bullshit on all of this. If a guy is being unsupportive then don't send him cutesy smiley emojis and be like "No worries baby boo" (although, if you're calling him baby boo then I may understand why he needs this space). It's time to force them out of their caves, to pull up a chair and tell them to talk.<br />
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I'm not saying that you should be like 'TALK' every time he replies to your message a few minutes/hours late, but when things are getting a wee bit ridiculous and you've spent more time with his voicemail message than the hunk that is your boyfriend, then you know something is up!<br />
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So, yeah. Stay sassy and stay confident.<br />
Keep you posted,<br />
Grammar Gal<br />
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<br />grammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-84662750472049943272015-05-11T12:01:00.002-07:002015-05-11T16:45:17.245-07:00An Unwanted VisitorI was watching Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants 2 for the first time tonight. It was a monumental occasion. I have been waiting to watch this film for at least 5 years and here it was.<br />
Tissues? Ready. Tears? Brimming.<br />
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And then it arrived. A wasp - not just any wasp, though. I kid you not when I tell you that this wasp was a Demon Wasp. Not only because of it's very existence (WHY WAS THERE A WASP IN MY ROOM WHEN IT'S 11PM?? WHY WAS THIS WASP NOT IN BED?? Tempted to call it's parents...), but it just wouldn't die.<br />
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My friend and I tried everything: from throwing things at it from afar (whilst we cowered behind the door, of course) to spraying it with hairspray (tip: don't do this. An angry wasp is <i>not </i>ideal).<br />
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But, alas, the wasp has won the battle. I am in my friend's bed for the night and the wasp has won this turf war, sigh.<br />
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No, I'm not a drama queen!<br />
<br />grammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-70975564267815399682015-05-11T11:51:00.000-07:002015-05-11T11:51:07.875-07:00An Angry Complaint to Mother NatureWhy hello there, Mother Nature. It's time we had a talk.<div>
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Do you remember the time that I was on holiday in Mexico and I wanted to go on a jet ski? Yes. I remember that time well, too. It was an exhileratingly awesome experience, but oh-so painful. Why, you ask? Well, when you're going 60mph over the water and your bum is hitting the seat, it makes your tampon reallllllly hurt your lady parts. It felt like someone was wacking Little Grammar Gal with a Barbie doll. It wasn't fun.</div>
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Ooooo or do you remember that party where I wanted to wear my new white lace dress? I was going to look 10/10 would bang and marry and make a boy I liked feel jealous. Know what happened there? You and your bloody (literally) gift. I had to wear all black and therefore looked like an emo and, surprise surprise, he didn't look over at me. Sigh. </div>
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So you can imagine my surprise when, after finally having sex - with Mr Melon (and thus needing regular periods to be safe in the knowledge that I am not with child) - I am yet to have a period. WHERE IS MY BLOODY GIFT??? You owe me so big. Literally - you owe me £10 for the two pregnancy tests I've bought!!</div>
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No, I am not with child. But I may as well be!!! Why won't you just give me my period? I've had enough of this cramps and hormones crap... Grrrrrr you really are a little twazzock.</div>
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Think this concludes my rant.</div>
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Please please please hurry up.</div>
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Your biggest fan (well, I will be if I get my period in the next week)</div>
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Grammar Gal xxx</div>
grammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-875248139340621572015-05-07T07:06:00.000-07:002015-05-07T07:06:06.843-07:00Legs Bum Tum...TortureYesterday I made the catastrophic mistake of going to an exercise class. I was in a wee bit of a shmood so I decided to do some exercise and get those endorphins going. If any of you are ever in the same situation then I urge you to go on a jog or do a Pilates video on youtube. DO. NOT. GO. TO. A. CLASS.<br />
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It was one of the most embarrassing things I've ever done (even worse that that time my Classics teacher exposed me to the class for doing extra work...I know I'm a loser!). I basically paid to be bullied. The class started with this thing called "Circuits", where we had to run around the room in a circle for what felt like a gazillion years. After two laps I was exhausted and ignored the leader who was yelling at us to "RUN GIRLS RUN" and decided instead to go into a brisk walk. I actually held up the people behind people and there was a mahoosive gap between me and the girls in front...<br />
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Then we had to get some chairs and mats out and I thought 'Oh yay, this will be the bit where we have a 20 minute break and chat about Britain's Got Talent, preferably whilst eating some Digestives'. But alas, no. We had to do push ups on the chairs and these things called planks...<br />
It got so bad that I laid down on my mat and stayed still like a star fish. Oh God but the worst moment was when I was in my Dead Starfish position and then turned to the girl net to me, who was all red and puffy so I thought she was a fellow Exercise Victim, and I said "Oh my God, this is so hard! I can't go on!" and she smiled and said "Oh, no this one is actually really easy - just lift your hips like this". It wasn't easy. That position was as hard as licking your toenails (don't try that at home though, kids).<br />
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So I left this LBT class amidst loads of girls saying "Oh my God, that was great. I really felt that burn" whilst inwardly screaming "I BURN ALL OVER. IT WASN'T A GOOD THING".<br />
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The only good thing to come out of it was that I think I actually glowed afterwards. OK, but that was definitely sweat-induced...<br />
<br />grammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-40809528497044880432015-05-06T17:15:00.000-07:002015-05-06T17:15:01.952-07:00The Boyfriend Came For DinnerIt is a truth universally acknowledged that if your parents don't like your boyfriend, then your relationship is doomed. Sure, there are the exceptions (as any Nicholas Sparks novel will testify) but, generally speaking, if Mamma says No then that boy's gotta go!<div>
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So you can understand why I was bloody terrified about my boyfriend meeting my parents.</div>
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Firstly, because my parents are nutters. My mum asks a gazillion questions to any male guest that we have round for dinner, so by the end of the meal we know all about his dreams for the future, his childhood vacations and his favourite type of sandwich. My dad is a hilarious funny bunny and, being in a house of girls, doesn't often get to assert his masculinity. So when a man enters the house Dad's voice drops three octaves, the football is turned up and beer cans are opened. Plus, of course, there is the mandatory "Man-Shake" ('man hand-shake').</div>
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I didn't want to bring my boyf into that!! Nonetheless, I wanted them to meet him and see how he is the definition of an awesome possum. So I got myself ready (which included making the fatal mistake of shaving and then putting deodorant on...pain doesn't begin to describe it...) and we sat down for a meal.</div>
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To my great surprise, it was a wee bit perfect. My guy (he needs a nickname, I can't keep calling him "boyfriend", "boyf" and "guy"...Let's call him Mr. Melon) shook hands with my Dad and wasn't phased by the extra low tone of his voice. He answered my mum's questions so well that it was like watching my Ed on Russell Brand's Trews (yes, I am on first name terms with Ed Miliband). </div>
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There was a slight dilemma when, after eating all of his hadddock up, Mr Melon told me in private that he hates fish. A minor dilemma!!</div>
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And then we went to our pub's quiz night and, not going to lie, I think I am a Quiz Genius (just the other day, I got 4 questions right in the University Challenge Final - just call me Alan Davies!!) but this quiz was bloody hard. So, naturally, I turned to alcohol and was a bit of a tipsy gypsy for the rest of the evening.</div>
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But all in all, it was just so fantabulous and cwoot. Hurrah for Mr Melon getting on with my parents - if only they had been so lucky in The Notebook. (Oh I do love that film... *drops everything to watch it*)</div>
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Keep you posted,</div>
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Grammar Gal </div>
grammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-9759436084413329222015-05-06T16:57:00.003-07:002015-05-06T16:57:40.436-07:00Spring Cleaning My AttitudeI have decided to start doing things that make me happy. I'm aware that this sounds like one of those goofy Instagram 'inspo' quotes that we all favourite because we secretly think they are cute. But I'm serious; henceforth, gone shall be the days of obsessing over whether my boyfriend is ignoring me (because the Blue Ticks of Whatsapp don't lie!) and I'm bidding adieu to feeling like a Primark pump in a wardrobe full of Jimmy Choos.<br />
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When you're a single pringle. you are totally self reliant. The only person that you're dependent on is Alex Vause from Orange is the New Black. True, most girls are totally self-reliant whilst in a relationship too...<br />
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And then there's me. To say I'm a sillymilly would be a ridiculous understatement. You see, the thing is, I've always denounced boys as Manwhores and Knobheads on this blog but I think that I was just trying to keep the baes at bay! Falling in love is scary shit - it's like being given a winning lotttery ticket and being sent out into a rain-storm to claim your prize: you're so happy you've found it but you're scared shitless that you're going to lose it!<br />
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And now I have The Perfect Guy but I keep wondering why he puts up with me when I have the mood swings of a pregnant lady in an elevator...<br />
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But you just can't keep worrying about what other people think!! I've decided to Spring Clean my life - starting today! All of us are fantabulous creatures whom any guy/girl would be lucky to be with. And it doesn't matter if, when you get excited about something, your voice goes so shrill that it feels like Janice from Friends is in the room. When you find The Right Guy he'll just think you're a hoot and a half!<br />
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So with this positive new attitude towards both myself and Boykind (after 3 years of calling them all Twazzocks I've decided to give them a break!) I've decided to restart my blog - for real, this time. I know I sound like <i>that</i> ex boyfriend who texts you saying "babe, I've missed you. I'll change xoxo", but I'm serious! I love writing this blog and I'm not going anywhere.<br />
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Keep you posted,<br />
Grammar Galgrammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-15773312070375525052015-02-16T17:01:00.001-08:002015-02-16T17:01:37.620-08:00Overthinking: A CurseIn Sleeping Beauty, the evil witch cast a curse on the baby Aurora to put her into a deep sleep for 100 years. Anyone who has watched the film will agree that this is a really mean curse, and we all root for this girl to be freed from her deep sleep.<br />
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If modern life was a fairytale, then I'd say that most girls have been cursed with the awful trait of overthinking. Or maybe it's just me. The moment I get really, truly happy about someone, I start overanalysing everything; do they <i>really </i>like me? Where is this going? When will we get married? Etc...<br />
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I think it's time that we all just took a deep breath, stepped back and realised that letting your boundaries come down is a <i>good </i>thing - it brings happiness! We have to stop being so scared of everything all the time and overanalysing every little thing. Only then can we truly be happy.<br />
<br />grammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7870453525685596004.post-7587504011327696562015-02-05T16:10:00.000-08:002015-02-16T17:05:05.056-08:00Being Cool isn't CoolToday I turned up to a seminar in dungarees with greasy hair scraped into pigtails. Yes, I looked like a farmer who had fallen into a bush on the way to milk Daisy the cow. But the thing is, that even though the 'cool' girls in my class stared at me and clearly thought I was a capital L 'Loser', I didn't really care - I like dressing how I dress and acting like I'm 12 because it's just who I am and it makes me happy!!<br />
Happiness is way cooler than wearer leather jackets and (god forbid) make-up.<br />
Having said that, I was an actual mess today. The reason is that I overslept (classic) so didn't technically have time to get washed. I'm rather ashamed of what I did...<br />
OK, before I tell you I have to defend myself. In Geography GCSE my teacher told me - he SWORE DOWN - that toilet water is 100000% clean and actually drinkable.<br />
I was stressing. I turned up to my seminar smelling like a stray dog and I knew I couldn't go into my seminar with the pigtails, dungarees AND grim smell. I had to do <i>something</i>. But the toilets were rammed full with more cool people (why do so many cool kids do English?) so...<br />
I'm just going to type it really fast and if you judge me then that's totally cool because I judge me too...I used a tiny bit (REALLY TINY) of toilet water to wash under my arms.<br />
I KNOW I'M A GRIM HUMAN. Seriously, how do I have a boyfriend when I act like I'm from Planet of the Apes (OK, I've never actually seen that film but it's something about creepy monkeys)<br />
But aside from Dubious Hygeine Measures, I think that being weird is totally fun. In fact, I've always said that I can tell a date is going well if the guy says I'm "really weird" - it means he thinks I'm cool (this is totally a lie my mum told me to comfort me after many a disastrous date, but it works!).<br />
The first time I met my boyfriend's best friend I was told that I needed to "act cool" because the guy was "really cool". My boyfriend (let's call him Melon to make things easier) said that I should "just not be myself". I tried - really I did. But as soon as I saw his friend I ran and gave him a hug and then had Verbal Vomit - where I just say everything that comes into my head.<br />
But Melon was wrong - his best friend found my kooky (in a good way) so #winning.<br />
The moral of this story, chums, is that you should never try to be "cool" - it's so overrated. On a night out, who looks like they're having more fun: the girls who are dancing sexily and swooshing their hips around OR the girls who are jumping around with air guitars? Yep, the latter.<br />
Being weird is a gift so use it wisely, girls.<br />
Keep you posted,<br />
Grammar Galgrammargalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18244332030357709204noreply@blogger.com0