How I Went from Girlfriend Goddess to Mayoress of Singleton

I am aware that I haven't written in a long time, but my (rather rubbish) excuses are three-fold:

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 .

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 - but, heyho, here we are!!!

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 he's just not that into you. 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. 

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!)

But now I'm going to briefly sum up how I cocked things up with Mr Melon.

So, we had a very intense relationship - it was very The Notebook meets The Fault in Our Stars. 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. 

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 with Mr Melon and watching films or chatting or gallivanting around the city and being all cute and PDA-y (Disclaimer: we were that 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, was I happy??? 

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. 

My New Years' Resolution is to just take things less seriously, and (oh, God, I'm such a cringe) to find myself. 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.

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.

Keep you posted on how that goes,

Grammar Gal 

Classy Girls

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. 

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...

And yet...

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!!

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?!

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 in that way 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.

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?!?!

Funily enough, I haven't really heard from CHG since that evening...

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!

Keep you posted,

Grammar Gal

Sleeping over at a boy's house

I 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.
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
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!)
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!
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!

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...
1. Beer pong is NOT fun, unless you are
A. Drunk.
B. Invited to play.

2. Boys like to talk about sex when they're drunk.

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 :')

4. Boys are obsessed with banter.

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!!!

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?!?!).

So anyways, it was a very educational and fun trip!

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!!
Keep you posted,
Grammar Gal

Meet the Artful Dodger

The 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 Curly Haired Guy. 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.

OK, as I was saying. I saw CHG (whose hair does not 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.

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...)

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".

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.

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!!).

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...

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!

So, to conclude, I'm happy with my weird accent! And CHG will just have to learn to speak the lingo :')
Keep you posted,
Grammar Gal

Feeling broody

I'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???

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!
Like: "what are you doing?" Yeah, that sounds cute enough when the kid next to you on the bus asks that.
So you reply "I'm reading a magazine"
And then they ask: "What's it about?"
So you answer: "Clothes and women and stuff"
So they ask: "Why are you reading it?"
And you say "I just like it, it's interesting"
And they persist: "But why do you like it? Why don't you want to read something else?"

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.

But lately I've been feeling that kids aren't actually that bad?! 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!

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 really...? It's all very controversial!)

Anyways, yeah. Babies are adorable. And so cute and little and aw.
Totes adorbs!! Keep you posted,
Grammar Gal

Misadventures in Cooking

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.

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??

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??

Nonetheless, I’m literally starving so I’m going to force myself to become a Domestic Goddess.

Keep you posted when I burn my house down,

Grammar Gal

PS How long does it take to boil this water for my eggs? Swear I’ve been waiting for at least 3 days…

Cooking Update

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?

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…?

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??!).

Wish me luck!

Grammar Gal

At 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!!)

There comes a time in every relationship when a guy starts to withdraw a wee bit. Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus 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.

A.      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.

B.      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.

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.

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.

Well that’s what I think anyway. Keep you posted how that turns out…

Grammar Gal