femicom

[femicom]

A letter to the 2019 me

Dear Em, 

Hey there, I thought I’d write you a letter because I know you’re pretty scared right now and more than a bit sorrowful about things and with good reason.

However a year on I just want to tell you, it’s going to be okay.  Really.  Although I’m not going to lie the next year is going to be absolutely crazy and one of your most challenging years you have ever faced but oddly not for the reason you think.  

I know the thought of saying ta-ra to H tomorrow  and missing part of his Christmas is ripping you to pieces but follow your heart, you’re doing it for the right reasons and you’ll gain so much from what you’re doing instead and trust me you’ll more than earn that turkey dinner with the walk home from town afterwards.  Anyway you survive those Christmas days of solitude it with vigour and a cinema trip on boxing day, something you wondered could become a new tradition and it might one year but not alas this year (thanks Covid). 

Then into the new year you will reluctantly tread, your confidence in shreds but my lord missus you don’t half rise out of it. You’ll sort a solid routine for you and H within days, discover a love for running you never knew you had, thrive in your work life oh and survive lock down with a toddler during a deadly pandemic. No really I’m not adding hyperbole on the end, that’s actually going to happen. 

You’ll have good days and bad but you’ll use the bad days to learn and find an inner peace you’ve not had in a long time.  You will discover you are enough.  Seriously so very enough and for the first time in your adult life you don’t fear being single or alone. Dare I say you might even enjoy elements of it and the freedom it actually brings you.  

Motherhood is going to suck big time quite a few times this year but much like your personal wobbles, the bad times you have with H, you’ll always talk them through, hug it out and agree to try again tomorrow. Oh and he will give that dummy up with ease. Brace yourself for toilet training though. Overall you’ll be there for him in ways you never imagined you were capable of but he will also be there for you too, your little beacon of hope and provide some often hilarious one liners to keep you from getting too serious. 

You’re going to achieve so much in a year it seemed impossible to do anything at all but best of all you really are going to feel like you again. Sooner than you think.  Be proud, hold your head high because I’ve seen the plans being made for next year and they’re exciting reading.   

[femicom]

I am a runner

I am a runner.  These are words I can now say without sarcasm or put in inverted commas which is what I used to do when describing my fitness activity. But I am and what’s more I genuinely love it.  

I found running in the early days of my separation. I think I wanted to take control over something, my weight had troubled me a while and the great thing about a run is the thinking space it treats you to. In the early days, weeks and months in a separation the need for thinking space and to get out the house is crucial to your recovery post breakup. 

I will start by saying in these early days, I was slow. My general fitness wasn’t great, I did a lot of walking with my young son but still struggled with getting into a jog.  But because in these days I didn’t care about times, pace or even distance it meant I just focussed on one thing and that was to get outside and do it.  Yeah I probably walked more than I ran most days but I always felt better when I got in so the walk / jog was doing it’s thing. 

It’s about a year since those days of starting to get outside and I’ve progressed so much.  I discovered a method called jeffing which is essentially interval running (if you struggle with blocks of running like me seriously look this up, it can be a game changer to get your distances up) and not only did I get to a point where I was regularly completing a 5k distance near to my house, I was gradually getting a bit faster and also able to run without walking breaks for longer periods of time. 

Running is now a core part of my week and life, I go out in all weathers. In fact my favourite run is one in the rain, nothing quite compares to feeling of the cold rain drops on your face.  I run to maintain a healthy balance, keep my mental wellbeing in check and just because as I said earlier, I genuinely love doing it. 

So why am I writing about it today? Well despite all of the above I’ve had a phase the last couple of weeks where I’ve been struggling to get myself out there and get my 3 runs a week completed.  Today I was childfree as my little boy had stayed at his grandparents for the night. Originally I had set myself a goal to run 10k but getting up that was weighing heavy on me, mentally it just seemed too much of a leap and trust me if your mind isn’t in the zone that run becomes ten times harder to get through.

So I made a compromise and decided I wouldn’t do the 10k but I would go out and got for my standard 5k but with no pressure or focus on times, pace. Just get your arse out the door and do it.  So I did and it was glorious. The rain had broken for a while so I got some beautiful autumn sunshine for it.  Yes I had walking routes, yes I kept my pace reserved but I did it. 

That’s what makes a runner.  We can’t all be Mo Farah but as long as you get outside and do it. You are a runner. Also check my strava notification in the pics, turns out I’m not just a runner, kind of a legend in these parts too. 

[femicom]

I have a crush on Dwight from the office and here’s why you should too

The U.S Office is one of my all time favourite comedy shows, I’ve seen it all the way through at least five times.   I love it, but I love one of the characters in particular. Dwight.  I know most people crush on Jim but here are the reasons why you should look towards Dwight with the same affection. Just as long as you remember he’s MINE!

1.  He is confident in who he is and he likes who he is - this is a big win from the off for me. Confidence is sexy even if it is at times misplaced. 

2.  Because he is so comfortable in who he is, he’ll allow you to have the same confidence. Think about it he loved Angela, he never once pointed out any of her personality flaws, he was all in from day one. 

3.  He is loyal. He was ready to get fired for Michael one time and defended Angela even after she had broken his heart.

4.  He fought to find out if Phillip was his son.  He was ready to face his responsibility as a father as soon as he heard there was a chance Phillip could be his.  

5.  He is good to his family.  He takes his family business and traditions seriously but he genuinely cares for Moses and is caring for his aunt in her old age. His family are important to him and if you become part of that family you’ll be just as important to him. 

6.  He’s in good shape.  All that work on the farm and his martial arts pay off.  Dude’s got some biceps.  

7.  He lives in the most amazing house.  Not to get material about things but his huge house and all that land, not exactly a hard sell. 

8.  He has plenty of his own interests, hobbies and friends and much like his self confidence he’d encourage similar for you too. 

9. He can take care of himself, he does all his own washing, keeps a house and can cook and he’d probably let you know he could do it all better than you.  No slaving in the kitchen for this guy, he’d do his fair share.

10.  When a Shrute marries they marry for life so if you get as far as Dwight popping the question he’s truly in it for the long term.

So there you have it, the reasons why I’d be a Shrute in a heartbeat.  

[femicom]

I love daffodils.  They are my favourite flower.  So I was thrilled the other day when I opened the door to our neighbour and she beamed as she presented me with a pot containing a budding daff waiting to bloom.  

“Spring is almost here” she cheerfully told me as she handed the pot over.  I nodded and after a couple of neighbourly pleasantries I headed back inside.  I’ve put the pot on the table where I work, I’m enjoying watching its progress of slowly unfolding its bright yellow petals.

Daffodils to me are an ultimate symbol of hope, they bring some of the first colour after months of dark and grey. I never fail to feel a bit excited when they start popping up in people’s gardens and parks.  They always remind me no matter how cold the winter, warmer times are coming.  So I’ll treasure each bloom this pot gives me, it’s been a particularly cold winter and I’m especially ready for spring. 

[femicom]

Three Little Kittens

Three little kittens have lost their mittens and they began to cry.  Three little kittens have found their mittens and baby began to cry.

This song plays often in my house as it’s a button on one of my little boy’s toys.  I don’t mind the song but I do always wonder something when I hear it.  Why does the baby get upset that the kittens found their mittens?  This should have literally no bearing on his / her happiness.  Unless it was the baby who hid the mittens in the first place and they are now annoyed they got found so easily.

If that’s the case why doesn’t the baby want the kittens to  have mittens? Do the kittens have mittens but he / she doesn’t and they just feel it’s unfair and if they can’t have mittens NOBODY SHOULD HAVE MITTENS. 

Did the kittens wrong the baby in some way and therefore hidden mittens was seen as the appropriate punishment? 

Do the kittens owe the baby money and therefore mittens were with-held to send out a subtle message to pay up or it will be their socks next? (Listen if they can have mittens it’s totally feasible they could own socks)

My thoughts also go out to the caregiver in this story.  Imagine turning your house upside down to find three sets of mittens for three little kittens, only for once you found them, the baby then kicks off.  Mind you, someone who decides to own and look after three kittens while they also have a baby is kind of asking for these kind of shenanigans.  

So yes, don’t give kittens mittens.  It will only upset your baby.

[femicom]

Baby steps for mama!

This week marked a milestone in mine and H’s journey today. We went to our first mother and baby group.  Not that this was our first attempt to go to one, so far my attempts to get us out and meeting new people have been foiled by, torrential downpours, term time only groups and most dramatically getting ourselves stuck in a golf course en route to a group.  

I’ve felt for a while that a mother and baby group would be good for me and H, more so me.  I don’t live particularly close to family and I’ve never culminated a particularly close circle of friends since my move to Birmingham. So after baby H made his appearance a few months ago I’ve known that sooner rather than later we needed to show our faces at a group and start this thing called socialising.

Socialising isn’t something that comes naturally to me as I suffer from social anxiety (I’ll cover that in another blog) but I really don’t want that to hinder any opportunities to get myself and H out of the house and meeting other people.  After our last failed attempt to get to a group (golf course) I posted a plea on facebook for any groups that might be meeting up throughout the remaining summer weeks and was rewarded with a multitude of replies that led us to our destination this morning.  

As with many engagements like this I was pretty nervous on the approach but the stars really seemed to have aligned for this gal of a nervous public disposition.  It was in the morning which would give me less time to talk myself out of going, it was only ten minutes away from where we live (no dodgy google directions to get us lost and / or trapped) and it was the very first one so we wouldn’t be the only new faces.  

As I walked into the venue (which was the genius choice of a local gelateria with a small play area for the toddlers and plenty of table space for mums and smaller babies) there was already a hubbub of activity and a healthy group of mums with their children sat chatting and sipping drinks.  H had fallen asleep in the buggy on our way (the kid loves a nap when he’s on the move) and remained in his comfortable slumber while I ordered a drink and found a space at one of the tables.  

Then over the next 90 minutes or so I enjoyed the company and conversation of those other mums with their babies.  And it was great. Turns out that socialising and meeting new people is surprisingly less stressful with a baby than in the pre-baby days.  For starters you’ve all got something to talk about, the apple of your eyes, your babies, this straight away helps with reducing awkward silences or searching desperately for common subject areas to chat about. I’ve also never felt such instant solidarity for a group of people as I did in that room either be it with the mums who were in similar stages of motherhood or the survivor mums with their toddlers, it was so refreshing to be in a room of other people just like me, blagging it but giving it their best.

And as for H, he also came out of the group well.  I’d been a little concerned how he’d cope in a busy group of mother and tots, particularly as the day before we’d been at a family get together and he’d got a little bit overwhelmed by a lot of new faces all at the same time. However although he had a rocky start when we first got there being a bit thrown by the noise of the older ones playing and deploying his survivor mode (basically shutting down for a nap!) when he did wake up for a bottle in slightly calmer surroundings he started to socialise with a few people flashing his killer grin and offering a few coos to anyone who showed an interest. Proud mama right here. 

We left the group in high spirits and I shared my details with the organiser so we can be included in future get togethers. Right now our social future is looking bright, on the back of yesterday’s success we have a few more groups to visit over the next couple of weeks and as H gets a bit older we might even venture to a class or two. Viva la group de baby! 

[femicom]

Life with a newborn

I’ve returned to this blog following the birth of my baby boy just over eight weeks ago.  Eight weeks. It feels so much longer than that.  Not just because this little person who is now the centre of our lives has changed incredibly already but because these eight weeks have been the hardest of my entire life. 

When you get pregnant or more when you start telling people you are pregnant, you get advice in droves, whether you want it or not. The advice if often accompanied with questions and your answers are more often than not met with opinion and judgement. 

Prepare for anyone who’s already a parent to raise knowing eyebrows at you if you share plans of wanting as natural a birth as possible or that you really don’t want your child to have a dummy.  Prepare to feel judged (even if people aren’t, you will still feel like you are) by your choices way before your little bundle arrives and be ready for those feelings to exasperate once baby makes three (or four or five and so on). 

Despite all of the advice / opinions / judgement I received while my little man was still cooking, there was something nobody imparted on me, that is, to be frank, life with a newborn (for the most part) is shit.  Well, for the most part and for (I think) most first time mums and dads.  For anyone reading this who is expecting their own child, I will say it now, it’s the most difficult thing you will do. I used to roll my eyes at parents who said this when in my childless and carefree days but now I get it.  

Trust me newbie parents to be, people are not exaggerating about the difficulty of the task or the tiredness or feeling of helplessness when you feel like you’re getting everything wrong. And unless you’re one of those fortunate people what just ‘get’ parenthood from the minute their baby is placed in their arms get ready to be tested to limits you didn’t know existed.  

I was and am one of the least natural mothers of people I know but here I am with my nine week old sleeping in his crib next to me - fed, bathed, clean nappy, clothed and best of all he’s sleeping peacefully.  Even more astonishing to me is, I know that the reason he’s sleeping happily is because of me and how much I’ve learned about this wonderful little man in our short time we’ve had together so far and how to care for him to make him feel safe and loved. 

If you’d have told me six weeks ago, I’d happily be solo bathing him, dealing with the post bath meltdown (my current problem I’m trying to solve!) and then getting him fed with a bit of cuddle time before laying him into his crib and he settles within ten minutes, I think I’d have laughed derisively at you because back then when he was just three weeks old, I’d had him down as a fussy baby who couldn’t be soothed and definitely fought all attempts to get him to sleep.  

But he isn’t a fussy baby. Don’t get me wrong, he certainly isn’t the most easy going of little ones and he does still fight naps but a fussy baby? Nope, we just didn’t understand him.  And in the early weeks you might not understand your baby, particularly if you’re a first time mum like me.  And you know what? It’s fine to not know these things.  Why would you if like me, you’ve done your best to avoid babies and even holding one for more than two minutes felt like a huge achievement.  To go from that to full time mum, well you’re bound to find things difficult - and I’m here to tell you - THAT’S  PERFECTLY NORMAL. 

I’m deliberately not going to give any baby advice in this blog post, because there is nothing better than your own instinct, survival technique and remembering the fact that every baby is different. Plus I’m just some idiot who thinks she’s got this sorted after a couple of nights getting it right - we’ll see how I’m doing once we get into separation anxiety and sleep regressions.  All I’m going to say are the same words my health visitor said to me a few weeks ago which were ‘You got this.’ because you really do. 

[femicom]

Charity begins where?

There’s been lots of discussions about charity in our household over the past few days. Mainly because one of our friends started a crowdfunder page to raise money and encourage people to donate items that could be taken over to Calais for the refugees there.  My husband has gotten involved a bit further by agreeing to help drive the items over there once all donations have been received. 

This started off as quite a humble undertaking, the target for the crowdfund was set to £300 and their hope was to be able to raise enough to completely fill our people carrier with supplies and get  over there and deliver them to those who needed them.  Then things escalated a little bit when our friend who used to work for the Birmingham Mail tagged a former colleague and before they knew it they were posing for photographs to accompany an article being published about the initiative.

Four days later and the crowdfunder is up to just over £900, (three times its original target) our people carrier will now need to be a transit van and many others are looking to join in delivering items to form a fleet of wonderful, charitable souls. Lovely, for the most part.

I say the most part because the online version of the Birmingham Mail article exposed Stoo and Marc to a few troll like comments on the facebook page of the newspaper.  There were the typical troll comments you almost expect from any kind of publicly shared posts “idiots”, “wankers, springs to mind” along with some actual sparks of creativity, our personal favourite being “Royal Blood have let themselves go”. 

What really struck me though was the sheer volume of posts openly criticising the duo for their chosen activity, mainly shaming them with statements of ‘Help your own first!” and  “ Charity begins at home what about our homeless, our ex forces, all the old ppl freezing in winter”. There were many more but all were based on a similar shared sentiment: Why go over there and help them when there are plenty of people here to be helped?

This really saddened me. Not just because there were lots of online insults (hey I already admitted some of them we genuinely laughed at) towards my husband and our friend in the midst of them trying to do a good thing but also because the very notion of doing something charitable involves personal choice and given the amount of charities there are nowadays, it’s pretty difficult to give your money / time / material items to all of them.  

The choice of helping people in need in this country or those in another country is no different between raising money for Cancer Research or the British Heart Foundation.  My question is, would you openly criticise someone who had just run the London marathon for Help the Aged because there are plenty of endangered animal species who need help too? Probably not. 

And that why all those comments saddened me. Because it wasn’t even to make the case for another cause or charity. It was just to make the point ‘don’t help them’. Them. Outsiders. Foreigners. Don’t help them. Help our own.

Funny enough I read very few follow ups from the Help our own commenters about feeling so angered / outraged/ disappointed by Stoo and Marc’s decision to help ‘them’ that they had decided to set anything similar up to help out the needy in the UK / local area. Like they’d almost prefer nothing over helping ‘them’.  Ironically, I think it was seeing people do nothing was why I think Marc looked to do his thing in the first place is. I’d read with interest a few of his facebook posts in the days leading up to setting the crowdfunder up, because he was getting frustrated that there seemed to be nothing in the West Midlands area doing anything to help the Calais refugees. So he just got on with it. Others soon joined him and it’s gone so far in such a short space of time, deservedly so.

For every comment criticising the crowdfunder there are ten praising it and people have looked into their hearts and dug deep so that there will be plenty for the guys to take over to France next month.  Maybe charity does begin at home, because home after all is where your heart is.

[femicom]

Remembering a hero

So I don't write on here very often. Which my 7 (soon to be 8) posts in 3 years shows but there is so much going on in my little head following the sad news that Robin Williams has died.  This is the second celebrity this year (the first being Rik Mayall) that I have felt actual grief and loss from their death. More poignant to me accompanying today's news is the obvious connection his death and ongoing battle with depression have.

It feels weird to talk about losing someone you have never met but Williams was with me my whole childhood. From watching Popeye, (incidentally the very first VHS my dad let me pick out in the shop much to the disgust of my older brother who had wanted The Neverending Story) to his shockingly adult stand up DVD in later years I have always loved his work. He has been to quote someone else 'like a family member to so many of us' and from that perspective the loss feels very very real and actually very appropriate.

 The memory that has pushed its way through to my mind is when I watched a documentary that featured him as a contributing artist to the George Martin album In My Life. Williams had been chosen by Martin to perform Come Together on the album, if you have head the version it was a great choice.  

What struck me about seeing him in this setting was his obvious lack of confidence around the task at hand. First of all he had refused to do it unless his best friend Bobby McFerrin of Don't Worry Be Happy was able to duet with him and whilst being interviewed he repeated over and over about if the end song wasn't up to scratch then just lose him from the record. I was gobsmacked, this couldn't be that larger than life actor who across my childhood brought a genie to life, sang figaro at the top of his lungs at the start of Mrs Doubtfire and who made me believe in Peter Pan and Neverland all over again. 

This vulnerability and insecurity always stayed with me about him and I winced on his behalf over some of the less successful movies and reviews and worried about what effect becoming the butt of Hollywood's jokes could have on him.  I'm not suggesting a connection there, it just always rang alarm bells for me how someone of such a huge talent - who I had seen feeling unsure about doing something he might not be good enough for - how he might cope with those multiple box office failures, criticisms and jibes.

I cannot speculate, like I said I did not know the man, only his on screen and public personas. His story reaches so many of us for a different reason though and that is it being the story of a man who just could not cope, a struggle so many people have with depression. My hope is that his death will open up the conversations we all need to be having about depression and mental illness.

There are too many people silently struggling with a whole range of inner demons, mostly privately and mostly not knowing who to tell and more importantly who to ask for help.  There is a slogan that does the rounds on social media and I'm sure most people roll their eyes when they read it but hopefully today it holds more resonance: 

Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about. Be kind.

[femicom]

Valentines Day

So it is Valentines Day.  My boyfriend didn't get me flowers, chocolates, he didn't even buy me a card.  It's made me doubt how much he actually cares about me.  How can he say he loves me and then not bother with this?  

Oh that's right because Valentines Day is actually a complete sham.  A day we are made to think is important for our relationships by retailers who are hungry for an income boost after Christmas. How better to do that than to invent a day whereby you are encouraged via guilt and social pressure to show the one you love how much you care based on your spend on a specified day of the year.  

Call me old fashioned but I'd rather have love, support and thoughts of kindness all year round rather than my boyfriend using Valentines Day as some sort of get out jail free relationship card.

Last night I was quite stressed and upset after a difficult day.  On finding this out my boyfriend called me on his way home to check I was okay, then when he got home, he held me and reassured me everything was going to be okay.  He calmed me down, told me not to worry, sorted out tea and was generally loving and supportive until I wasn't upset any more.  

He didn't do this because Clinton cards told him to, he did it because he cares about and loves me.  So I'll take that any day over a bunch of overpriced flowers.

[femicom]

Weighing things up

I had a big fat wake up call last night.  Literally.  It occurred where most of these things do, on Facebook.  My phone buzzed to let me know I had been tagged in a photo from a barbeque me and boyfriend had been to a couple of weeks ago. I pressed the notification to have a look and was greeted by the monstrosity you can see to the left. 

Oh dear.

I’ve been steadily putting on weight for the past 18 months or so, but it’s only when pictures like this appear that I realise just how much I have actually caked on.  I mean the telltale signs were there, more and more of my wardrobe has become tighter and eventually unwearable, the telltale excuse of ‘the bloody washing machine keeps shrinking things’ quickly followed.  That is until now and that photo.

It’s a difficult realisation for you to see you have officially become a ‘fatty’ but  a very important one if you are ever going to move your arse and get rid of the excess tummy being exhibited. 

Fortunately I have been back at the gym for a couple of weeks now so at least feel like it’s becoming a part of my routine again.  Although to say I’ve been pushing myself to the limits would be a vast understatement.   I mean I have been trying, I have one gym machine I can stay on for longer than ten minutes without passing out so I’ve been hitting that quite regularly.  I tried my first Pilates class which I was still feeling the effects of for days afterwards and I’m still enthusiastic about going at the start of week three.

So hopefully some positive changes are afoot and soon it will all be about dropped dress sizes and feeling good about me, myself and my appearance again. 

And as painful as it was to see that picture of me up there on my wall for all my friends to see, I’m hoping it can become my biggest motivator to keep going with this and get back to the size that I’m happy with and stop hiding from the camera all the time and clenching my buttocks in terror whenever I get notified of more photos being added to Facebook.  Although technically clenching would be a good toning exercise . . . . . . . .

[femicom]

I'm proud to be Pale!

My name's Emma , I'm pale.  And I like it.  Unlike a lot of people now who seem close to obsessed with getting a bronzed glow be it natural or fake, I like being pale.  In fact I am so pale I am one of those people who can go on holiday and come back even paler than before they went. I'm practically an albino.

When I sit in the sun I get freckles, even on my knees if I expose them and the bits that don't freckle will burn if less than factor 30 is applied regularly.  This sounds like a lament but it's not (well maybe how easily I burn is) I love my freckles, especially the ones on my shoulders and back and I like being pale.  My freckles remind me of summers as a child, playing in my beloved paddling pool all day long, holidays to Cornwall and playing rounders at school.  And my boyfriends have always found them sexy.

But apparently pale and freckly is not the mainstream idea of sexy.  Most people preferring biscuit shades gained either from the sun lounger or bottle to the natural shade of skin they were born with.  I'm not saying being tanned isn't attractive, I just don't understand why so many other palies aspire for the bronzed look rather than being comfortable in their own skin.

People say being pale makes you look ill but I'd rather that than looking like an overripe tangerine. With this in mind I must have looked ill my whole life, in fact it feels safe to confess now that my pale, pasty complexion has got me out of many a games lesson.  

'Sorry miss, I really don't feel very well at all, I feel as though I might faint.'

'Yes, well you do look very pale, off to the nurse for you.'

Try pulling that one with your healthier looking tanned skins, it just won't cut it.

I'm not sure where the idea that tanned = attractive came from.  I seriously doubt it was from men though.  I'm struggling to hear the conversation at the bar where a man would have asked the girl out, but she was just too goddamn pasty.  

Maybe I'm looking for an argument where there really isn't one but fa closing message for my palite sisters out there, if pale is who you are then pale is who you should be. 

[femicom]

Bring back courting!

I've been in a relationship with my current boyfriend just over 18 months.  It was very fast moving, we got an apartment together after just 3 months of officially getting together.  There have been rows, tantrums and make ups and I regret none of it, apart from one thing.  We never really properly dated, or courting as my parents have often corrected me.

Courting (to endeavor to gain the affections of; to seek in marriage; to woo.') wasn't just a popular trend.  It was the way things were done.  If you liked a woman you spent time showing her.  As the bracketed definition explains you 'wooed' her with the intention of marrying her.

It may be terribly old fashioned and extremely against my usually pro-feminist outlook but I am envious of the courting generation.  For whatever reason courting has well and truly bitten the dust.  And I'm not sure why.

I see myself as a modern woman; I work full time, I lived happily on my own for years, paid the bills on time, kept myself in shape. My independence is extremely important to me, I don’t need a man to complete my life and I certainly don’t need a man’s love to feel good about myself.

But in a contradictory turnaround of opinion this doesn’t mean I don’t want romance.

What I love about the courting notion the most is the idea of being wooed.  Basically your man finding ways to show you that you are special to him and that he wants you in his life, possibly forever.  It’s not so much about flowers, chocolates and cuddly toys, it’s more about respect. 

Dating is one of the things I miss about being a teenager.  I never really had a serious boyfriend until I was 19 and at university.  But I did date.  A lot.  And I loved it.  I still remember the nervy excitement of heading out the house to meet someone, scared in case they didn’t turn up, petrified at what I would say if they did.

One date I went on the guy took me on a 120 mile round trip to Peterborough just so I could go to a proper multiplex cinema (I grew up in rural Lincolnshire, we didn’t have them there) and sample my first ever ‘squishie’ but also so that we could have a proper chance to talk and get to know each other on the journey. 

Alas I think I peaked too early in my dating successes as from university onwards, dating became a much more no frills affair.  A drink at your local boozer being the typical venue for a date and seeing if that drink got your suitor to your bedroom seemed to be the main intent.  Sigh.  I would love to see how some of the guys I met back in those days would have fared under the rules of courtship.  Actually maybe I wouldn’t.  Unsmiley face.

The reality now for the dating scene, particularly as more and more internet dating and social websites gain popularity is that guys don’t have to court to gain our affections anymore.  They don’t have to call our house and risk speaking to our parents in order to get a date.  They don’t even have to speak to us directly; they can send a text, or an email or private message us on Facebook.  Some people don’t meet face to face for the first date.  Virtual picnics exist people.  F.A.C.T.  

There seems to be a lot more complacency regarding relationships nowadays too.  We are a hardier folk I think than the generations before us.  We are the generation who have witnessed people (more often than not our very own courting parents) move on after divorce.  We are the generation who accept that love does not always last forever.  Because of this we appear to be the generation who doesn’t really care if we find love or not.

Men if you are reading this please know I don’t blame you for this demise in relationship attitudes.  But do something tonight to embrace the values of our parents’ generation. Court your lady! Just once. Take her somewhere nice, ask about her day, let her know if she is the most important / beautiful / sexy woman in the world.  Woo her.  It might not automatically win her hand in marriage but then again this generation of dating guys don’t care about that.  Do they?

[femicom]

Super chilled out weekend, quite a lot of x-boxing for me, boyf and his daughter who stays with us at the weekend.  It has been good, me and boyf have just got worms 2 on arcade so we have all been playing that and having great fun finding novel ways to blow up each other's teams. 

Discovered that boyf's daughter wanted to watch Little Shop of Horrors as well so we got to watch that last night.  Not surprisingly boyf is not a big fan of musicals so it was nice to watch it without feeling like the person with you is bored senseless.  Forgot how much I loved it, it really hasn't aged that much at all and it still makes me laugh even twenty years after I first watched it.  Am in the course of persuading boyf to have a trip over to the west end one time to watch something thee.  Haven't been in years so hopeully it's something we can do in the next few weeks.

I have a gig coming up this week, first actual spot I have had in a long time so quite nervous and need to start planning what I am going to say.  Have a few ideas and a new joke about nick clegg so hoping that will go well.

Boyf also runs quizzes and we have a new one starting tomorrow night, we are both really excited and have got great backing from the pub hosting it.  I used to help out with the marking and stuff but I ended up getting bored all the time so me and my work wife are having a team now which should be a larf.  Cheap drinks night as well - good times.

[femicom]

Friday Feelings

Looking like it will be a quiet weekend for me and the boyf.  Been an eventful week for all the wrong reasons.  Birmingham city centre is trying its hardest to put a brave face on but the disappointment in the air is unavoidable when you walk up the now boarded up New Street and surrounding areas. 

After a peaceful couple of days there is talk of more trouble tonight so it will be early in for me followed by a pensive wait for the boyf to get back from Wolves where he works.

I was supposed to perform at a comedy night tonight but have had to call it off in case there is trouble and we can't get home again.  This feels ridiculous but at the same time necessary.  I'm hoping this has been an unnecesary move and that the expected trouble I'm hearing reported will not happen.

On the plus side we have just bought fruit ninja for kinect so will be putting our night to good use slicing up pesky troublesome fruit.  I am also recently back on x-box live as well which is feeling good.  After a cock up with my old id being erased though I am back to nil gamer points which is a stinger so on a quest at the moment to build them up again.

Boyfriend has nearly 35,000 - I wish I could steal them from him. 

Eating healthy chicken noodle soup and bread (no butter) for my lunch.  The soup is that kind of healthy eating stuff where hot water would have more taste.  Yeah that kind.  And the bread is dry.  Being overweight sucks.

I will now think about what I can cook as a delicious tea for us to look forward to. 

[femicom]

This is me.  I'm a girl.  I work in an office but don't worry that won't be mentioned much on here.  I try to tell jokes sometimes.  I often look this perplexed.  I have a boyfriend.  He sometimes tries to tell jokes also.  We live together.  He had one of these before me.  I want everything he has.  Like I always want what he has for tea.  I don't want a penis though. 

Hopefully this will be entertaining.  For all of us involved