'I'm fine with my hand until someone amazing comes along'

Yes, this was (nearly) a direct quote from myself to my UNCLE, (I know I amaze myself).

 My love life. A topic which my family often like to discuss, as they have met one boyfriend in my 21 years, they seem it odd, strange, weird, alien that I don’t have boyfriend, after boyfriend after boyfriend. WHY IS THIS? I am not a girl who has a constant line of boyfriends, nothing wrong with you if you do, but that is not me. I like myself thank you very much.

 

Why is it insisted upon that I need a man to make me happy? (Apologies for pussycat dolls reference). Truth is I don’t, yes it can be lonely, when you haven’t had a good spoon in months. But I have a shit load of teddy bears that will suffice until someone can blow me off my feet. 

What’s the harm in waiting for someone amazing. A hosts of guys can come and flirt with you in a club. Yawn, bore, snore.

 

(No of course not babe, come on over flirt with me, lick (more like tickle?) my face, take me home and let me COMB YOUR LUSCIOUS LOCKS).

Yes I can detect you've just had some kind of sexual encounter in the toilet with that girl who everyone's clocked, one tooth, bright blue eyeshadow extending all the way to her forehead, sporting a dress screaming 'Easy Access Boiz Im Redi 4 u'. Usually: body-con, neon, slits, low cut, covering no hole other than the belly button. (They definitely wouldn't be able to spell 'access').

Usually the position they sustain all night, which may I add also applies to all cats. (In my opinion all cats are slutty, sly and out for all they can get - i've never met a cat who isn't a strumpet. Don't be fooled).

And no i'm not going to be swayed by a blue WKD and an apple sourz shot.

I need more than that to excite me. Yes I’ve come across men in my time in shopping centres and supermarkets and other strange places. If there is an attraction in the most random of places, it will give me more of a buzz than a nightclub or a bar. Because frankly, we’ve heard the same spiel ten times over, propped up against a bar talking complete rubbish whilst you breathe vodka fumes in our faces (which I’m sure may have effect on the longevity of makeup – so back off). 

If you approach me in a petrol station at 9am (obviously a day I have makeup on and am not looking like trailer trash), we know you are genuinely attracted and have got something about you to approach a girl sober and at 9am (yes this is very far-fetched come to think of it). But you get my point. I don’t think I’m an average Jane; therefore I’m not going to settle for the average Joe.

Bloody hell, she's beautiful.

LOOK AT HER, no way is she your average Jane? A high calibre of male is needed to sweep her and her large melons (mine are equally at large, if not bigger) off her feet..

Starbucks name writing. Yep, exciting as it sounds.

You’d think there was a surge of literacy examinations among the workforce of coffee house Starbucks and other coffee houses taken in by this ridiculous fad. In a bid to create some kind of emotional connection with their customers, name writing is supposed to crystalize the relationship between you and your coffee house.

Emotional connection? I’m only remotely interested in any connection if the barista happens to be male, 6ft, tanned, chiselled jaw line (the list goes on), between the ages of 20-35 (beggars can’t be choosers). Well maybe the outline of (at least) a six-pack seeping through his uniform would be nice too? Call me crude? No... well yeah. Emotional connection? Not required thanks Starbucks; just a quick perv at a nice face/body will do me just fine. Take some tips from Abercrombie and Fitch/Hollister, attractiveness = employability? Duh.

Honestly though, more to the point..

A. I’m sure I can remember what I ordered, so if you shout it I’ll know, and more than likely be miraculously standing there waiting for an item I’ve just paid for?

B. My names just been called out wrong, well now I look like a f*cking cretin, my gender is being questioned by the 6/10 boy next to me and a middle aged woman is looking at me thinking I’ve been named after some foreign fruit (I wish, my parents were born in the dark ages).

C. However there is no doubt I’ll keep coming back, in the hope some joker employee writes ‘c*nt’ on my coffee cup or some equally obscene word, and then I can upload it to Facebook in a bid to get 100+ likes. Because that’s what life's all about? Right?

NO. IT ISN’T. SO PLEASE PEOPLE JUST DRINK YOUR BLOODY DRINK AND STOP TAKING PICTURES OF THE CARDBOARD CUP. I DON’T CARE IF IT HAS RYAN GOSLING’S SWEAT IN IT (pause, I definitely would care) drink it. Please.

Here is my next issue, aside from the initial issue of ‘cup writing’ (see how sh*t that looks as an actual activity). Secondly this bombardment of instagrammers, Facebookers etc. sharing with the entire world a cardboard cup with name on front? Okay so I already know your name? Do I really need to know you’re having a drink? You’ve bought a drink because you’re thirsty and fluid is imperative to the function of the human body, so why the frig aren’t you drinking it already? 

#I’dratheryouuploadapictureofyournostrils

Take Virginia for example, this is one drastic (-ally funny) situation she has found herself in. Alongside ‘Virgin’ and other ghastly errors, I mean come the fuck on the world isn’t ending you’re not in that much of a rush to spell  V-I-R-G-I-N-I-A? Or maybe you’re just inept. Yeah probably the latter.

Call me old fashioned, but I’m partial to a nice brew, (Yorkshire tea is my tipple), none of this fancy mochachocawockaflockaflame malarkey. My emotional connection to my trusted friend Yorkie isn’t going to be broken by the glorification of a cardboard up with my name on? To be frank I’m sick of my name, everyday I have to read the bloody thing, input it somewhere, type it or correct someone’s spelling. (Rachel-F*CK SAKE, Racheal-wtf is this, Rachelle-come on my parents aren’t that cool, and the list goes on). So why the bloody hell would I subject myself to such anxiety? 

Why not write something they like about that customer?  ‘Nice arse’ now not only is that is something to be proud of, it is also acceptable to show off to the entirety of your social media population. Coffee and a compliment, what more could you want?

Oh look some joker thought Virginia’s Vagina hadn’t caused enough trouble (or got enough action). Nothing better than adding fuel to the fire eh?

(Apologies if this offends anyone I know who works in Starbucks or a coffee chain indulging in this fad. If you are an employee then make sure you write something obscene on a customers cup in the near future, they won’t be displeased, in fact it will make their existence. Seeing ‘100 people like this’ will be their greatest achievement to date).  

Women are psychos: first hand evidence – having brothers.

 (How to stop yourself from being a psycho) 

One of my brother’s girlfriends once monitored the amount of Facebook friends he had on a day-to-day basis... And her results conveyed the inevitable fluctuation as people come and go... (I myself have deleted Facebook). She accused him of quote ‘adding and deleting birds and then fucking them’. 

Pardon? For starters, that doesn’t make sense and secondly, really? you really think he’d do that? I just wanted to be like, look in the mirror – U R FIT HONEY. Double G boobs (boob job), long blonde hair, mysteriously perfect nose (?), good banter, skinny. You fucking idiot. I mean what is wrong with us, we have all got a bit of psycho in us, okay not as much as that nutcracker, but we have a small-medium percentage of it.

 Stalking is a craze, which Facebook has invented, and twitter, and now Instagram (fuck me I cant stop stalking peoples pictures). And also reported from a friend the stalking of Snapchat in which one girl busted her fella, when his ‘top friend’ was a 15-year-old schoolgirl. Woopsy. It does my absolute nut in, you meet someone and you get him or her on all social media arenas and then there it goes the days before your first date you spend stalking and creating an idea of their life. And sometimes yes you can be right, but sometimes oh so wrong, leaving you questioning your sanity. 

This brings me to my latest endeavour..

Fuck social media when it comes to dating, dodge that Facebook add and twitter follow, tell them you don’t wish to become social media acquaintances before you are an actual acquaintance of theirs first (or just lie and say you don’t believe in it lol). This is what I did in the summer of 2012. Met a guy, chatted in a club, exchanged numbers. Next day introductory texts (impressive, none of the usual ‘gd 2 meet u gorjus. Wt u up2’), this was some good intellectual shit. So instead we picked up where we left off and we exchange email. Some may seem this weird, but it fit with exchanging articles on the political topic we were both interested in (yes it wasn’t your usual ‘ur fit can I taste ur tongue’ chat).

 8 months later, we still email as he is living abroad, we haven’t got each other on social media, leaving me to make my own opinions of him in what he shares with me and vice versa. Yeah it’s a tad strange, but to hell with this normal cack, this is modern and refreshing. To have someone so impartial to exchange thoughts and feelings with is a genuine breath of fresh air. 

Random as fuck yes, I’m not saying to trot into town get chatting to a 7/10 at a bar and force him to exchange emails. BUT think outside of the box; don’t let it be the same old if he seems interesting. I made a pact to myself before I went to university, if his first text the next day is along the lines of: ‘Hi babes, lovely to meet you last night. How r u today?’ delete the boring bastard. Ain’t nobody got time for the same old shit. 

(and if he's wearing crocs then you shouldn't be anywhere bloody near him)