This blog is transferring to a YouTube account which I’m running with Nicole, watch this space :P links are imminent
Okay, so this is going to be a little different from the anecdotal and ultimately personal stuff I always put up here. I know this is designed to be an anthology of the various humiliating and humorous events I’ve taken part in but I’ve decided to branch out, cos who wants to just go through the motions, right?
Some of the more savvy of the (barely-scraping) double digits of my devoted followers may recognise the quote with which this piece of (in my humble opinion) tough-love advice gold is headed with. But no, this is not a piece about Monty Python, or the flying circus. It’s another equally implausible but extremely prevalent part of our blunt British culture, engrained into our history, our future, our present. It’s something you’re going to have to face for the rest of your lives… and here it is.
You (yes, you) are undesirable.
Don’t worry, this isn’t the end. I’m not going to sugar-coat it and say you’re just a bippety-boppety boo makeover away from being accepted by the opposite sex, because no amount of anonymous emotive posting will outweigh your deep-set physical insecurities. What I am here to do is offer a practical solution to those times when you’re attracted to someone who really could NOT give less of a shit about you.
I want to start by saying I’m different from 90% of the other dicks you’ll get saying “Shut them out of your life” or “find someone better” because I know, and you know, that ain’t gonna happen. So without further ado, let’s get started on 50 ways to leave your lover… or more accurately 10 ways to totally destroy your interest… from the inside. It’s primarily aimed at girls but I’m sure guys can glean some tips.
1) Don’t shut them out! - I cannot stress how imperative this is, do not cut the cord! As soon as you do, with anyone, let alone someone whose every move you psychoanalyse, you’re going to notice some snapback. They’ll text you to see where you are (or if you’re me, to see where their free food supply has gone because I have a theory you really can buy love with Oreos, crisps and Glenn Close-style staring across busy rooms until he gets unnerved and leaves) or see what’s up. THEY’RE NOT INTERESTED. They just haven’t talked to you in a while and need a fresh ego preen because they know you’re loopy in love for them.
Instead embrace this person into your life. Go overboard. Spend a shit-ton of time with them, harrass them via text, facebook, ANYTHING. This is an effective measure for several reasons. Firstly, you’re basically having a relationship without them realising and without you having to worry about always looking attractive BECAUSE THEY’RE NOT LOOKING AT YOU LIKE THAT ANYWAY. This is also handy because you’re not obligated to buy gifts for them on their birthday or Christmas either, so I’m saving you cashola too. Secondly, and most importantly, you will be spending a lot of time near this person. Have you ever done that? Have you ever spent an excruciating amount of time with a person? A sibling, maybe? Your sibling’s a dick aren’t they? And this is exactly the logic this bad-boy works on. Look at the way he inhales before he makes a smarmy know-it-all point, look at the way he fake smiles when he wants you to stop talking, looking at the way he punches his friend in the arm every time he makes a joke. You see? You were head-over-heels infatuated with a cock. Which leads us nicely in our next point.
2) Be a cock - Treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen? Well you’re about to turn that little phrase on its smug, arrogant head. The trick with this technique is to do it in moderation, blow hot and cold and drive the other person crazy. It’s very effective if done well. But you’re not going to do it well.
Just take everything the wrong way, it’ll feel weird and anti-social at first, like wearing a suit made out of second-hand carpet, but with enough practice at walking without causing static fires and enough conviction of self you can be the cock you were always too afraid to be.
Say he compliments you, “I like your hair today”, you’ve got to seem genuinely affronted. Today? I didn’t get a fucking hair transplant over night.
Say he asks you a reasonable question, “Do you know where I could get a good pizza?” “Have you tried your face?” Bonus points if their face actually DOES look like a pizza. This insult also works with pancakes, Jenga and pairs of socks.
Say he makes a comment, “It’s cold today.” “OH REALLY, I’M GLAD YOU TOLD ME BECAUSE MY SKIN’S STOPPED BEING ABLE TO GAUGE THE TEMPERATURE. It’s a good job you were here to save the day.”
Say he tries to share a point of view “I think apartheid is wrong.” Disagree. “I don’t. Sometimes different races should piss in different places. And it’s true because it rhymes, bitch.”
Say he tries to start a debate, “What’s your opinion on abortion laws in the US?” You simply reply “No.” This is good because not only are you disagreeing with him for the sake of it, but you’re also completely killing the conversation. Bonus point if you get the no in before he’s finished trying to have a proper conversation with you.
Sarcasm, general unpleasantness and arguing for the sake of it are all great qualities to have when employing this technique.
DISCLAIMER: Remember you don’t fancy everybody. Don’t be an overt cock where people who actually matter can judge you and don’t let your cockish behaviour leak into other relationships where they just might be desperate enough to bone you.
3) Attribute all they say to trying to leave an impression on you - By this I mean, before you see him you run potential scenarios through your head, don’t you? You think of what he’ll say and the witty, cute reply you’ll say, then that ‘wow, she’s actually really fucking sexy’ smile he’ll flash at you. WELL SNAP OUT OF IT. He’s not interested. He never has been. He never will be. Work with what you have, an easy to manipulate brain filled with tenuous logic at best. The reason this logic is tenuous is because you have a vagina. There is a direct correlation between how much of a vagina you have and how FUCKING CRAZY AND IRRATIONAL YOU ARE. Use it, exploit it, abuse it. I mean the logic, not your vagina. Bitches gotta respect their vaginas, after all.
Just imagine for a second, he does the same. Imagine he’s the one with the crush and you’re the one shaking him off your leg like an enthusiastic puppy that’s been outside and rolled in a bigger puppy’s shit. You want that bastard off your leg, am I right? Here’s how you do it.
Imagine he’s played out the very scenario that’s happening right now in his head, he’s prepared his lines, worked on casually making it seem like they’re coming out in natural conversation, but really he’s been figuring out what to say probably since the first wet dream he had about you.
If he agrees with you he’s sucking up - cringey, pathetic, spineless, boring.
If he disagrees he’s trying to get a reaction or some form of attention out of you - predictable, petty, immature, boring.
If he remembers something about you from ages ago he’s clearly got nothing better to do with his time - creepy, lonely, obsessed, boring.
If he talks to you he’s probably got a whole speech planned - rehearsed, emotionless, unengaging, boring.
Do you see how boring your crush is? He’s a dull fuck, get someone with a personality that doesn’t hang off your every irrelevant word.
4) Remember it is only a crush - I don’t mean this to sound patronising, but just look at it logically. Love is a ticking time bomb in itself. Okay, hopeless romantics, just skip this because I don’t want to crush your teeny-tiny hearts with a great big bowling ball of scientific fact, okay?
You gone? Good. You’re pricks anyway. Here’s the stone cold truth of it, love starts as soon as you think of them as a potential and from then you’ve got to chase it like… I don’t know I’m out of analogies… chase it like it’s hot. It was a while ago I found this out but if I’m remembering correctly love lasts sometime between a year and 18 month tops, after that you only have the person left. And knowing you, you probably have appalling taste. So do waste your time yearning after them, at least that way it can fizzle out rather than you actually getting the person you’re interested in then finding out a year down the line they actually like the Go Compare adverts… or actually think the Mr Blobby song was a musical masterpiece. Who wants that?!
5) Recognise that if you’re butt-ugly you probably have a great personality - Fact of life: attractive people get by. The result splits three ways. They’re either so pretty they never need to develop a personality, the looks go and then actually end up questioning their own existence and die alone on a park bench in the middle of winter whilst feeding pigeons OR they’re so pretty they can be total bitches and have no real friends OR they’re so pretty they don’t need to be bitchy and are just perfect, but everyone hates them anyway.
You, me, 90% of drive-thru workers, we’re in this together. Well, not the drive-thru workers, they’re a lost cause, but me and you… we got this. We’re not the most attractive people on the face of the planet, but this is our saving grace! Because of this we’ve had to develop personalities! We’ve had to become brainy or funny or interesting, because ‘funny’ and ‘interesting’ aren’t adjectives you want attributed to your face.
So give up on looking good, reel someone in with your personality… or get really ugly friends. Both have about a 16% success rate, which is higher than sitting there and hoping the person will magically start liking you.
6) Talk about it to your cat - Or your friends, but as cats voice-boxes haven’t developed enough to bitch to each other about how pathetic you are they’re a safer bet.
7) Tape their face to a sex-toy - Seriously, it’ll be impossible to respect anything they do after that. You don’t even have to use the sex-toy, just imagine their stupid vibrating face. Stupid. Vibrating. Face.
8) He’s no prize either - Girls are infamous for selling themselves short. And there’s always that party where the short, balding, greasy little twerp has a beauty dangling off his arm, and why? Because he’s minted. Like it or not all girls are looking for a guy who outdoes others in one way or another, you probably like this guy because he has one redeeming quality which gives him the edge in the collection of penis-possessing pricks you associate it with on a daily basis. But stop and look, he’s probably got weirdly small eyes, or girly hips… or he looks like his sister. Isolate this one good quality and realise how ultimately useless it is, unless it’s wealth, because you can then marry him and take him for half of his worth. Ah, vagina logic makes more sense now doesn’t it? And if it’s not wealth, someone else will have it, you just need to lower your standards and swallow your pride… or if it’s for money, swallow anything the bastard tells you to, you gold-digger.
9) Dedicate songs to him that make him sound like a twat - Listen to songs that people who’ve actually been in relationships would listen to. Then pretend he’s the guy that dumped Taylor Swift or stole Pink’s toaster or whatever (I don’t keep up with the pop charts, they’re shit!) Avoid songs about relationships working out, because he’s probably a commitophobe. In my opinion, crushes are all about finding someone and assigning a personality to them. With the help of these songs and some creativity your chivalrous, ambitious, rich, popular guy becomes a chauvenistic, immoral, druggie manwhore… who probably kicks small children completely unprovoked and hates your mother.
10) Make a lifestyle change - Okay, this is my final ingenious nugget. Maybe the reason it’s so hard to shake this particular guy is that he’s in all the different aspects of your life. This is the only practical applicable advice you’re going to read. Change it up a bit. Get a new part to your life he isn’t involved in. Do anything. Get a negative role model so when you get demotivated you can always thank god you don’t look like Susan Boyle and have the talent of Paris Hilton, life could be a lot worse. Switch up your opinions and beliefs too, ideally to something he can’t stand. Be a straw feminist, the next Adele, a randy lesbian, a preaching vegan, as well as making new pretentious friends you’ll be spending less time with him. In dire cases I would recommend the sisterhood, but only because I have an unhealthy attachment to Maria out of the Sound of Music. That woman made my childhood and I only found out last year her boinking the Captain Von Trapp was a bit ethically shady.
If you want a lighter option, get a new hobby. Like crying in cupboards or stalking someone.
Well, that’s my advice on how to get over a boy who doesn’t like you… I hope it works out well for you :)
And I uploaded a picture of it onto facebook and it got more likes than my profile picture.
I am less liked than a broken toilet.
Fun fact for you there.
For my work experience, I was in an old people’s home, which is just tons and tons of fun, as you can imagine. To give you an idea of what it was like, while I was waiting to be interviewed for suitability I had to sit in the foyer waiting for over an hour, opposite the toilet. After being sat there for forty-five minutes there was the sound of flushing and a disorientated man tottered out. He’d been in there at least 50 minutes…
For my first day, they put me in the dementia section and one of my jobs was to do “maid duty” which consisted of going around and collecting the used towels and then dropping them off in the nearest laundry cart and do the whole lower floor. The main maid said “If a door is shut, knock before entering and make sure it’s okay to go in. And collect all the towels.”
So I went around the first dozen rooms and then dropped their towels off in a laundry cart and then came to a closed door. I knocked and there was no answer.
“Hello?” came an old man’s voice through the door.
“Can I come in?” I asked.
Maybe he was answering the question literally, I could come in, the real question was am I mentally hardy enough to handle what is behind that door.
It was his room, it was empty… with the TV playing some godawful midday programme about antiques as every single British lunchtime show (with the horrific exception of Loose Women) seems to be contractually obliged to show the same boring old crap in the middle of some field no one gives a shit about. Whoa, rant over.
But the door to his en-suite was ajar with the light on, I should have really stopped to think where he’d be if he wasn’t in the bedroom and thus what he’d be doing.
I pushed the door open and I screamed at the shock of seeing him there. Then he screamed at the shock of a person standing in his en-suite while he was towelling his balls.
Towelling his balls.
TOWELLING HIS BALLS.
“What are you doing in here?!” he screamed in a horrified way. Oh, dementia.
“You said I could come in!”
“I thought that was the TV saying that!”
“Why would you reply to the TV?!”
There was a moment of awkward silence. I realised I was holding no towels so I had to explain what I was doing here.
“I came to collect the towels.”
There was a soggy pile of towels in the corner and I picked them up.
“Do you want this one?” he offered, dangling the bollock towel way too close to my face for comfort and with his balls still on show.
I took the towel and choked back the sick building up in the back of my throat and left and because he was the first room out of a dozen I was holding the testicle towel for ages.
The next day after they put me in a different section he was sat in the foyer and I was praying he wouldn’t recognise me.
“Hey, hey,” he said and I turned around, “I remember you.”
Oh fuck. Denial, denial.
“Yes, your mother’s in there.”
Considering he’d never met my mother and the likelihood of her being in a cleaning supplies closet at my work experience placement when she was meant to be at work was quite small I let out a sigh of relief and played along.
Hoorah for dementia.
No, despite the title, this is the not the story that gave my blog its name, this is an all together different story.
My mum decided to totally redecorate our house and she got it into her head she wanted a glass coffee table… I have no idea why when she lives with two of the messiest people in the world a.k.a me and my dad.
She couldn’t find one in any stores so she went on eBay, but she clearly didn’t read the information down the side of the one she bought very thoroughly because she did not buy a glass table. She bought a load of sheets of glass that dreamed of becoming a table.
Needless to say she was pissed off, but if there’s one thing you should know about my mother, it’s that she doesn’t give up easily. She sent my dad out to get some superglue and he returned with supergum.
“Where’s the superglue?” my mum asked.
“It’s not superglue, it’s supergum… which is even better!”
Turns out the guy in the store had persuaded my dad to buy supergum, it starts off as a liquid and then goes into a ‘gummy’ state giving you time to stick things exactly where you want them once it gets ‘gummy’. There was one problem, it takes 12 hours to reach the gummy stage and while it’s in the liquid stage it is adhesive but things just slip when you try and connect objects with it.
Enter stupid fat hairy old cat. He’ll be important later.
My dad laid the dining table with newspaper and put all the pieces of glass down and put a strip of supergum on each of them and then stupid fat hairy old cat, Raffles, walked in.
“Make sure he doesn’t jump on the table,” my dad told me, foolishly entrusting me with an important job that had a lot of responsibility. He left the room and I turned my back on Raffles to get some breakfast and eat it at the breakfast bar. I heard a soft fallump noise and I knew what I was going to see before I turned around.
Sure enough, Raffles was on the table, sat right on a strip of supergum, completely oblivious to what he’d just done. Then he tried to stand up and twigged. He wasn’t even distressed or worried, just mildly irritated by the latest addition to his bottom. He went to do his classic move of dissatisfaction, jumping off the table and marching off. Only one problem. He had an enormous sheet of glass attached to his arse.
I ran over and carefully placed him on the floor so it didn’t smash and violate him and then he started pulling himself forward by the front legs (I felt like I was watching evolution firsthand). That wasn’t the worst kind of moving he’d ever tried, for some reason completely known to himself he slid around on his stomach like a snake instead of using his legs even though there was nothing wrong with them for a few weeks once. I called my parents and they had to take him to the vet to get the glass removed and when my dad came back he had Raffles’ carrier in one hand and a gnarly, hairy looking chunk of glass still in near perfect nick in the other.
And my mum still put the table up. She’s not a quitter.
I was sat in a free period today writing something down when I heard this sound like a gunshot and freaked the fuck out.
I thought someone had cracked and started a school massacre and was currently wiping out all the people in the canteen, but when I looked up and no one else had reacted I was like… wait a second, and then I realised the sound had been my bra strap snapping and for the rest of the day I had wonky boobs and the strap kept flapping out.
Sad times. It wasn’t even a cheap bra.
Stared into sun and disorientated myself, which made me trip over a massive dog and so headbutt a hot American tourist boy. This is my life.
This one may sound more creepy than funny.
A while ago we went away on holiday and a family a few doors down (mother, son my age, daughter a little older, father) house-sat for us, which mainly consisted of feeding our cat.
The woman is lovely, she’s really nice, really friendly, really normal.
The son, however, is not.
Here’s a fun fact for you, I’m pretty disorganised in every area of my life EXCEPT my underwear drawer. cos that shit’s important. I have my pants folded up into little squares and my bras folded so the cups are together. Who said OCD?
But yeah anyway, I went up to my room and the drawer was slightly open and that was odd cos I was sure I’d shut it after I packed and the family housesitting had no reason to come upstairs since my cat was locked in the kitchen for the duration of our holiday.
I pulled the drawer open, all my bras were opened out and all my pants were in one giant (should point out in some form of weird Freudian slip I typed ‘child’ instead of ‘giant’ there) pantyful mess. And then I looked and realised one pair was missing, and it was a special pair because it made up 50% of my thong collection. Then I looked across the room and my en suite was ajar with the light on and I KNEW I’d turned that light off and closed the door when we left to go on holiday.
I had a feeling I’d regret it, but I opened the bathroom door. The toilet lid was up. Another odd thing since I ALWAYS close it. And the bin was open with two tissues in it and no bin bag, so I knew I hadn’t done that. On the toilet seat was a very… manly… substance, no prizes for guessing what was all over the tissues to WHICH I HAD TO PICK UP AND FLUSH AWAY BECAUSE HE WAS TOO STUPID TO THINK TO DO THAT.
So I’m assuming he jacked off over my underwear.
About two weeks ago he facebook chatted me asking if I wanted to come round to his hot tub? Not until I fancy getting killed and raped. In that order.
Then a few days ago he facebook chatted me asking if I was ‘still the same bra size’. DA FUCKING FUCK?!
If I die, tell them to look locally.