How long were you together? Ah, just the weekend

A good friend of mine once said to me whilst I was complaining that ‘all men are out to get me’/ ‘ohhhh I will never find a boyfriend/ 'this keeps happening to me' etc;’ ‘ aren't you in a weird way, glad that these things happen because they give you something to write about?’ My answer, oddly, when I thought about it: ‘YES.’ Boyfriend,…or blog?? Boyfriend or blog. BLOG! Almost as easy as the daddy or chips equation.

I met Billy ages ago, when we were in Secondary school. I was a few years older mind, he was in my little brothers year and cousins with a boy in my tutor. That was it. But he got older, and bloomed into this charming, cheeky chappy with a lovely behind and a grin that made me feel like a pervert. Don’t get me wrong, he is only three years younger than me, but the pressures to find an older man in life made me feel uneasy about having the hots for a young fellow who hit puberty the same time as my younger brother. (Sorry but my mind is a strange place and will take into account all odd things such as this.)

When he became old enough to be allowed entrance into the only night club within a 30 mile radius of my small town, I would always catch his eye. Or he would catch mine. Strange phrase thinking about it, I’m imagining a game of catch with an eye ball here. We would hold each others glance for a few seconds at a time shall I put it. But I was weirded out by my inner voice ‘stop it Chelsea he is too young for you...perv!’ There was one night though, where we just danced with each other  didn't say a word, just did this slightly awkward salsa fumble to Sean Paul one Saturday night. It was fun, and I laughed a lot, and he did too.

Time went on, and I had my fickle heart stamped on by many ‘men’ and I never really thought much about the situation. As far as I knew, he had a very pretty long term girlfriend, who had legs up to her chin and long brown hair that she could just put up all messy and disorganised and it would still look amazing. I want to be able to do that one day. One night, at our cheesy town hall resembling night club, we kissed. Or rather...I kissed him. I knew he was single however because he previously had pinched my bottom, and I asked around to ensure I wasn't going to be mega bitch of the century. I kissed him outside, and he kissed back. It was lovely, but drunken and I don’t normally go kissing around, especially at home where people talk too much and in this particular case I was scared I’d be locked up for perversion. 

I didn't really think much of it afterwards. (Shock!) Until! The little beggar added me on Facebook, months after the kiss. I didn't hesitate to accept of course. Then we got talking, a lot. And he made me ‘LOL’ and I’m pretty sure I made him do the same, although a lot of the men I meet in life, try and hide the fact they find me funny. I still don’t know why. We swapped numbers and for two months, every day, we would text and Facebook. I’d mock him for being young, and he’d say stuff like I smelt like moth balls. I am a sucker for banter. There was the occasional flirt, and innuendo made out of the word ‘toddle and I was beginning to really like the attention more and more.  I also believed I was slightly in control as I was older, and perhaps wiser, and I never let him forget it.  

Being at University and him living at home meant we couldn't meet up and rip each other’s clothes off. This was great though as the sexual tension was building as Christmas was coming up and I was due home to visit the family, and attend the ultimate Christmas night out at the local club. The night where old school friends, best friends, ex best friends, ex-boyfriends, girlfriends and long lost cousins come together and drink the place dry. Our texting was going well, lots of xo’s and suggestive texts implying his potential visits to Bournemouth, and how long I was back for at Xmas. He even asked what I was doing for New Year ’s Eve. To my knowledge I had nothing planned, but I perhaps should have been a cooler cucumber and not let him know this, but he did reply with a ‘ we will see what we can do' text,which made my little feet tap.  

Unfortunately, a week before my Christmas return, he turned colder than the ruddy weather, and stopped responding to my texts. Me, I’m crap at this sort of thing, and I should have possibly read the warning sign, the big red flashing light up warning sign, and left him to it. But I asked him, maybe in the third text, I really don’t want to admit to a fourth, what was up. His response: ‘I don’t want to lead you on Chels, but who knows what will happen Saturday.’ SAY WHAT! I couldn't believe what I was reading. There were so many things wrong with this text. The lack of xo’s for one, the complete contradictory tone, the ‘I don’t want to lead you on.’ Bit late for that love, I thought. We didn't text a word for the rest of the week.

Getting ready for the Christmas night out, I looked in the mirror and felt pretty good. Perhaps I had subconsciously made more of an effort because I knew he was going to be there. Subconscious, pah, I am my own subconscious and of course I made an extra special effort’ ‘E needs to see what e’s missin’ kinda effort. All you need to know is, he was the first person I danced with, all night, and the last person I left with. Jaeger bombs definitely got the better of me, and as we were kissing on my brothers sofa (no one was in the room with us that would be weird) I kept pulling away and joking that ‘I didn’t want to lead’ him on. I thought I was being really funny at the time mind you. I think he found it funny too.

The point is, he stayed with me that night. We then got up the next morning and walked into the kitchen,  my brothers both looked at me..’here she goes again.’ I knew what was on their mind, but I liked to think that maybe, maybe this time it would be different, and something could work here. ‘Who wants a fry up then?’ Billy asked. My brothers faces turned from disappointment to adoration, and as Billy later stood by the frying pan, trying to save the eggs I’d just messed up, my older brother winked at me. After making fried brekky for at least ten (my brothers’ house gets quite crowded during festivities) we both snuggled up on the sofa and as he stroked my hair we just giggled and talked nonsense. The nonsense you talk when you are sleep deprived and  perhaps still slightly intoxicated from the night before. The good nonsense.

The evening came, and he was still there, still at my brothers, with me! Looking fresh and composed in all his nineteen years of manliness may I add. The house started to fill again with our merry friends, and Christmas eve eve meant a gathering was on the cards. Billy turned to me and said ‘I really want to stay but I’m still wearing the clothes from last night.’ My lack of response due to being astonished by the fact that a guy had stated he didn't want to abandon my presence just yet, was distracted by my younger brother who offered him a shower and some of his clothes. I couldn't  but I wanted to squeeze my little brother so tight ‘thankyou thankyou thankyou.’ But play it cool Chelsea, play it cool.

The night was very joyous and Christmassy and oh so lovely. I watched Billy as he became more and more confident, probably due to the  more and more beer he drunk but he was really joining in with my brothers and all our friends. He was really enjoying himself, and I felt like I was … well his girlfriend. Rolling my eyes as he made silly jokes and swooning when he’d kiss me on the cheek in front of everyone. It was so odd, but I felt so comfortable. Almost too comfortable. He stayed over again that night and as you can imagine, the vino and the Christmas spirit made us rather raunchy and fruitful, and it was pretty damn fun if I do say so myself. But that's enough about that...

Christmas eve, we woke up, his body neatly wrapped around mine. As I cleaned my teeth he made me a sausage sandwich before his dad picked him up at midday. (So young.) And when he kissed me on the lips good bye and merry Christmas, I knew that that was the last time Billy would ever kiss me on the lips. Don’t ask me why. I just knew.

And I was right. I got a communal merry Christmas text on Christmas day, after having to restrain myself from texting him after he left the previous. I text back a more one to one Christmas greeting, and got nothing back. As time went on, and Christmas passed, I told myself it was gonna be another cold winter. Damn, another year I didn't have the excuse to shout the lyrics from ‘warm this winter’ at the top of my lungs. ‘It’s gonna snow outside, the weather will be cold, but I’m gonna be wa-ar-arm this winterrr.’ Man, I can’t wait for the day that this can happen.

New Year’s was approaching fast, and I heard from a friend he was off to Birmingham for a big house party. I found me a house party in Bournemouth too, but I knew I didn't have a new year like he did. For one, I didn’t have my pretty brunette ex-girlfriend there to kiss me at the count down. This is major irony I guess, firstly because I am not a lesbian, and secondly because it was Billy who was blessed with his ex-girlfriend on New year’s night, and Facebook didn’t fail to let me punish myself over the tagged pictures of him and his ex, who looked quite frankly, really in love.

I tried not to ask myself too many questions. 'How long ago did they split?' 'Does he still love her?' 'Did he use me?' 'Was I a rebound?' 'Did he mean it when he said I was wicked?' (Wicked as in cool, because, of course I am!) 'Am I a total loser?' Instead of trying to seek the answers and make a total fool of myself, I later told Billy that I wished not to speak to him anymore, and that he shouldn't go round hurting girls just 'cause he is hurting. His response was that he was sorry, and he never intended to hurt anybody.

He told me off Christmas Eve morning for reciting the lyrics to this very song, as it was original and had been done before but…

BILLY DON’T BE A HERO

Get outta my head / bed

I fell asleep in your arms tonight,

Without even shutting my eyes.

I normally toss and turn you see,

This dream came as surprise.

And you've had trouble sleeping too,

I've come to realise.

But I can't keep on hiding under

Your duvet disguise.

Dirty Talk?

I need more views, opinions … and maybe advice on the whole notion of dirty talk. Do a lot of women do it? And do they do it well? Do they enjoy doing it? Oh and just a note to family members, I love your support and your praise, but do cover your eyes.

Personally, I have never been no feisty little minx, one time during…you know (I can’t even bring myself to blog the words!!) I was asked ‘What do you like to be called?’ I cringingly replied with my own name…’Chelsea…Chelsea will do just fine.’ Well what was I mean to say? Pussy Galore?? Or Ivanna Humpalot?? I’m just no good! In another instance, (yes there’s more) I was asked what it was I wanted. I never really understood the question because what we were already doing was clearly what I wanted. I said…’this is just fine.’ Silly Chelsea, silly un-saucy non-sexy Chelsea. I was laughed at in the face, and what a unique and uncomfortable situation that was; to previously be having the time of your life but ever so suddenly being made to feel about the size of the orgasm you weren’t now going to have.

I’ve got a bit better over the years; but only non-verbally. I don’t think I’d be able to keep a straight face other wise and at least this way it gives me a bit of time to sit down and think about what to say; rather than blurt something ridiculous out and completely kill the mood. Nevertheless, it always terrorises me when I click the send button because I know that I’m the kind of person who will send a text to the last person in the world that should ever receive it. And I’d still rather not bother; I end up sounding like an amateur porn star who doesn’t speak much English. Why send a text when you can have the real thing?

One craze that I can never get my head around is dirty pictures. Firstly, because lets be honest guys, it is difficult to take a flattering picture of your own aroused selves’ right? And the danger of internet sites, and nosey parkers, and phone hacking…I’d rather not have half the Country knowing my ‘private’ business. The first kinky picture I was ever sent was three years ago and I literally turned nun-like; I couldn’t believe my ex sent it. In fact I didn’t even believe it was his until I recognised the carpet. He had a girlfriend at the time (he being the unnamed man who deserves the lion's share of the credit acclaimed through my blog for invoking such a powerful response from within me) and he asked me to return the favour. Cheating little so and so I thought. So I lifted my arm, and took a sneaky snap of a… Heinz baked bean (I went to the trouble of opening a new tin.) ‘You wanted a bean,’ I replied. He was not amused. I was always brilliant at outsmarting the ruddy rogue.

So, as you can read, I’m no pro at making men weak at the knees with my sexy, sordid ,liquorish whip seduction techniques. I like to have a laugh and not take anything too serious. I’d rather just leave it up to the makers of the Bare witch project or the movies full of the highly imaginative: ‘Oh Mr Plumber, is that a pipe in your pocket or are you just happy to see me? I’m so glad you came…’ So tell me everyone…what are you wearing? I mean…what do you think about it all?

Where's your head at?

So…here I am thinking, holy crap I have been shortlisted for the Cosmopolitan blog awards (just thought I’d throw that one in there,) I best maybe try and mix my blog up a little, and divert away from my ranting and raving about the repetitive mistakes I seem to make with the opposite sex. Opposite being the key word here.


But, truth is, I can’t. I’m good at making these mistakes and maybe even a little better at writing about them. (Being shortlisted for the Cosmopolitan Blog awards ‘n all.) However, when I write these entries, my thoughts are going out to every other female who has to go through the ups and downs of living in new gen! I know I’m not the only one who ballads it out to Celine Dion and shouts at the TV showing yet another comedy romance: guy meets girl, girl falls out with guy cause she was a bet, but guy realises how madly deeply in love with her he is and then they marry on a white sanded beach.

It seems to me that there have been many recent cases amongst myself and my dearest girl friends, where we are warned after at least three weeks of the whole ‘seeing each other’ shebang (ugh what does that even mean,) that they are not after anything serious. No doubt however, they are after a late night ‘snuggle’ to conclude their night out with the ‘lads’. Seems to me, these boys don’t like to sleep alone.

I am master of these speeches delivered by the male generation, without even being one of them. And this is not necessarily a good thing, it means that time after time again I have had to deal with the knock back of thinking ‘ooo things might be getting serious,’ only later then to learn that it couldn’t be further away from serious if it tried. Does this mean it’s all big joke? Because neither of us were laughing last night when we were cuddled up watching rubbish TV, laughing and joking, kissing and talking. To me, when these guys text me and my girls saying how much they enjoyed their evening, and how they wish they didn’t have to leave that morning…I am left puzzled. Is that not serious?

Why is it they wait until we begin to fall for them to tell us that their heads not in the right place, or they aren’t ready for commitment or they are just really confused at this particular moment? If that’s the case misters, then why the dang do you ask our numbers? Most recently, I had another serious case of ‘my heads not in the right place’. ‘I’m not sure what I should be doing?’ he FACEBOOKED me. Hold up chuck, last time I saw you, your head was where it’s supposed to be and you were actually doing …well to put it bluntly…me? This guy is severely confused. Why didn’t you tell me this two months ago sugar pie idiot darling oh my god it’s happened again twirp!!

This is a short entry because I don’t want to have to repeat what I have had to say before. And I’m trying to work on this new ‘don’t keep re-reading the last chapter because you’ll be unable to move onto your new one’ outlook. (An artier fartier way of saying, don’t dwell on the past.)

But men, boys, fellows, lads, stop making up these uber lame excuses that make us girls feel pretty damn crap. You know where your head is, you know what/who you’re doing and if you don’t make up your mind and embrace the things that could actually be pretty amazing for you, then you will lose! Because if you think females are going to wait around for you to find your head, de-confuse yourselves or finish off your experimental phase…there’ll be another thing coming. And it won’t be you.

Love yourself before you love anyone else - not just something said to singletons...

I’ve always been told…'you meet people when you least expect it,’ or ‘they turn up when you’re not looking.’ Now, I’ve always been slightly pessimistic to these almost routine-like phrases. Is it something people say to singletons to make them feel just that bit better about not finding 'the one?'  And surely if I'm not looking and Mr. Perfect walks by, I’ll miss him right? And if we least expect it, does that mean he will walk by at 8:30 in the morning when I’m at the co-op getting milk, braving the braless look, in a pair of Primani joggers with my ‘I have not yet had a coffee’ eyes and ‘I don’t care for hair brushes at this time’ bouffant? Cause believe me, he’d keep walkin’!

Nonetheless, one piece of advice that I am a great believer in (and we all should be in this day in age, where 21st century over confidence and the egotistical generation game can sometimes get the better of us,) is to ‘Love yourself, before you Love anyone else.’ However, I appreciate and understand the difficulty to do just this when we can be knocked down by narcissistics and careless beings who are able to love themselves simply by making others feel like total shit (which of course people, is not the way to do it and may I add…that Karma will bite them in their stupid I love myself asses.) It seems that because we struggle to form strong relationships, commit to one another and respect one another, this phrase is more spoken then acted upon. It seems that within our generation, we skip from one partner to the next and this new norm of guys not wanting to settle down just yet because the new COD is coming out, there are a few things to get out of their system first (pah, there is no other meaning to this then a simple bone-everything), or my favourite and most popular response of ‘my heads not in the right place;’ our confidence and concept of loving ourselves becomes inexistent. As a result of this, our brains seem to run through every single time we have been rejected/put down or dumped over Facebook (yup still bitter.)

But I was told once that our brains are programmed to do just this. Once something goes wrong, in my case the continuous man hunt which always results in me being caught and trapped until the hunter gets bored and moves on to the next victim (strange metaphor but you get what I mean,) our brains begin to dwell on allll the other crap things that have happened in the past.

Recently, and believe me it pains me to type it; I became interested in a fellow who seemed to worship the ground I walked on. He told me how beautiful I was and how nice my eyes were and even though I was a little weird, (meh) he found me very interesting. This is the sort of thing that gives us girls that confidence boost and enables us to dig deep into that pocket of self worth to find that little thing called self love. BUT (there it is again,) of course as time passed and miss-ex-girlfriend begun texting again because she couldn't comprehend with his new found happiness,(it’s not just men,) I got the ‘I love spending time with you BUT, my heads not in the right place at the moment speech.’ And I'm pretty sure that is the updated version of the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ talk that we all try to avoid both saying and hearing...

As much as I was genuinely interested in the guy, it’s not like we had been together for two years (heck 6 months would have even be a record for me,) but because similar events had happened and hurt me before, my brain went into overload. ‘Well Chelsea, this isn’t the only time this has happened now has it, what about in year ten hmmm, when you’re first boyfriend dumped you because you were too scared to ‘get off’ with him’ or in 2009 huh? When Mark decided to ditch you for that lesbian because she was ‘more of a challenge’ (fair play to him, you can’t get more of a challenge than that!) You almost start battling with your own mind ‘hey shut up!’, ‘wait, who told you about that?’

But this is a habit, just like smoking or biting your finger nails and it needs to and can be stopped. If you trained yourself into thinking and dwelling on the past that shouldn’t even matter anymore, then you can without a doubt train yourself back into not doing this. And as much as I have turned this blog into another reminiscent rant about another man-related experience, I say this to all of you reading (all three of you followers;) there is no need for anyone to make you doubt yourself…ever! Unfortunately, as I keep going on like some 80 year old lady who keeps repeating herself…in this generation, things are not simple or straightforward when it comes to relationships. And I think, a lot of the time, relationships fall because we have forgotten to love ourselves. We have to stop thinking about those who have made us forget, because everyone is right when they say to you, they are NOT worth a second thought, or the first for that matter.

Instead of thinking about how bad he made you feel, think about how good something makes you feel. Today! The present! A smile from someone who served you lunch, a joke told by a colleague, or your friends drunken dancing on Saturday night. Instead of throwing daggers (not literally, Shakespeare was good at his metaphors…me on the other hand) at his new ‘bit on the side,’ think about how lucky you are that you are out of that, and she has it all to come. Besides you are better than her anyway! You really are. And don’t think about what happened four years ago, where is he now? Still at his mother’s? Glued to the television, with a spliff in one hand and a poor girl on the other? And now ask yourself, where are you? Exactly. And to all those idiots who made you doubt yourself and all those fools who made you forget the concept of self love? They can quite frankly kiss your ‘I love myself’ ass!

I love...spending time with you

Ooops I did it again. Did I really just open my new post with the undeniably unforgettable chorus line from Britneys'  2000 number one track? Yes. Yes I did.
I have become involved with another indecisive game player. Should I tell you that it is someone I have been slightly heart broken by before? Well, I just did. My best advice ever has to be, don't keep running back to the one thing you should be running away from. I am yet to follow this advice. I also got told, relationships are like going to the fridge, if the milk is bad, you throw it out. For some reason, I seem to indulge in putting sour milk back in the fridge, hoping it will miraculously become fresh and pure again, and nice to drink, and dateable...you get my metaphor.

'I really love what we have,' you said to me the other night. Our bodies entwined like an awkward but comforting game of twister. People seem afraid to use those three words nowadays. Instead it's; 'I love...spending time with you,' 'I love....what we have...' 'I love...the idea of falling in love with you but heck, who does that these days?' And what is this 'thing that we have?' Seems to me a secret sleepover every night, cuddling up all couple like, talking about our days, the occasional kiss and cuddle to keep each other warm, but not too warm mind, we don't want things to get steamy now do we.

I love it because you keep me warm on these cold winter nights, two pillows are better than one, two hearts beating simultaneously are better than one. 

You love it because when your lovely man arms are wrapped around my body, you can look over my shoulder at your pontsy iPhone and see if that becca girl has replied to your message on plentyoffish.com.  I know this, because...I'm not really sleeping. I have practiced the art of one eye open sleeping. An art I wish I never skilled, because I hate to see you text your ex and plan your weekend antics with 'the lads.'

It is easy for you, I'm in the room next door and I'm not the type of girl (as the blog definitely suggests,) to kick up a fuss when she is being treated like a massive mug. A massive, porcelain, china, pretty pattered one at that. So when we go out and I turn around in the club to see you snogging Mrs up-to her chin legs and down to her bum hair beauty, I can't be all like - 'That's Ma Man BITCH!' Cause you ain't 'ma man' and you probably never will be.

Instead, I politely ask for the keys to the house, pretending I've lost mine, just to get a close up of this 'pull,' and as I think, yeah well done actually, she is schmokin...I turn to you and wait for some sort of response. Maybe a  'Chelsea, oh what am I like, you're the one that I want, I'm coming with you,' or 'Oh this girl has totally just blackmailed me into kissing her, she has a gun Chelsea run, save youself, I will find you, and we will marry,' or a simple 'Ah Chels, you alright?  Keys? Yeah sure, here ya go.' Of course, it was the latter. 

So I fight the tears in the taxi and mumble something to the driver about hating Bournemouth and not belonging here and listen to some soppy love song to make myself feel that bit more worse (why do we do it?)  3 hours later my already thought-interrupted sleep is interrupted by you ringing to let you in. Ah of course, I took your keys. ( The wine that night has made me forget whether I took these keys as a punishment, surely I wasn't going to steal your keys and make you sleep outside?) I let you in and crawl back into bed, you do the same thing and ask 'have I upset you tonight?'  

'No.' I reply.

Apple ain't no fruit fooool!

Tradition is slipping through our hands. Not just because each new and improved technological gadget is getting smaller and thinner, but because we would rather tap at our touch screens or stare at our smart phones than pick up a daily newspaper or the latest King Novel. ‘It’s got touch screen technology so you can write on it with your actual handwriting… well okay, let me grab this actual pen and write it down on this actual bit of paper!’ Are we just coming up with lazier and more complicated versions of what we already had in the first place? There are many distractions today that divert us away from our creative and traditional side. Be it, Facebook pokes, Twitter tweets or simply reading an e-book online. I can hear Wilde up there now ‘ No you imbeciles, books all the way! Wait a minute, is that an app for Oscar Wilde quotes? Genius.’

I think we all look silly with these decreasing-in-size mechanised gadgets. For all you dieters out there, forget the Atkins, just go and have a word with Apple! The pounds would drop off. My point is, our shelves are now bookless, and or kitchen tables are morning paperless and we have sites such as Twitter and Facebook to discourage the idea of reading a great classic or well…getting to know our neighbours. Heck even as I type facebook into good old Microsoft Word, it underlines it with a green squiggle…Oh silly me…capital F for Facebook.  And don’t forget the capital P following the lower case i for iPod! Punctuation people! Will this be a new rule in our native languages? Letters that were Latin are now being dictated to us by apple. A is for apple after all, but will this now have different connotations to the trusty fruit that keeps the doctor away? 'Apple, yeah it's a fruit init?' ... 'Nah it's an American multinational corporation that designs and markets consumer electronics, computer software and personal computers.' 

I feel sorry for the new gen kids, being hypnotised and hoaxed by all these new techs.  Lets shove it into the kids’ hands at the first sign of boredom or the initial trigger of a tantrum. Kids are in the back seat playing with iPads rather than looking at what’s out the window. Don't you miss the ‘are we there yets’ and ‘where are we goings?’ All things bright and beautiful are being replaced by all things 3g and technological. Bring back the tradition I say. Hypocritical of me as I type this blog on my Laptop, to put onto the world wide web, when I could be using an actual pen to write down on an actual piece of paper..hmmph.

Where'ja meet him? .... On the in'ernet

So, I was singing our trusty Kings of Leon song, 'ohhh she's only seventeen!' and it reminded me of the time you sent me that beautiful bunch of flowers on Valentines day. You remembered how I moaned (as always,) about never being anyone valentine before, and you laughed because I bought myself a heart shaped frying pan so I could fry myself some  heart shaped eggs to make valentines a bit more bearable. My point is, I never properly showed my appreciation for this gesture, (I've never been bought flowers before let alone valentines!) You are the most decent guy I have ever met. Well, technically, I haven't met you but it feels like I have right? I can talk to you about anything and I sometimes can't get over how much you make me laugh out loud (or lol as the cyber term goes) and how much you get me, simply by typing to one another on our shitty little iPhones. This rum influenced message, (only a few mind, I mean everything I say,)  will be going on my blog that I let you read that time, and I don't let any old fellow read my blog. But I trust you , and I trust what you think and what you say. And you belong on my Internet page full of rants about my inability to trust men and raves about the bullshitting bullshitters.  But not because you are one of them,  but because  you are different, and I appreciate that...ttyl!

My Best Friends Wedding

2006 was a new years to remember, the new year’s that Tash met Tom,

Also the New years of my first kiss, that nearly made me vom,

But that aside, I could tell my best friend was smitten,

Swooning like tomorrow and bouncing around like a kitten,

From the start I just knew, a true love was emerging,

And I remember being quite bitter as I was still a v....ery bitter young woman.

Tash would tell me all about him as we revised for business studies,

And even now after all the years that we have been buddys,

I reminisce upon the time that Tom first called me Chels,

And thinking what a fabulous couple, that and nothing else.

I still love to listen about how they make each other laugh,

And yesterday as I was pampering myself for today in the bath,

I thought about how refreshing it is to see two people this day in age,

Devote themselves to one another, just like the olden days.

It’s uncommon for people to do it, just how our grandparents did,

Instead its Jeremy kyle, or changing our facebook status to ‘it’s complicated.’

So raise your glasses to Tash and Tom Cloud, so close to our hearts,

May they live happy forever, and til death do they part.

DETOX

'I feel that Facebook has made things much harder for life in todays society. I.e. getting over a previous relationship as ex's are still able to get hold of you, winding yourself up by looking at certain profiles, silly over the internet arguments because people can't talk one to one anymore, stuff like that. I want to go back to writing letters and visiting homes, and printing digital photos to stick on the wall.''

This is the reason I gave Facebook regarding deleting my account, not that I have any reason to reason with a website, but I did want to say my piece. I say deleting, Facebook are very sly. They call it ‘de-activating,’ so  that when you're in conflict with yourself and the social networking site, you can log in just as you did before and your account will be re-activated. This means all your wall posts, statuses, pictures, inbox messages, everything is right where you left it. Personally, I think this is a bit silly – how awfully tempting. If you want to break a habit (whether it’s stalking an exes profile, spending more time on the site then actually conversing with someone without the art of typing, or if you’ve realised you have become a compulsive status updater), you need to get rid of anything and everything that may give you impulse to prolong the habit. i.e. getting rid of the account completely, then there will be less of the urge to revisit it. For instance, if somebody was going into rehab for alcoholism, waking up to an irish brew in the morning would be pointless. If the offer is there, you are going to take it. 

Now, I know I am being a slight drama queen here and referring to the social networking site as some sort of addictive drug, but correct me if I’m wrong. Our parents, our siblings, our long lost cousins even our grandparents are on facebook. The networking phenomenon has made us clueless and careless as to how to communicate competently face to face. Little things like photos not being developed anymore, just tagged on facebook for everyone to see. No-one calls up their friends for advice on financial issues or relationship problems. Instead it's a 'like' button/comment/sympathy seeking status update ‘skint, till next month, don’t know what 2 do’ or one of my favourites:''Sheila went from being ‘in a relationship’ to ‘it’s complicated.’ It’s complicated? Then again if you can find the time to sit at the computer and change your status to it's complicated, then yeah it must be pretty complicated. This is then of course this is followed by the ‘friends’ who curiously comment ‘oh no, what’s happened hun?’ Pick up the phone and CALL her for giddy aunts sake. 

Facebook has made society totally inept to deal with situations, even arguments. Everyone argues, it is part of life and the way to overcome certain issues or problems (most of the time). Sometimes you gotta let it all out. These days though, people are more likely to argue over Facebook as they can say anything they like. Knowing they have an audience, people become more harsh and sour with their remarks, harsh but sometimes a good read. Facebook-ees have time to think about what to type, and because they are not accompanied in the same room as one another, they can say what they like without the fear of being swiped. I suppose facebook poking is about as physical as it gets.

It is also a viscous tactic for those to get hold of you, that really shouldn't get hold of you. I.e. ex boyfriends,  perverted foreigners and nosey colleagues. There is no privacy in life anymore, why should I be friends with my boss, I don’t want him/her knowing my weekend antics, seeing pictures of me slumped over a toilet, and it would be especially awkward if I promoted my worst day at work for them to see! You also get the strange foreign people, inboxing you stuff like ‘ I want to kiss your heels, you're a goddess’ Who are you? How did you find me! And the worst, ex partners. Some try to needle their way back in, commenting on a picture from a year ago of you both, just to keep that little reminder there. Or we find ourselves constantly clicking on an exes profile,looking at pictures of him and his pretty new woman, punishing yourself, waiting for the ‘it’s complicated' status to be renewed. Ridiculous.

As soon as I de-activated my facebook, and believe me I was surprisingly surprised, I had the most texts and phone calls I’d received all month..‘Have you deleted me off facebook?’ ‘ Where’s your facebook gone?’ ‘You wrote on my wall the other day, now it’s gone, did you delete it?’ Two of the texts stuck out most. Firstly, from a girl I have known for a few years, who has always ridiculed my strange state of mind, and inability to overcome life’s hurdles. ‘You numpty, you’ve got rid of facebook haven’t you? I went to write on your wall, but you weren’t there, you won’t be able to live without facebook x’ The funny thing is she stated she was going to write on my wall, but then she text straight away – and I was able to reply straight away – ‘Texting is just as good! X’ Whereas, she would have written on my wall for all our ‘mutual’ friends to see, only to have to wait around for me to reply. 

The second text was from another girl, reading: ‘Oh bean (nickname) it must be really bad if you’ve deleted facebook x’ and I must re-quote ‘It must be really bad if you’ve deleted facebook.’ Whatever happened in the world, to make the deletion of a Facebook account become an emphasis on somebody’s stress? Shit, she must be bad, she has deactivated her account! Forget the loss of an appetite, or becoming a recluse, no, no, that doesn’t count…but deleting facebook?  We best get her to the doctors!

Why has the world become so dependent on this social networking site? Nothing is done properly anymore. Birthday invitations, through the door? Nope – event invites online giving people the option of a 'might be attending,'  might be attending? How very rude, do you have a better offer or something? A yes or a no used to be just fine. Oh and forget birthday cards, let's just post on their wall and send them one of those silly virtual e-gift thingies. Hour long phone calls with your best friend? Nah, she will probably be on chat. Lindsay is online. Lindsay is offline. Lindsay is online 'You went off-' Lindsay is offline. What about those keepsake baby books where parents collect first strands of hair and it's first tooth etc? Nowadays, it's a Baby album on facebook for all the world to see. One of my favourites; a girl who had called her Facebook baby photo album 'my baby boy lol.' Lol? Was she really laughing out loud whilst making this photo album? Whats next? 'My dads fiftieth pmsl'?

I hope one day more people begin to realise that we are wasting our time and deteriorating our skills such as talking to each other face to face, organising events, overcoming relationship issues, moving on and trusting one another. We have become lazy and rely on this website to do it all for us. I admit. I am struggling! I feel lost when I open the internet browser and have to stop myself from typing the acebook following www.f.... it has become a routine that I rely on, and it scares me how much time I have wasted in life on the evil website. How many times I have clicked the refresh button to see if anyone has added to the mini-feed, how many times I have groggily panicked on a Monday morning because so and so has tagged me in the pictures from Saturday night. Ten years ago, it was all about detoxing for your health, cutting out booze and cigarettes, eating healthier and drinking green tea...but from today, I never though I'd say it, I am having a Facebook detox, and not for my health, but for my mind!

I would never love a man 'cause love and pain go hand in hand, and i can't do it again.

It’s time to break away from a certain friendship group. Why is it, every weekend, I end up in some strange undeniably mixed up situation where I am sat with two of my exes. I am repeatedly reminded of my heart breaks, my regret and the failed relationships that have weakened me as a person and turned me in to a total misandrist. How am I to ever get talking to someone else when I am being put off before I have even met them. And with my hearty heart and mindful of morals, I would not be one to want to be chatted up in front of an ex. It’s just weird. I should not have to be in the scenario, where I have to watch who I think is the love of my life, get straddled by some common tart, who has been around the block more times than a postman.

As much as I love the company of his best friend, who makes me laugh unbearably and tells me I am ‘sound’ and still calls me ‘Chelly bean,’ it is time to break away. Why do I put myself through the pain of scaring myself into believing I will not be able to meet anyone else, because I am overcrowded by doomed relationships, and most frequently, a boy who has broken my heart so many times, I have given up on piecing it back together. I confuse myself with my motives for this group of people. Is it because I enjoy their company? Is it to check up on my first loves new love? Is it to keep stringing along the other ex who still has feelings for me because I am scared no one else will? Maybe a congregation of all of this.

The point is, a twenty pound ticket and a two hour drive up to Cardiff all completely wasted because of the most epic brawl of my life. Recently, an ex (why I agreed for him to come with is all part of my muggish, pathetic naivety, where I think we can rekindle whatever it was we had 2 years ago, which was not a lot,) was chatting up some mouthy chav (she may have well been a lovely woman, but I can’t help but turn bitter to whoever he even looks at) and I couldn’t handle it. This ended yet again, in a lot of tears, a lot of cursing, an early trip home and three hours sat in the hallway discussing my serious jealousy issues and his serious commitment issues, and what did either of us gain from this? Absolutely nothing.

Another night ruined, another attempt at re-bonding failed, another twenty minutes wasted attempting to de-panda-eyes myself, mascara is a bitch.  As strange as it is, I am sad it is time to draw the line, and it really is time. After all, these 2 years have been full of many good times, fantastic memories and much laughter. But I am twenty one, not a teenager. I cannot sit around dwelling on what could have been and be constantly reminded of what isn’t. It is going to be tough trying to explain why I have to detach myself without sounding like a crazy cat lady. But I am done with the drama. It’s been good guys, no, it’s been absolutely brilliant…but I really have to go.

Morals or Muscles.

I wish there was a gym where men could go to sort their morals out and not their muscles.

Some lads put so much effort into getting 'buff,’ if they put the same amount of time, speech and motivation in to strengthening their norms and values, there would be a lot more prince charming’s walking the earth. Yeah they might be a little scrawny, but you don't hear a lot of women go 'sheeesh, have you seen his Semitendinosus' or 'wow check out his Peroneus longus' (sounds dodgy I know but I think it's actually to do with the lateral leg.) Many women aren’t interested in how many weights men can do in ten minutes, or how long a guy can stay on the treadmill. But it is evident men go to the gym not to impress women, but in fact other men. The ego and the testosterone that must be between those four walls on a Monday evening bust be enough to kill a cat.

As much as it is nice to see the opposite sex be so passionate and dedicated to one particular subject, it would be overwhelmingly lovely, if men put their morals to the test rather than their muscles.