The Text.

As a lover of words it’s strange to think that I have never actually thought too much about the undeniable politics of texting and I can’t help but feel as though this is the aspect of my dating life which I’ve neglected the most. I believed that by not monitoring my own texting behaviour and being rather, shall we say, “liberal” with my texting habits, I wasn’t entering into this game of texting tennis. How wrong was I? Much like the politics of facebook, the politics of texting are not inflicted through choice. From the very first text I sent at probably thirteen years old, I had been unknowingly sucked in. There is no real plus side to this. Everyone has been dignified and controlled in their texting habits and all the while I’ve been ignorantly throwing them around like they’re going out of fashion resulting in me coming across as either desperate or socially retarded…

So eventually I got someone to explain it to me.

Apparently you must wait at least ten minutes before you respond to a text from someone you want to want you. To me, there’s playing hard to get and then there’s just being weird, right? If someone asked you face to face what you were up to that evening and you sat and ignored them for ten minutes, they’d think you were either deaf, incredibly rude or had simply turned to stone, thus resulting in a very confused suitor and a distinct lack of any further action. Not ideal. But somehow, in the world of texting, it works.

And it doesn’t stop there. Not only is the responsive delay important, but in this game, x really does mark the spot. It has been said that the number of kisses at the end of a message is of great significance too. Generally, I never send less than two kisses per text, (including to my ex landlady), so since a fair amount of people told me that they rank the number of kisses according to how well they know the person, I thought I should probably stop snogging the face off of everyone’s phones and acting like a texting tart.

Although I really do find all of the above rather pedantic, there are some things that I do pick up on: the poorly constructed text. Think bad grammar, poor spelling and a really quite unnecessary use of the symbol key. For instance, “I wd luv 2 c u l8er babe$” is not acceptable. It’s not 2002 and we’re not on msn. And for Christ’s sake don’t even get me started on the winking “smiley”. For me, winking is bad enough in real life (unless of course you’re Jude Law) but a virtual wink? Life pretty much can’t get any worse.

Realistically though, when it actually comes down to it, whether it wakes you up at 5am or it’s written by what appears to be a five year old, we all love seeing that little envelope that lets us know that we have a message waiting in our inbox. So enjoy it.

Until next time I’ll leave you with a probably “rather inappropriate”…

X

Read Full Post »

The Virgin.

Upon arriving at university it never really occurred to me that virgins existed this side of sixth form. When playing “I have never” and “would you rather” I didn’t really think about the fact that there might be someone squirming in their seat because they’d never actually gone past first base. Perhaps a little ignorant of me, but I don’t think I’m alone in assuming that the world and his wife have been having sex since the word go.

In my friendship group, there were huge gaps between each of us losing our virginity and it happened in various circumstances. Some lost it at university, some with their first boyfriend, some through the medium of a one night stand and some can’t really remember it. For some of us, it was a huge deal, and for others it really didn’t matter-it was just another hurdle you had to overcome on the road to adulthood. I don’t think we were to blame however for having this somewhat blasé take on what was quite a huge step in each of our lives. After all, it is nothing new to suggest that sex is everywhere. But the fatal flaw in this sexual propaganda is that everyone is missing the step where people actually start “doing it”. You see all these sexualised images on billboards and on the television of people having great sex and looking impractically sensual but the steps you must go through to get to this utopian sex life is never addressed. Young people are familiarised with sex before they’ve even tried it themselves. It’s a bit like trying to make a soufflé before you’ve even attempted beans on toast-how are you supposed to learn like that? By promoting idealistic images of sex, not only are you making youngsters feel the pressure of performance but you’re giving away the ending. Let them learn for themselves.

Earlier this year we saw that soldiers were exposed for abusing women by carrying out “virginity tests” in Egypt. The women were stripped naked and checked over whilst male soldiers looked on and took photos. Elsewhere in the world these virginity tests are carried out on a regular basis to determine whether a woman is eligible to be married. Not only are these tests degrading and intrusive, they are scientifically inaccurate and unreliable. The issues raised around this debate served to remind me that a far greater importance is placed on virginal status outside of the UK and although I am in no way whatsoever agreeing with these humiliating procedures, I think we should start to think a little more about the importance of virginity in this country and place a little more importance on the start of our sex lives rather than only take an interest once it’s up and running.

Although I would urge anyone to wait for the right person, mistakes do happen and it’s not something to beat yourself up about. So one thing I cannot stand is women (or men actually) who claim that waiting until they were 30 to lose their virginity gave them a sense of empowerment and a dignity that those of us who lost it at a younger age do not have. I can’t see how this is true. Surely losing it with someone at a young age who you chose to is just as empowering as waiting an extra ten years for an equally eligible partner. Plus, those ten years spent searching are ten years that could’ve been spent trying to reach that sexual perfection!

However, I must now apologise for making the same mistake that most people make. I have written ‘lost’ or ‘lose’ virginity five times so far. Perhaps if we stopped passively referring to the first time we have sex as losing our virginity and start thinking of it as giving it to someone we trust, our decisions might hold a little more credibility.

I think here the phrase “start as you mean to go on” has never been more apt.

Read Full Post »

The Spoon.

If you don’t like spooning, there’s quite frankly something wrong with you.

Personally, I haven’t come across anyone who doesn’t like to do it but with Ross’ “hug ‘n’ roll” antics in Friends, I’m starting to think that the anti-spooner might just exist. But why? I do understand that it takes some serious skill to get it right but just think of it as a game of human Tetris. You move, I move. And slot. Simple.

What I have learnt is that sadly there are some spoons that are just not compatible. The world is mainly made up of your average table spoon which slot in happily next to each other but in every cutlery drawer you’ll also find other types of spoons: ladles, demitasse spoons, runcibles and bouillons. The shapes of which are so unmalleable that they simply cannot spoon. These represent the anti-spooner. Odd, unwelcome and left on the shelf to sleep alone forever. And deservedly so.

They need to realise that spooning is not only the height of comfort, it’s also completely practical. You’re laying side by side which means that you’re less likely to snore and it takes up less space than snoozing on your back like sardines. Plus, you can keep each other warm whilst wearing minimal clothing. But above all else, spooning avoids the inevitable stench of morning breath that will waft your way whilst seeming like sleeping soul mates. Perfect.

And although I am a self confessed champion spoon, I have a confession to make: I love being the big spoon. I know it’s so wrong and as a girl I should assume the position of the teaspoon but being the big spoon is optimum. You have the freedom of leg position and ones arm movement is far less restricted. Some guys however do not appreciate my positional preference; apparently they feel emasculated. But on the most part, although they probably wouldn’t to admit it, some guys actually prefer it and subtly spin around to accommodate my nocturnal habits.

So whether sharing a bed with your pal after a night on the town or after falling into bed with a partner, make the most out of a good situation and spoon. It’s a win, win.

But beware of the consequences; spooning pretty much always leads to forking.

Read Full Post »

The Young Ones.

I remember when I first heard someone whisper the words “She’s pregnant‘. And I, like the rest of my peers thought ‘Holy shit. Her life is over’. But now, at the ripe old age of 22, I beg to differ with my ignorant teenage self and think that actually, it’s possible that her life had just begun.

People nowadays get too caught up in the career hunt and I feel as though the importance of basic family values has been misplaced. Believe it or not, even well into the twenty first century, some people are still born to be full time parents rather than doctors or barristers, and I think we forget in this fast moving world that parenthood is a commitment and an achievement which arguably exceeds earning a hefty wage.

This is something that I think most people appreciate. But when it comes to teen mums, the first thing that we Brits seem to imagine is a velour tracksuit; lit fag in hand, with practically a chicken nugget being pushed around in a pram. But in my experience, there are lots of young mums out there who can look after their children and are able to cope with the stresses of motherhood. I’m not saying that I would recommend taking the path of a young parent; the road is not smooth sailing, opportunities are limited and many people can’t tie their own shoe laces, let alone look after a little one. But beautiful little accidents do happen and I wholeheartedly admire young parents for what they’re doing, because I certainly couldn’t.

Splashed across facebook I see photos of young mums who have one, maybe more children and I commend them for their hard work and their ability to enjoy their lives whilst everyone around them is carefree and partying with worries reaching as far as getting hold of the latest pair of Topshop heels. These young women raise their children, with integrity I might add, and they each look more than happy and content with their lot in life. This is more than I can say for a lot of people.

Not only am I addressing young mums here, but young fathers too who are very often forgotten about or assumed to be a waste of space. This isn’t fair. Just the other day, I met a young guy who was a father bringing up his daughter alone, and although I could tell that he was knackered and utterly out of his depth in regards to which Barbie to buy her for Christmas; he was doing the best he could. And I admired him for that.

So, whether you’re a fifty or fifteen year old parent, if you can make a baby smile like the one in this picture, then in my opinion, you’ve got to be doing something right.

Kudos.

Read Full Post »

The Boobs.

My obsession with boobs began at a young age when I shoved a couple of mum’s granny smiths up my blouse and decided that life would be better with boobs. 

But despite my ever-increasing adoration of women’s wobbly bits, it wasn’t until I grew older that I learnt that as beautiful as they are, breasts can also turn out to be life threatening. But although the figures are scary (which is why I shan’t be quoting them here), it’s reassuring to know that with an early diagnosis and the correct treatment, most breast cancer patients are cured and are able to put the disease firmly behind them.

So don’t panic. Just lend a hand. Today marks the start of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and you know what that means… It’s time to ditch your Starbucks fix for one morning only and instead, pay a small amount for a little pink ribbon to show men and women all over the country who have suffered with breast cancer that you care.

So as well as looking after our boobs or moobs, let’s celebrate them too!

Happy Boob Month everyone! 

Read Full Post »