Apologies dear readers for the lack of update, full time work genuinely takes its toll on time and tiredness. So much that I’ve often wondered my worth on this planet, even more so since I signed up for organ donation.
Apparently only 29% of British citizens have signed up for the harvest after death, whether that has something to do with mass selfishness or the statistics count under 18s, I have decided to try and identify the over looked subject of organ donation.
Maybe some people just want to look beautiful when they die, or perhaps like my good friend said to me, “How do you know they’re going to the right person?” Organ donation has struck the nerves of the human opinion since it first began in 1954.
Knowing that my research wouldn’t be enough I decided to rely (and be lazy) by asking the question, “What are your views on organ donation.” Within an hour, I wish I’d never asked, however it did prove something; some will, some won’t, some might be persuaded.
In particular, if a person spent their entire life abusing themselves through drink, drugs, smoking, over eating and no exercise do they deserve a transplant? I suppose that’s the same as asking, does someone deserve to live or die; you’re not god (a god) so don’t answer that.
After I signed up for organ donation a very wise and intelligent person decided to scare the hell out of me, by saying this. “If you were in a 50 car road pile up and you had a 50/50 chance of survival, the doctors could attempt to save you, yet if they knew that you were an organ donor and if you died you could save 7 people’s lives, are you the priority?”
This is a valid point and the reason why after 2 years after passing my test, I still don’t have a car.
If you decide to sign up for organ donation you will be presented with a card that asks you to tick which parts of the body you’re happy to give away, bearing in mind that if you decide to keep something you’ll be asked why.
A work colleague told me that she wanted to keep her eyes; she received an enquiry phone call asking why for statistical purposes. I expected her to claim that they were her eyes to do with as she pleased, instead she told the man, “I want to see where I’m going when I pass over.”
Like an idiot I’ve given them everything, so it’s safe to say I won’t be coming back from the dead.
Since I was 17 I’ve battled with a fear of giving blood, as much as I’d love to, the idea makes my right arm shake, my knees tremble and my stomach flip; I also see spots. Needless to say, if I go down this road it won’t end pretty, so instead I opt for organ donation – at least I’ll be dead.
Saturday, 10 March 2012
Wednesday, 18 January 2012
New Year Pandemics
On the dawn of each New Year, records stream wildly on the media of the newest foreign affliction. In 1999 it was mad cow disease, in 2009 swine flu reached UK land and now a bird flu pandemic threatens to cross Chinese waters to infect the brits.
Is it simply media spin mixed with paranoia and ignorance that leads us to hide under our blankets, and tell the boss “it’s S&D”, when only your nose is running - or is there possibly another cause?
After all the excitement of the festive period finally calms down, the turkey gets thrown out, the decorations put away and you munch that last mince pie. There seems to be a worldwide collective downward plummet into New Year illnesses, which later follow onto cold evening droughts of bottle abuse – even though you drank a skinful over Christmas.
Like a trigger, the brand new beginnings seem to follow on the start of coughs, colds and S.A.D (seasonal adjustment disorder).
We all understand that in the coming months, winter will always be a season filled with this kind of national ‘health’. But we can’t deny that sometimes it’s our own attitudes that lead us to the Night Nurse.
All would agree that returning to work plays a big factor in making you feel like hell; it’s not that you necessarily dislike your job, you just don’t rise well before the sun does.
Recently I’ve began to understand those that work the 9-5pm shift. They will happily fall out of their 6am wake up and four bus journeys a day routine.
In the colder months, we all need a few extra hours that we aren’t getting, perhaps like the animals we too should be hibernating. But instead we de-ice our cars, rev the engine and sit in rush hour traffic most of the morning.
The added stress, can lead to depression and then physical illness, in fact if you don’t recognise the pattern, it might keep going around in circles.
The media often point the finger at numerous causes, spreading the statistics and ‘facts, then forget to flag up the one thing that funnily enough, might be the real cause of our weak immune systems.
On top of this, the second January hits, every girl in eyeshot begins to panic about the 4lbs they’ve gained. Creating mass female starvation, where 500 calories a day is greedy.
Zumba and the latest fitness craze are a must every weekday night, followed by fatigue and flu like symptoms.
The latest issue of Glamour will have Dr Nuttjobs latest crash diet guaranteed, whatever happened to storing up for the winter?
Perhaps the only answer is to just sit at home warm and cosy with the heating on full blast, don’t work, drink or give a fudge about your how much you’re eating.
Alternatively you could just stop believing everything you read in the media, take it easy and try not to kill yourself.
Is it simply media spin mixed with paranoia and ignorance that leads us to hide under our blankets, and tell the boss “it’s S&D”, when only your nose is running - or is there possibly another cause?
After all the excitement of the festive period finally calms down, the turkey gets thrown out, the decorations put away and you munch that last mince pie. There seems to be a worldwide collective downward plummet into New Year illnesses, which later follow onto cold evening droughts of bottle abuse – even though you drank a skinful over Christmas.
Like a trigger, the brand new beginnings seem to follow on the start of coughs, colds and S.A.D (seasonal adjustment disorder).
We all understand that in the coming months, winter will always be a season filled with this kind of national ‘health’. But we can’t deny that sometimes it’s our own attitudes that lead us to the Night Nurse.
All would agree that returning to work plays a big factor in making you feel like hell; it’s not that you necessarily dislike your job, you just don’t rise well before the sun does.
Recently I’ve began to understand those that work the 9-5pm shift. They will happily fall out of their 6am wake up and four bus journeys a day routine.
In the colder months, we all need a few extra hours that we aren’t getting, perhaps like the animals we too should be hibernating. But instead we de-ice our cars, rev the engine and sit in rush hour traffic most of the morning.
The added stress, can lead to depression and then physical illness, in fact if you don’t recognise the pattern, it might keep going around in circles.
The media often point the finger at numerous causes, spreading the statistics and ‘facts, then forget to flag up the one thing that funnily enough, might be the real cause of our weak immune systems.
On top of this, the second January hits, every girl in eyeshot begins to panic about the 4lbs they’ve gained. Creating mass female starvation, where 500 calories a day is greedy.
Zumba and the latest fitness craze are a must every weekday night, followed by fatigue and flu like symptoms.
The latest issue of Glamour will have Dr Nuttjobs latest crash diet guaranteed, whatever happened to storing up for the winter?
Perhaps the only answer is to just sit at home warm and cosy with the heating on full blast, don’t work, drink or give a fudge about your how much you’re eating.
Alternatively you could just stop believing everything you read in the media, take it easy and try not to kill yourself.
Saturday, 17 December 2011
Christmas Consumerism
Every year those sleigh bells jingle, people kiss under the mistletoe and children begin screaming those dreaded demands, “I want...” after every single advert on CBBC.
Let’s be honest, most people aren’t thinking about all that lovely time they’re going to spend in the overcrowded shopping centres, fighting for a place in the queue whilst cheerfully saying, “It was all worth it just to buy those bulldog slippers for my Great Aunty Ethel.” They’re thinking, “If I buy this gift, I’ll get that Gucci perfume.”
Most individuals won’t admit to the fact that they give to receive, unless they were talking about sex - for some reason that’s more acceptable!
The 25th of December is universally based around the happy day that you get lots of stuff, all people really talk about in the run up to that day is presents and food.
It could be agreed that parents enjoy Xmas for different reasons. The days where they received 10 tons of gifts have passed and instead have moved on to their offspring. What happens then is the consumerism passes onto the child and the whole process is started again within the next generation.
To save themselves from brat like behaviour, parents pass on the lie that is Santa, stating that if their little darlings behave themselves, Father Christmas will bring them toys – talk about bribery.
Ok, I’m being scrooge, a grinch, a Jehovah’s Witness – but you can’t deny it’s true. With only a week to go, you’re saying you can’t wait to watch your Nana eat her brussel sprouts or your Dad stink the house out after his 8th pint of bitter or the traditional big family bust up over who has the last pig in a blanket! No, your stomach keeps flipping because you can’t wait for that Kindle.
This consumption of random crap you probably won’t want in a few weeks doesn’t end there, next come the January sales- starting on Boxing Day!
Wow, these corporate franchises seriously can’t get enough of bleeding you dry. Yet, even after you’ve maxed out your 4th credit card, the word “No!” never enters your jurisdiction.
Didn’t God say, “Thou shalt not give into temptation”? It’s his sons alleged birthday and you’re doing what?
Ok, so who listens to that guy anymore, but still…that’s another point! How many die-hard (no pun intended) Christians are actually left on this planet and how many of us still celebrate Christ-mas.
Politically incorrect bunch of numptys ! Try a dose of winter solstice celebrating and at least you’ll be on the right page and oh did I mention, there’s presents for that holiday too.
Merry Christmas and a debt free New Year!
Love Kim xx
Let’s be honest, most people aren’t thinking about all that lovely time they’re going to spend in the overcrowded shopping centres, fighting for a place in the queue whilst cheerfully saying, “It was all worth it just to buy those bulldog slippers for my Great Aunty Ethel.” They’re thinking, “If I buy this gift, I’ll get that Gucci perfume.”
Most individuals won’t admit to the fact that they give to receive, unless they were talking about sex - for some reason that’s more acceptable!
The 25th of December is universally based around the happy day that you get lots of stuff, all people really talk about in the run up to that day is presents and food.
It could be agreed that parents enjoy Xmas for different reasons. The days where they received 10 tons of gifts have passed and instead have moved on to their offspring. What happens then is the consumerism passes onto the child and the whole process is started again within the next generation.
To save themselves from brat like behaviour, parents pass on the lie that is Santa, stating that if their little darlings behave themselves, Father Christmas will bring them toys – talk about bribery.
Ok, I’m being scrooge, a grinch, a Jehovah’s Witness – but you can’t deny it’s true. With only a week to go, you’re saying you can’t wait to watch your Nana eat her brussel sprouts or your Dad stink the house out after his 8th pint of bitter or the traditional big family bust up over who has the last pig in a blanket! No, your stomach keeps flipping because you can’t wait for that Kindle.
This consumption of random crap you probably won’t want in a few weeks doesn’t end there, next come the January sales- starting on Boxing Day!
Wow, these corporate franchises seriously can’t get enough of bleeding you dry. Yet, even after you’ve maxed out your 4th credit card, the word “No!” never enters your jurisdiction.
Didn’t God say, “Thou shalt not give into temptation”? It’s his sons alleged birthday and you’re doing what?
Ok, so who listens to that guy anymore, but still…that’s another point! How many die-hard (no pun intended) Christians are actually left on this planet and how many of us still celebrate Christ-mas.
Politically incorrect bunch of numptys ! Try a dose of winter solstice celebrating and at least you’ll be on the right page and oh did I mention, there’s presents for that holiday too.
Merry Christmas and a debt free New Year!
Love Kim xx
Thursday, 20 October 2011
New Angles: Pt 1
Every person at some point in their life feels lost, their life all of a sudden breaking to a screeching halt and despite the helpful words of friends and family, the individual cannot seem to break away from the vastly enclosing limbo.
Ex students often suffer from this, consistently mulling over questions in their head. Do I work for the man or myself? What’s my five year plan? Do I even have a two year plan? Not always initially releasing that without first asking the simpler questions, the bigger ones can never be answered.
Just recently finishing my journalism degree, I spent the past three years praying to something (most likely non religious) to end the recession before I graduated and immaturely convinced myself that once I’d walked away with that degree and three years work experience under my belt that the jobs would come rolling in – I even had an offer that fell threw at the last minute.
Truthfully, I have felt chest fallen and occasionally useless, unsure whether to bite the bullet and get a job that is beneath me, open up my own website or hold all hopes in the one suitable journalism job that appears on Journalism.com every few months.
Most have advised the first choice, but like any headstrong determined youth I (like everyone) know myself and can’t fall victim to a degrading pointless job that will rot my brain and devour my creativity. Understandably, some people wouldn’t agree with this - a jobs a job right?
Ask yourself this then. How many miserable middle-aged people do you know that have worked (any old) jobs all their life and have consequently become boring, tired couch potatoes who have a worn out Sky Plus button and 50 ready meals in the freezer?
A person, whose drivers licence, says 1965, but they look like 1945? These are the people that had a dream and gave up. You ask why I want to join them!
I’m not slating those who work, they are admirable people, someone has to ring through my cigarettes, empty my bin and file my database stolen details – it’s just not for me.
Yet despite having a rough outline of what you think you want, can you ever be sure what your real want is?
The ET recently estimated that a fifth of homes in Peterborough were jobless, this is almost one in five people. The unemployed often get ridiculed for being ‘dole dossers’ or ‘bums’, yet this is generally down to the uneducated in the worthless jobs. It’s the higher paying jobs that aren’t available and that’s why more students are out of work, eventually and reluctantly removing their hard earned degree from their CV in extreme efforts to snag that interview for the Mr Shoes Xmas Temp position – at £5.93p/h.
Most amusing of all, most young people don’t miss the big things when they find themselves jobless, they miss new clothes, Jack Daniels, the ‘good’ cigarettes and the occasional all night session – or maybe that’s just me.
Ex students often suffer from this, consistently mulling over questions in their head. Do I work for the man or myself? What’s my five year plan? Do I even have a two year plan? Not always initially releasing that without first asking the simpler questions, the bigger ones can never be answered.
Just recently finishing my journalism degree, I spent the past three years praying to something (most likely non religious) to end the recession before I graduated and immaturely convinced myself that once I’d walked away with that degree and three years work experience under my belt that the jobs would come rolling in – I even had an offer that fell threw at the last minute.
Truthfully, I have felt chest fallen and occasionally useless, unsure whether to bite the bullet and get a job that is beneath me, open up my own website or hold all hopes in the one suitable journalism job that appears on Journalism.com every few months.
Most have advised the first choice, but like any headstrong determined youth I (like everyone) know myself and can’t fall victim to a degrading pointless job that will rot my brain and devour my creativity. Understandably, some people wouldn’t agree with this - a jobs a job right?
Ask yourself this then. How many miserable middle-aged people do you know that have worked (any old) jobs all their life and have consequently become boring, tired couch potatoes who have a worn out Sky Plus button and 50 ready meals in the freezer?
A person, whose drivers licence, says 1965, but they look like 1945? These are the people that had a dream and gave up. You ask why I want to join them!
I’m not slating those who work, they are admirable people, someone has to ring through my cigarettes, empty my bin and file my database stolen details – it’s just not for me.
Yet despite having a rough outline of what you think you want, can you ever be sure what your real want is?
The ET recently estimated that a fifth of homes in Peterborough were jobless, this is almost one in five people. The unemployed often get ridiculed for being ‘dole dossers’ or ‘bums’, yet this is generally down to the uneducated in the worthless jobs. It’s the higher paying jobs that aren’t available and that’s why more students are out of work, eventually and reluctantly removing their hard earned degree from their CV in extreme efforts to snag that interview for the Mr Shoes Xmas Temp position – at £5.93p/h.
Most amusing of all, most young people don’t miss the big things when they find themselves jobless, they miss new clothes, Jack Daniels, the ‘good’ cigarettes and the occasional all night session – or maybe that’s just me.
Thursday, 25 August 2011
22 and pending...
Emerging into the world of the mid 20s, it becomes apparent that society begins to demand certain expectations of you. By 22 you are expected to be working, thinking of the future, predominantly independent and fairly mature.
The first signs of wrinkles and grey hair prop up, responsibility kicks in and that fun loving free child begins to disappear in your reflection; leaving a moody, moaning sceptic on the way to middle age.
Once you recognise the inevitable, certain traits of your personality begin to change and the dream of becoming a famous actor and pissing off to Hollywood becomes a reality - so the day job is kept.
Suddenly, make-up begins to rival the amount of a circus clown, culminating in hours spent in the bathroom: cleansing, toning and moisturising – whilst exfoliating every millimetre of dead skin on your body.
Exercising becomes a daily routine; leading to fatigue that is often confused with alleged old age.
If allowed, the looming thought of aging begins to settle in your mind and depression begins to seep inwards, leading to heavy drinking, chain smoking and nights out on the pull – straight after Tuesday night’s Eastenders.
While life seemingly explodes its way down the fast lane and childhood reluctantly becomes a distant memory, you then wake up one morning realising that all priorities have changed.
Give it another six months and the 19 year old ‘toyboy’ has emerged, a symbol of a life not long left behind.
He’s fun, energetic and hasn’t been screwed around much, meaning that he hasn’t matured into the player that you dated a year ago. Apparently this kind of behaviour is more popular with the over 25s, who can’t get a girl their own age, so they prey on the ones susceptible to mind fucks – learnt from their previous ‘loves’.
Women are constantly reminded early on that time is running out, so I guess in some ways the long term relationship is good on paper.
Of course the overly enthusiastic boyfriend may often forget that you’re ‘old’ now and not a machine.
Having responsibility, is like the bipolar of the 20 something’s... that’s how they act anything. Moaning about this that and the other, because they don’t get as many birthday presents, have to pay taxes and don’t have their arse wiped for them anymore. At the same time, loving their sense of freedom, their car and the sacred all important credit card.
Yes, everyone that literally is the symbol of maturity – debt. According to society anyway!
Growing up also means realising that there are important choices ahead, do you take that dead end job or go at it alone? Can you even work for the man? When is the right time to move out? Do I need the new BlackBerry Touch? Would a subscription to Glamour really benefit my life?
In a lot of ways, 20 something’s are just teenagers with better salaries and a car, no wonder the world is going to hell!!!
The first signs of wrinkles and grey hair prop up, responsibility kicks in and that fun loving free child begins to disappear in your reflection; leaving a moody, moaning sceptic on the way to middle age.
Once you recognise the inevitable, certain traits of your personality begin to change and the dream of becoming a famous actor and pissing off to Hollywood becomes a reality - so the day job is kept.
Suddenly, make-up begins to rival the amount of a circus clown, culminating in hours spent in the bathroom: cleansing, toning and moisturising – whilst exfoliating every millimetre of dead skin on your body.
Exercising becomes a daily routine; leading to fatigue that is often confused with alleged old age.
If allowed, the looming thought of aging begins to settle in your mind and depression begins to seep inwards, leading to heavy drinking, chain smoking and nights out on the pull – straight after Tuesday night’s Eastenders.
While life seemingly explodes its way down the fast lane and childhood reluctantly becomes a distant memory, you then wake up one morning realising that all priorities have changed.
Give it another six months and the 19 year old ‘toyboy’ has emerged, a symbol of a life not long left behind.
He’s fun, energetic and hasn’t been screwed around much, meaning that he hasn’t matured into the player that you dated a year ago. Apparently this kind of behaviour is more popular with the over 25s, who can’t get a girl their own age, so they prey on the ones susceptible to mind fucks – learnt from their previous ‘loves’.
Women are constantly reminded early on that time is running out, so I guess in some ways the long term relationship is good on paper.
Of course the overly enthusiastic boyfriend may often forget that you’re ‘old’ now and not a machine.
Having responsibility, is like the bipolar of the 20 something’s... that’s how they act anything. Moaning about this that and the other, because they don’t get as many birthday presents, have to pay taxes and don’t have their arse wiped for them anymore. At the same time, loving their sense of freedom, their car and the sacred all important credit card.
Yes, everyone that literally is the symbol of maturity – debt. According to society anyway!
Growing up also means realising that there are important choices ahead, do you take that dead end job or go at it alone? Can you even work for the man? When is the right time to move out? Do I need the new BlackBerry Touch? Would a subscription to Glamour really benefit my life?
In a lot of ways, 20 something’s are just teenagers with better salaries and a car, no wonder the world is going to hell!!!
Thursday, 18 August 2011
London Calling!!!
A very sad person once told me that you only live once; being an agnostic I chose not to argue my theory of reincarnation as that often labels you as a Buddhist.
Being ‘on the fence’ I had to take into account that this concept could be true and decided to live by it, eventually adopting the Yes Man theory (you’ve seen or heard of the film). Since then I’ve made my beloved trips to London a regular occurrence, as strong friendships and shopping sprees are a religion worth worshipping!
When I go to London, I go in style. This to me means an empty suitcase to fill up, cheap coach travel and plenty of molar to flash on Camden market!
You can go to London and visit Buckingham Palace, Piccadilly Circus, Hyde Park or The London Eye, but for the alternative few who seek adventure, there is always something a little diverse.
First a tip for travelling, if like me you prefer to travel cheaply, you must understand that cheap often means LONG!
The average National Express journey from Peterborough is about two and a half hours; add that to your excitement and you have approximately 5670 anxious foot taps ahead; unless you bring something to do.
Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics are a sure fire way to pass the time, as you will be so engrossed in study you will forget your destination - or shamelessly fall asleep from boredom.
Jump on the Piccadilly Line to East Hounslow and make your way to Kingston upon Thames. Chill out with a cold cider by the river and take in the scenery- then hold your breath! The charming old local tramp that belches Special Brew has come to say hello. Think that’s normal? This one shouts “Happy Birthday” at you, when it’s actually your birthday.
In Kingston, bask in awe at another wonder. Known to some as “Man with the magic tooth”, as he eats and drinks, his front left tooth miraculously disappears and reappears right before your very eyes- to the point where you think you’ve had one too many JD’s or someone’s spiked them!
This happy individual will entertain all throughout the night and early hours of the morning.
Get your London legs on, because in London nothing moves slowly...apart from tourists! Learn to weave, leap, dive and hell at the idiots that fail to put one foot in front of another. Despite rumours, Zone Two is often worse than Zone One for this kind of pavement theft. Oh and for those that didn’t know, London legs is a term used often and translates in slang as, “Move your bloody arse.”
Whilst heaving your luggage around Victoria Coach Station as you run to your final destination, take two minutes to stop for a 30 Pence Piss. A common but unnoticed London attraction, where public urination (that old beloved past time), soon becomes a reality when your purse/wallet protrudes a moth that lay dormant until Saturday nights 4th cosmopolitan.
Being ‘on the fence’ I had to take into account that this concept could be true and decided to live by it, eventually adopting the Yes Man theory (you’ve seen or heard of the film). Since then I’ve made my beloved trips to London a regular occurrence, as strong friendships and shopping sprees are a religion worth worshipping!
When I go to London, I go in style. This to me means an empty suitcase to fill up, cheap coach travel and plenty of molar to flash on Camden market!
You can go to London and visit Buckingham Palace, Piccadilly Circus, Hyde Park or The London Eye, but for the alternative few who seek adventure, there is always something a little diverse.
First a tip for travelling, if like me you prefer to travel cheaply, you must understand that cheap often means LONG!
The average National Express journey from Peterborough is about two and a half hours; add that to your excitement and you have approximately 5670 anxious foot taps ahead; unless you bring something to do.
Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics are a sure fire way to pass the time, as you will be so engrossed in study you will forget your destination - or shamelessly fall asleep from boredom.
Jump on the Piccadilly Line to East Hounslow and make your way to Kingston upon Thames. Chill out with a cold cider by the river and take in the scenery- then hold your breath! The charming old local tramp that belches Special Brew has come to say hello. Think that’s normal? This one shouts “Happy Birthday” at you, when it’s actually your birthday.
In Kingston, bask in awe at another wonder. Known to some as “Man with the magic tooth”, as he eats and drinks, his front left tooth miraculously disappears and reappears right before your very eyes- to the point where you think you’ve had one too many JD’s or someone’s spiked them!
This happy individual will entertain all throughout the night and early hours of the morning.
Get your London legs on, because in London nothing moves slowly...apart from tourists! Learn to weave, leap, dive and hell at the idiots that fail to put one foot in front of another. Despite rumours, Zone Two is often worse than Zone One for this kind of pavement theft. Oh and for those that didn’t know, London legs is a term used often and translates in slang as, “Move your bloody arse.”
Whilst heaving your luggage around Victoria Coach Station as you run to your final destination, take two minutes to stop for a 30 Pence Piss. A common but unnoticed London attraction, where public urination (that old beloved past time), soon becomes a reality when your purse/wallet protrudes a moth that lay dormant until Saturday nights 4th cosmopolitan.
Thursday, 7 July 2011
New Relationships: Trust Issues and the Psycho Bitch
So you’re in a relationship and suddenly the world is brighter more beautiful and it seems that the sun is always shining- even in monsoon weather.
You love spending time together, chatting, sharing secrets and future ambitions. Yet like any person that’s ‘lived a little’, you’ve been down this road once or twice and naturally can’t help thinking - how long will this last?
Previously screwed over and played like a harp from hell, consequently results in a few trust issues with your seemingly ever devoted new partner.
After numerous hours of sanity testing contemplation, it is an inevitable thought to wonder – how long until the psycho bitch comes out to play?
We’ve all seen the psycho bitch in action before and we all know it’s not always gender specific (there are psycho dumbasses too).
They are the partner that says, “No! You can’t go out with your mates; you have to spend time with me.” Or the famous, “who was she and why were you starring at her tits?”
Answering the questions of a psycho bitch is a huge challenge for the other party and unfortunately “I like tits”, no matter how true or fair the comment usually leaves you celibate for a few days (or weeks).
Historically the psycho bitch came about at the dawn of time when a caveman would bash other non partnered cavewoman over the head with a very large club; resulting in the insecure cavewoman’s rage at her partners wondering uni browed eye, and eventual slaughter of the entire tribe.
Jealousy really is killer; even smart insecure business women can feel the cold pinch of jealousy now and again.
Narrowing down individual reasons for why the psycho bitch may rear her ugly head are too numerous to cover in one entry...however! Sometimes he or she simply remembers her former slutty single self and that is enough to put any individual on high alert... or any couple on high risk status.
Here’s one thing that can help. Don’t say “I love you” six weeks or so in. Why? Because you probably don’t mean it and even if you do, you are putting too much pressure on a new fragile thing; how old are you? 16!
Plus, it’s highly unlikely that you don’t fully trust this person so soon in and without trust there is no love.
Still a sceptic of the psycho making bitch theory? Let’s use our old friend Facebook as an example of fact. How many young people do you see confessing their love to a new partner only a few weeks in over the news feed, only to witness their public pain and despair, when the following week they are single and “hate” him/her.
I’m not saying if you feel the words bubbling up and about to burst out, push them down and ignore every thundering fast beat your heart makes. Just be careful about offering something to someone that might take it and machete it to ribbons. Resulting in the worst psycho bitch of all, the desperate lonely single psycho bitch, that preys on the happiness of new romance!
You love spending time together, chatting, sharing secrets and future ambitions. Yet like any person that’s ‘lived a little’, you’ve been down this road once or twice and naturally can’t help thinking - how long will this last?
Previously screwed over and played like a harp from hell, consequently results in a few trust issues with your seemingly ever devoted new partner.
After numerous hours of sanity testing contemplation, it is an inevitable thought to wonder – how long until the psycho bitch comes out to play?
We’ve all seen the psycho bitch in action before and we all know it’s not always gender specific (there are psycho dumbasses too).
They are the partner that says, “No! You can’t go out with your mates; you have to spend time with me.” Or the famous, “who was she and why were you starring at her tits?”
Answering the questions of a psycho bitch is a huge challenge for the other party and unfortunately “I like tits”, no matter how true or fair the comment usually leaves you celibate for a few days (or weeks).
Historically the psycho bitch came about at the dawn of time when a caveman would bash other non partnered cavewoman over the head with a very large club; resulting in the insecure cavewoman’s rage at her partners wondering uni browed eye, and eventual slaughter of the entire tribe.
Jealousy really is killer; even smart insecure business women can feel the cold pinch of jealousy now and again.
Narrowing down individual reasons for why the psycho bitch may rear her ugly head are too numerous to cover in one entry...however! Sometimes he or she simply remembers her former slutty single self and that is enough to put any individual on high alert... or any couple on high risk status.
Here’s one thing that can help. Don’t say “I love you” six weeks or so in. Why? Because you probably don’t mean it and even if you do, you are putting too much pressure on a new fragile thing; how old are you? 16!
Plus, it’s highly unlikely that you don’t fully trust this person so soon in and without trust there is no love.
Still a sceptic of the psycho making bitch theory? Let’s use our old friend Facebook as an example of fact. How many young people do you see confessing their love to a new partner only a few weeks in over the news feed, only to witness their public pain and despair, when the following week they are single and “hate” him/her.
I’m not saying if you feel the words bubbling up and about to burst out, push them down and ignore every thundering fast beat your heart makes. Just be careful about offering something to someone that might take it and machete it to ribbons. Resulting in the worst psycho bitch of all, the desperate lonely single psycho bitch, that preys on the happiness of new romance!
Saturday, 16 April 2011
Online Dating: Shite or Sugar?
(Forrest Gump 1994) “Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.”
The same can be said for online dating, the dangerous online domain of peedos, perverts, freaks, desperate singles and perhaps good honest people looking for a companion?
Initially, joining PlentyofFish.com was an experiment, purely as a project for producing some good writing material, having a laugh and giggle...and if I’m really honest... an ego boost.
Amongst the reams of single men, looking for a relationship or a quickie, I decided it would be best to see who contacted me, instead of contacting others. Consequently upon signing up, within one hour 36 attractive and butt ugly men e-mailed me; at least the ego boost box was ticked.
Naturally I find people who are creative or funny are always ones to continue a good conversation with, so out of the 36 (which rapidly kept increasing after the days passed); I stuck to speaking with a few bachelors in their 20s.
As time persisted I began to question my decision on signing up. With the Blackberry flashing new e-mails all day everyday and more and more older married men asking if I fancied meeting up for a drink, I began to wonder what sort of sick twisted world we lived in.
More questions began to form like: Is their display picture a copy and paste from Google Images? Is he really a web developer for Virgin Media or a ginger munching cannibal? Is this one of my friends/enemies pulling some sick joke?
Paranoia firmly intact, there was no chance in hell I was going to meet up with any of these men, before I was 100% sure that they wouldn’t slip a pill into my drink while I was rummaging through my handbag or the 82 year old man in Starbucks wouldn’t announce he was my date for the evening.
After a week on the site I started chatting with a very nice, funny bloke from Peterborough, 21, good looking and very interested. Gradually, after a few days my trust grew and I decided to give in my mobile.
The next day (Mon) a received a text from *Adrian* asking me: How I was, what I was up to and whether I fancied meeting him for dinner on Friday? I agreed.
Within that week, I was bombarded with texts, phone calls and the latter; all day and night!
By Friday I was seriously considering not going out on this date, when...He text me telling me he was going to be late...minutes later texting again asking if I could meet him somewhere else other than the restaurant...soon again, telling me that we would be meeting at the bowling alley in Bretton near his house.
Now, I’m not the type to start labelling people, but this guy was really starting to sound a little bit insane! After declining and nicely suggesting that we met somewhere more public. He freaked out and began accusing me of calling him a child for suggesting the bowling alley. Unfortunately for him I’m not a very calm person for long, so I bluntly told him that I thought he could be a rapist and to f*** off... or so I thought.
After meeting some friends later to tell them about the entire ordeal and show them the texts, I realised I called him a racist by mistake!
So, if you ever find yourself about to embark on a date with a total stranger that seems like a complete and utter psycho, call them a racist and you will ultimately get yourself off the hook.
In the four weeks that I remained on this site, there wasn’t really anyone else that psychotic to report on other than a few losers aiming way out of their league and what can be perceived as few decent men looking for love.
Understanding now that I’ve probably scared you away from the online dating trend for life I will close with one positive.
It’s an excellent way of finding out that the hot guy you met in December is single and looking, or at least... he was ;-)
The same can be said for online dating, the dangerous online domain of peedos, perverts, freaks, desperate singles and perhaps good honest people looking for a companion?
Initially, joining PlentyofFish.com was an experiment, purely as a project for producing some good writing material, having a laugh and giggle...and if I’m really honest... an ego boost.
Amongst the reams of single men, looking for a relationship or a quickie, I decided it would be best to see who contacted me, instead of contacting others. Consequently upon signing up, within one hour 36 attractive and butt ugly men e-mailed me; at least the ego boost box was ticked.
Naturally I find people who are creative or funny are always ones to continue a good conversation with, so out of the 36 (which rapidly kept increasing after the days passed); I stuck to speaking with a few bachelors in their 20s.
As time persisted I began to question my decision on signing up. With the Blackberry flashing new e-mails all day everyday and more and more older married men asking if I fancied meeting up for a drink, I began to wonder what sort of sick twisted world we lived in.
More questions began to form like: Is their display picture a copy and paste from Google Images? Is he really a web developer for Virgin Media or a ginger munching cannibal? Is this one of my friends/enemies pulling some sick joke?
Paranoia firmly intact, there was no chance in hell I was going to meet up with any of these men, before I was 100% sure that they wouldn’t slip a pill into my drink while I was rummaging through my handbag or the 82 year old man in Starbucks wouldn’t announce he was my date for the evening.
After a week on the site I started chatting with a very nice, funny bloke from Peterborough, 21, good looking and very interested. Gradually, after a few days my trust grew and I decided to give in my mobile.
The next day (Mon) a received a text from *Adrian* asking me: How I was, what I was up to and whether I fancied meeting him for dinner on Friday? I agreed.
Within that week, I was bombarded with texts, phone calls and the latter; all day and night!
By Friday I was seriously considering not going out on this date, when...He text me telling me he was going to be late...minutes later texting again asking if I could meet him somewhere else other than the restaurant...soon again, telling me that we would be meeting at the bowling alley in Bretton near his house.
Now, I’m not the type to start labelling people, but this guy was really starting to sound a little bit insane! After declining and nicely suggesting that we met somewhere more public. He freaked out and began accusing me of calling him a child for suggesting the bowling alley. Unfortunately for him I’m not a very calm person for long, so I bluntly told him that I thought he could be a rapist and to f*** off... or so I thought.
After meeting some friends later to tell them about the entire ordeal and show them the texts, I realised I called him a racist by mistake!
So, if you ever find yourself about to embark on a date with a total stranger that seems like a complete and utter psycho, call them a racist and you will ultimately get yourself off the hook.
In the four weeks that I remained on this site, there wasn’t really anyone else that psychotic to report on other than a few losers aiming way out of their league and what can be perceived as few decent men looking for love.
Understanding now that I’ve probably scared you away from the online dating trend for life I will close with one positive.
It’s an excellent way of finding out that the hot guy you met in December is single and looking, or at least... he was ;-)
Wednesday, 2 March 2011
Other work...
If anyone is interested at looking at my other articles, join my Facebook page for direct links to everything published online.
Kim Wild(Hughes)Articles, Blogs and Other Works
Kim Wild(Hughes)Articles, Blogs and Other Works
Monday, 28 February 2011
Bad Reputation
Everyone’s got a bit of bad in them. Whether it’s our rebellious teen streak, or simply craving excitement, at some point we all do something we know is wrong.
Some justify it with a ‘devil may care’ attitude, e.g. the bad boy/bad girl look, ultimately giving them a tone of mystery.
Maybe it’s a glimmer of a darker element in their past? Either way, this can often be mistaken for something worse, usually making the individual a target.
Sometimes slipping up once at the wrong time can mean you are automatically put into a category, the same goes for who you associate with or your financial background.
Like it or not, that’s society and they are soon to judge and discriminate. Personally, I prefer to know the person before I make a judgement and we all know others that would say the same - whether they meant it or not.
Since the 80s people have been brought up in a world focused around me, what I want and how I’m going to get it. Commercialised in their own little world and often brainwashed to worry only about one.
If, anyone stands in their way, they are the bad guy. The media is excellent for demonstrating these examples to the ever gullible viewer. With picture perfect beauty on screen everybody wants it, of course the media like any good religion knows how to make you desire the unobtainable and like the good book itself - has a formula.
Every formula, metaphorically speaking or otherwise, has ingredients, what we would refer to as categories. In early childhood years we all learn the meaning of people, categories and stereotypes, with the media promptly chuffing out these formulas every day, how will people learn any different?
For five long teenager years I indulged in the Goth scene, white face, black eyes, red lipstick, lace, leather, funky multi-colour hairstyles...Whilst associating with moshers, clubbers, pill heads, stoners and what we referred to as ‘metal heads’. Inspired by Marilyn Manson and his awesome ‘tainted love’ cover when I was 13, it spiralled on and sometimes out of control until I was 19.
Whilst I chained smoked and stomped around in my ½ stone each boots, I used to wonder why so many people used to give me dirty looks and sometimes yell abuse.
Knowing that I was actually a good person, wasn’t a devil worshipper and didn’t slit my wrists was more then so many of them could believe, because...I surely didn’t look like it.
Either way, being a badass looking goth automatically gives you a bad reputation.
The persona has carried on, even though I left the look behind. Ok, so I smile more :-D
That’s a given. But I suppose everybody carries a piece of their past with them forever. The question is should they be judged and ridiculed for their reputation...true or otherwise, how do you really know?
Some justify it with a ‘devil may care’ attitude, e.g. the bad boy/bad girl look, ultimately giving them a tone of mystery.
Maybe it’s a glimmer of a darker element in their past? Either way, this can often be mistaken for something worse, usually making the individual a target.
Sometimes slipping up once at the wrong time can mean you are automatically put into a category, the same goes for who you associate with or your financial background.
Like it or not, that’s society and they are soon to judge and discriminate. Personally, I prefer to know the person before I make a judgement and we all know others that would say the same - whether they meant it or not.
Since the 80s people have been brought up in a world focused around me, what I want and how I’m going to get it. Commercialised in their own little world and often brainwashed to worry only about one.
If, anyone stands in their way, they are the bad guy. The media is excellent for demonstrating these examples to the ever gullible viewer. With picture perfect beauty on screen everybody wants it, of course the media like any good religion knows how to make you desire the unobtainable and like the good book itself - has a formula.
Every formula, metaphorically speaking or otherwise, has ingredients, what we would refer to as categories. In early childhood years we all learn the meaning of people, categories and stereotypes, with the media promptly chuffing out these formulas every day, how will people learn any different?
For five long teenager years I indulged in the Goth scene, white face, black eyes, red lipstick, lace, leather, funky multi-colour hairstyles...Whilst associating with moshers, clubbers, pill heads, stoners and what we referred to as ‘metal heads’. Inspired by Marilyn Manson and his awesome ‘tainted love’ cover when I was 13, it spiralled on and sometimes out of control until I was 19.
Whilst I chained smoked and stomped around in my ½ stone each boots, I used to wonder why so many people used to give me dirty looks and sometimes yell abuse.
Knowing that I was actually a good person, wasn’t a devil worshipper and didn’t slit my wrists was more then so many of them could believe, because...I surely didn’t look like it.
Either way, being a badass looking goth automatically gives you a bad reputation.
The persona has carried on, even though I left the look behind. Ok, so I smile more :-D
That’s a given. But I suppose everybody carries a piece of their past with them forever. The question is should they be judged and ridiculed for their reputation...true or otherwise, how do you really know?
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