Meaningless Sex.

I have this fantasy where I'm walking along the street, and a gorgeous man is walking towards me. As he gets closer, I see the dark stubble framing his mouth, his hair pushed back messily. His eyes never once leave mine, and without saying a word, we're kissing, and falling back into some place where our hands wander with this intense desire.
His mouth teases mine, our voices breathless and raged as we rush to feel ourselves against one another. We have no inhabitions, no insecurity. In that moment, all we care about is one another as our skin collides. And when his jeans are finally push down his thick calf muscles, and my knickers pushed to one side, his strong arms reach out and lift me up into his arms. And slamming me against the wall, he enters me and it's like this extociating, exhilerating moment when I can't concentrate on anything other than this man, as his body pulsates against me. And it's better than any sex before. It defines everything we hear about sex. How it makes every part of your body practically tinglewith pleasure. How its one of the best feelings your body can experience, and a moment when two people are truly connected.
And afterwards, I don't even care whether or not I see him again.
It was just about the moment, and about sex.


I just don't want to be judged, or stereotyped by society.

Dear, Miley;

I think that sometimes, people judge you too harsly. They still see the young, teenage girl you were when you first hit out screens with Hannah Montanna. They forget that with each year, you grow older and one more step away from that phase in life.
And the parents of those children that still idolise Hannah Montanna should realise that their kids too are growing up. And if they think for one moment that you're the reason that they're suddenly dressing more provocative, and acting differently, they shouldn't be so quick to point the finger because you're simply a role model, and they're acting like that not because you're forcing them to, but because that's life. And because they're growing up, too. And I think that's what is hardest for those parents to accept.


But you're beautiful. You have an amazing figure, and if you want to flaunt it, you have every god given right to do so. Each year we grow one step into getting older, and there will come a point in all of our lives where we maybe can't get away with wearing hotpants any longer, and when long hair only ages us, and we have to embrace shorter hair with grace. And its at those times when we'll look back and be glad that we flaunted our vodies when we had the chance.
We're young. We're toying between the last chapters of being a teenager, not quite ready to plummet straight into adulthood. and we're experimenting with our fashion, and how far we can push the boundaries. And any person to judge that is one who looks back and instead of feeling happy that they once did the same thing, are most likely those that didn't. And they're envious, and jealous and that turns into hatred.

Its hard enough for us to grow up in our every day lives with hormones playing havoc with our emotions, but for you its harder. You're growing up under the contant flashlight of Hollywood, and every step you take, you're watched. And you're faced with people who are waiting for you to just fuck up. And you will, more than likely. Maybe more times than you realise. But thats what we're supposed to do, mess up. We're meant to kiss as much frogs as we can, praying they turn into princes. We're supposed to drink too much and feel ashamed of ourselves the next day. Its the moments like these that we learn from our mistakes, and progress in life.

So, to all of those haters, waiting in line for Miley to mess up, take a step back and realise that once upon a time, you were young, too.
You make mistakes, and did some things that perhaps, looking back, you weren't proud of.
But you're also here today, alive and breathing.
So is it really fair to watch someone elses life with such a close scrutiny, when all Miley is doing is growing up? She's on the journey of discovering yourself, and that is something to celebrate, because one day she too will look back, just like you, and see with clarity the mistakes she made that were good, and those that maybe not so much. But she'll also be able to say that she learnt from those mistakes, and they will all define the person she progresses into.

Keep doing what you're doing, girlfriend.
(Maybe not salvia again, though!)
Mwah.

Lo x

Lust is not Love.

How long does it really take to fall in love?
Instantly like Edward Cullen and Bella Swan?
Gradually like Seth Cohen and Summer Adams?
Or does it take you an eternity with one person to really discover love?


How well can you really know someone in a week? A month? Even a year, or two, or three?
Ever had that one moment when you're surprised by someones action? Well, that's because there's still sides to that person that you've never seen.

Granted, you can love someone. The way their mouths pull back into that crooked smile, and the way their skin wrinkles round their perfect eyes. The way their lazy smiles expose husky laughter that makes us weak just hearing it. The way they look, because every time we see them we get this almighty rush of proudness that they're ours.

But how long is it until you're in love with somebody?
You can't know every single part of a person the minute you meet. Or when you introduce them to your world, because they're trying to find a way to fit. You can't know every single reaction that they're going to have to various situations, and whether or not they're really willing to fight off every other guy for you to remain just his.

It takes one or two seconds to say those three small words.
But sometimes I can't help but feel that people confuse lust, with love, and they're two completely different feelings. Lust is the way you feel when you see that person. Those shallow, desireable feelings of being attracted to someone. But love goes deeper than that. Love isn't about the way they look, it's the way thet act. And sometimes people are quick to confuse love.

Slobs R Us.

Ever have days when your hair just won't go right? However much you practically force your parting fringe into an upwards quiff, it will always collapse. However much spray you use to ensure that your self-created masterpiece stays that way, the minute you step outside a gust of wind hits you and pow, your hair is as flat as a pancake! And however much you try and remain posotive that despite looking and feeling utterly hideous, today will be a good day, with every single second, that slither is hope sinks.

Those days never end well.

And the only solution is pulling on your oldest, comfiest clothes. The ones with stains down them, and holes in the sleeves. The ones that hang from your body, overiding every rule Gok Wan states about accentuating your curves. And you reach into the fridge and pull out that secret selection of reserved chocolate, despite the diet in much need of starting. And you flick down the switch on the kettle, heaping generous amounts of hot chocolate powder into your favourite mug.

And then it all seems silly.


I secretly love days like this because they give me an excuse to act like a complete slob, and feel good about it.

Lost Cause.

Sometimes, I just want to ask somebody,
'What are they fighting for?'
I may be naive, and could cause serious offence to other people, but I just see young men being sent away to a country which is taking away their lives, and their future. And I ask again,
'What are they fighting for?'

What If?

What if you're as good as its ever going to get? And by that, I don't mean the shallowness of looks, or giving up on the idea of other potential partners and just settling. I mean, what if you are the nearest to perfection he'll ever get. What if everything he's spent years kidding himself he had, to go down the road of heartache to discover wasn't real, or read about in books, and witnessed in the rom-coms he sneaks out of my bedroom, what if thats all you.
What if you're that girl. You're Julliet. You're Bella Swan. You're the Summer to his inner Seth. The Marissa to his intense outter Ryan. What if you are every cliche of the perfect girl, the one.


And what if you don't give him that one last chance to prove that?
To finally show you what he's spent years running from.
The genuine fact that he's always know it's you.
What if you never give him the chance.
The chance to say those words.
Three little words.
I. Love. You.

Dear, Jim;

Words cannot describe the anger I feel whenever I physically think of you, which isn't often due to the fact you repulse me.


You see, when people first meet you, they're seduced by this cheeky charm that you have, and at first that was attractive. You were fun, had a good sense of humour and you could most likely get away with a lot of things. But now when I think about that, I realise that it wasn't attractive, it was actually an illusion, covering up what you're really like.
Because in actual fact, you're the lowest kind of person. You manipulate those around you, friends and family, making out that you're this poor, hard-up kid whose had such a shitty life, when in fact you've had so much just handed to you on a plate!

When I think about the amount of money I lavished on you during the four month period when we were together, it makes my blood boil
As does the fact you never had the balls to even dump me, just ignore me for days on end, until you decided to text my mum and tell her you wasn't happy.

Yeah, kudos for being a man.

But what annoys me more than anything is the fact you'd spend hours telling me you were different to all those other guys who hurt me, who lied to me, and cheated. And all along, I knew it was bullshit, and yet I still didn't see it coming. Or maybe I did, but I was hoping you would be different. Silly me.

The most laughable part of this is that you were all of them combined, and worse. It's like you try and convince yourself that you're not this vile person, but you are. And true colours will always show, eventually.

But just in case you think that I spent days getting over you, I didn't.
It took two hours of tears before I dyed my hair brown, cut it all off, and realised that I could do so much better than a midget with a small penis, who knows nothing about how to physically use it.

And when I message you for the stuff I asked for back almost a year ago, and you have the cheek to get arsey with me, let me tell you this. I spent months catering to every need you had. Buying you expensive clothes, and treating you all the time that I barely thought of myself, and i'm done being charmed by you. It doesn't work. And it's not the fact that the things i'm asking for back are so petty, it's the fact that they're mine, and you already had enough out of me, so I don't see why you should have more.

I've been cheated on, led on, and played by guys in my life, but all of them are nothing in comparrison to how much of a shitty person you are.

And what makes me laugh is that you're a twenty two year old guy and you can never be on your own. You go from girl to girl, using her, bleeding her dry of money until you find you next victim. And yet you give nothing in return except this little sob story.

And let me tell you this. The violin stopped playing a long time ago, and no one can hear the tune, so dance along to your own pathetic story, solo.

To Love or Not.

Love.
Love. Love. Love.
Such a simple, four lettered word and yet it holds so much meaning. Its what our favourite songs are about, its what the girl is trying to find in our favourite films, and it's what we're led to believe we need from life. A man, and a ring on our finger, it all equals to love, apparently.


But what if love isn't about finding the one, and about how big the diamond is that he puts on our wedding finger. Maybe love is about finding someone that can stand by you when life isn't so peachy. A person who can laugh with you through the tears. And who doesn't run a mile when you have days when you're angry and you hate the world, because it just makes you human. Someone that is there first thing in the morning when you've got the rankest breath, the worst hair-do since Rod Stewart, and absolutely no make-up on, and they don't look at you and think, holy shit. They lean forwards and kiss you, because to them, you've never been prettier.

Because that's love, right? It's not all bouqets of expensive roses, and champagne lunches. It's not about being lavished with expensive gifts, or whisked away on holiday. Anyone can do that. Love goes deeper than that. It's about being there during the times that you need someone to be there.

20 Things.

I stole this from a girl's blog, as it seemed like a cute and apt blog aside from my usual rants and declarations for loved ones, and you could know more about me. Enjoy.. :)
- Lo x

1. Things you cannot leave the house without
My phone, my purse, and if i'm wearing make-up, my powder brush!

2. Favourite brand of makeup
I swear by my Chanel foundation, and Rimmel bronzer. I'm addicted to Barry M lip glosses at the moment though, they smell a lush as the colours are.

3. Favourite flower
I'm not a huge fan of flowers. They're really pretty, but if someone asked me for names, I crumble! However, I know the cliched rose, and lillies..because they're my Mums favourite :)

4. Favourite Clothing Store
Topshop, and I know it doesn't found as a 'shop' per-sue, but ASOS.COM..I have serious love for that website.

5. Favourite Perfume
Flower Bomb by Viktor & Rolfe. Dee-lish!


6. Do you like swimming
I've always been a water baby, like my brother, Matt. So that would be a big fat yes!

7. Do you make good grades
I didn't do too well at school, and for ages I kicked myself. But then once I started to suceed at University, I realised that I was just finding my way. The subjects at school held no excitement for me, until I went through college and Uni and found that my passion was writing. Weirdly, I got a B for GCSE English, so I wasn't all bad!

8. Favourite colours
I'm attracted to green, which is a disaster due to my current ginger mane. I'm a walking, talking carrot cruncher.

9. Do you drink energy drinks
I mostl drink water, but i'm prone to the deliciousness of a Red Bull!

10. Do you drink juice?
Not often, but I recently tried this apple and blackcurrant fruit juice from ASDA, and i'm hooked.

11. Heels of Flats
Heels. They make my legs look long, and thin! Oh, the illusion.

12. Do you eat fries with a fork

I do, actually. I'm one of those numptys that use a fork for even things like pizza! Haha.

13. Favourite moisturiser
I swear by Clarins products :)

14. Do you want to get married later on in life
Of course! I've had my Tiffany engagement ring, and Vera Wang dress picked out for years!

15. Do you get mad easily
I do have a short fuse at times, and I let the smaller things in life annoy me!

16. Are you into ghost hunting
I can't say it's a hobby, but I do however love programmes about ghosts and ghouls! Its intriguing, however I always end up having a sleepless night afterwards!

17. Any phobias
Spiders, eek!

18. Do you bite your nails
Nope :) I always cut them really short though.

19. Have you ever had a near death experience
No, touch wood!

20. Do you drink coffee
Coffee is so delicious!

Dear, Mum;

If somebody told me to sit here and list everything that I love about you, they couldn't supply enough paper, and I couldn't find enough words.
When people speak of a best friend, they instantly define that person as someone we grew up with, or a friend we met at work. Maybe it's somebody they've not met yet. But I know who my best friend is, and that's you, Mum. Who else could hold me when I cry, and instantly make me feel better. To listen to my angry rants, and not say a word. And still listen when I come to you, hours later, defeated as I fall into stuborn, and sad tears. And yet you wipe each tear away without anything other than love.

And you're unique, Mum. I don't know of many other people that speak of the relationship they have with their own Mum that is even remotely similar, or special as the bond we have. I know without doubt that you're the first person I can come to whenever I want to gossip, or just laugh at something that happened. You're the first person I tell when I meet a potential guy, and although I hate the way you sit in silence and don't enthuse about the situation in the same gushing way as I do, I realise you're doing the most important thing you could do. You're sitting, and you're listening.

I hope that I have the same relationship with my daughter(s) in the future, because i've grown up with constant support, and love, and I can't begin to explain to you how much that has meant. To know that whatever situation I get myself into, you'll never judge me. You'll listen, and if i'm being a bitch, which most of the time I am, let's be honest - PMT never does much good to me, you'll tell me. If i'm in the wrong, you're not scared to say so. And I love that about you, Mum.

And right now i'm sat, looking out the back door, and up at the moon and thinking of you. How it's the smallest moments in life that you live for. And it's those moments I will forever remember, because they're the ones I shared with you.


I don't know how many times i've told you this, i'm not sure if there's a number big enough, or how many times in the future that i'll continue to say so, but I love you. You're without a doubt the most important, and biggest part of my life, and to me, you're the world.

- Lo x

Words Are Cheap.

What will never fail to amaze me is the ability to which men can enter your life, and leave even quicker. To write to you the most romantic e-mails and messages, things you only dreamt of men saying. Phone calls just to hear your voice. To fill you with hope, excitement. Hours spent fantasizing over the moments you'll spend together.

Then in a record-breaking time, it's all gone. There are no e-mails, and no phone calls. He's stopped writing those words that you spent so much time re-reading with nervous smiles, and excited butterflies of anticipation. And instead you're left with this hollow, empty feeling as you realise it wasn't real.

Dear, Jonny;

A few weeks back, I followed the BBC programme, 'When Teenage Meets Old Age' which followed a group of youths, who stepped into the role of a carer, and looked after this group of elderly people living in a home.

I don't watch a lot of television, and if I'm honest, I followed this at first because I was with my Nan, and when I'm round her house, she's the Queen of the remote, and what she wants to watch is what goes. But I was gripped, after the very first episode. The way these teenagers responded would have been the way any teenager would have felt. At first they were unsure, perhaps cautious. Out of the comfort zone, and un-sure of how to react. For years, it seems there's been this divide between us youths, and the elderly. As if the lives we live are so far from their lives that we couldn't possibly get on.

But they're wrong, because even as we live, we need to look to our elders and see the mistakes they made, the paths they chose, and the relationships they took. We should look into the way a lot more of their marriages lasted than they do in todays generation, and ask ourselves, what can we learn from them? And they too should ask the same thing, because we may do our hair differently, and dye it bright, bold colours and shave parts of it off and scruff it upwards into a scruffy mohawk, but we're still people. We laugh, we love, and we survive exactly the same way.

Someone that stood out for me was Jonny Rowland, the young boy who bonded with Trevor in the way we do with our friends. And it was so lovely to see a young guy acting so down to earth, and friendly. The way he introduced Trevor to his friends, his family and his life as though Trevor wasn't years older than himself, but still in his twenties.


And it got me thinking about what I want from a guy, a relatonship. It's absolutely ideal to have a partner with Ambercrombie & Fitch good looks, a Calvin Klein ad physique, and that jaw-line we only read about in our favourite rom-com books. But realistically, that's just a fantasy. Someone once told me, 'Date someone for their personality and sense of humour, because that will never fade. Looks will.' And she was right. It's not about the way someone looks, it's about the way they see life. How they aspire for someone more, something better. And how they treat the people around them. And who better to look at than their parents. If a person doesn't have respect, and love for the two people who brought them into the world, then they're not going to have it for you, some girl who happens to want to be apart of that.

And the way Jonny was with his parents and Trevor, it made me stop and think, that's what I want. I want a guy with ambition. Somebody who wants something from life that some may say is just a dream, but is willing to work and grind themselves to the ground to achieve that goal. Someone who isn't self-obsessed, but probably doesn't realise just how good looking they actually are. Someone who cares more about living, than they do about the opinions of those around them. Someone who is comfortable with who they are.

I messaged Jonny on facebook just the other day, and half expecting some tart response, I was genuinely pleased to find that his response was exactly how I'd hoped. He was friendly, thankful and kind. I felt a little obsessive messaging him, as I'm not the kind who even so much as adds a random person onto facebook, let alone message someone I only know through seeing them on TV.

I simply told him that I'd followed the programme, and was touched by how he'd been with Trevor, and the fact that now, even after the show, he still sees Trevor regularly, he's a permament part of his life now. Okay, so I babbled a little bit, because what I didn't admit was the fact that I secretly had quite the crush on him. And who can blame me? He's exactly the kind of guy that any girl should be lucky to be with. But what exactly could I say without coming across as some stalker, lunatic? 'Hey, you don't know me, Jonny, but boy do I have the hots for you! ;). Haha - no. I can safely assure all you bloggers that I did in fact leave that part out. After all, what was he going to do? Accept a complete stranger, and say, 'Hey, let's date!'

But i'm just glad that he read my e-mail and proved himself to be exactly the guy he came across as over the TV. And Jonny, if ever you were to read this ridiuclous blog, then I, Lo, have the hots for you :)

Good luck for the future. You're going to be a star..

Lo x

Lies.

I remember the things you told me.
That you wish she was me.
How you thought I was amazing.
How you thought about me all the time.

So you can dress up your life, lie and pretend.
But at the end of the day, you said it.
And, I will never forget the words you said to me.

Ever.


So just remember that.

The Decent Ones.

Where are they?
This world is populated with billions of people, all different. Unique in their own, individual ways. So how it is that I've yet to find one that is worth my time? Worth my kindness, and passion. And more importantly, one that is worth my heart.
I don't want to go through the pain that comes from broken relationships anymore. I don't want to fall for the wrong guy, again, and to feel nothing but pain as he moves on to another girl who is seemingly perfect for him. To make me feel like I fell short. That I wasn't quite perfect enough for him.
The majority of the guys that flirt with me, and express any interest, are those that already have girlfriends. And that's even worse than being in a failing relationship because those men are sending out the message that I'm not quite good enough to be with, however, i'll do for a cheeky flirt behind their partners back.
And I'm so tired of it. I deserve to find someone whose focus is me, and me only. I don't want to be somebodys bit on the side when they get tired of their girlfriends, but then go running back into her arms, and it's all public displays of, 'I love you so much, babe!' And, 'You're so perfect!' And I'm left feeling foolish for ever believing the lies they fed me, realeasing that the were never going to leave their girlfriend. They just wanted the best of both worlds.


Where are the decent men? The ones that find that one girl from a sea of millions that surround them, and stay faithful to her. To make just her, and her alone feel special. To not feel the need to flirt elsewhere, because he has this amazing girl, and she's enough.

Where are the men that are different to all the shit bags we've dated before?
Different from all the lying, cheating and dishonest guys caught up in dead-end relationships that they're unwilling to get out of?
Where is that man that will make me trust that good men are out there, somewhere?
Because I refuse to believe that the entire male species are a bunch of shitfucks.

Dear Nan;

I love you.
And there is so much I'd like to say to you, yet I never get the chance, so here it all is.
You're the only grandparent I have left, and I don't know what i'd do if you were to ever leave me. I know you miss Grandad, and I know that sometimes, you see nothing to live for. Which is when I want to scream at you, that you have everything to live for.
Our family is mad, I know. There's always some incident, or drama that we're all talking about. And sometimes we all want to just scream. But that's our family. Our blood, and DNA, and we just need to ride that wave, and accept that our family is always going to make a lot of noise when we get together. There is always going to be at least one row at Christmas, usually over something trivial like gravy. And playing a board game is never a good idea, it will end in tears.
But there's also the fact you have 7 grandchildren who love you.
Three children who love you.
And Grandad is always with you, I just know that. He wouldn't be anywhere else, and know that he too, loves you, Nan.
If I could grant you just one wish, it would be for you to somehow see him again. To feel his arms wrap around you, to see him kissing you. And to hear him telling you that everything is okay, and that it's okay to live in this world without him.
Because he would. He'd want you to live, Nan. Without sufferance. Without this anger that I know you feel because he's left you. He'd want you to laugh more, and smile. And have one too many glasses of wine and trip over. Because it's those silly moments that make you realise you're human, and you're alive.

And above all, Nan, i'd tell you a thousand times in a row that I need you. I need you to ply me with your fridge full of magnum ice creams. I need you to offer me the biscuit tin when you make me a coffee. And I need you to always be seven doors down from my house, always happy for me to just sit with you. And more than all of that, I need for you to talk about your history, your life growing up, and how you almost married a farmer, and how you have brothers and sisters you've never even met. Because once you're gone, who else can be there to tell me that?


So one final message . . . I love you, Nan.
Always and Forever.
And nothing you ever do will change that.

Generations Swings in Roundabouts

Forty, or fifty years ago when our parents were in their prime, it was nothing other than normal for them to meet a husband, get married, and then start a family. Women were content at being stay at home mums, raising their children while their spouses went to work.
But times begun to evolve, and like Cave Men suddenly discovering a hairbrush and a shaver, he following generations of females begun to discover life. The idea that they could be more than just a housewife. Contribute to the working world, and juggle both a career and motherhood. Women were hitting their extremely late twenties, if not thirties and forties before they baked that particular bun in the over.
And I can't help but stop and realise that times are seeming to revert backwards. That the generations i'm growing up with aren't taking inspiration from the fact woman are deserving of a career, and instead, the ages to which they're having children is lowering. Perhaps even to ages lower than our parents concieved.
No longer do they seem to want to go out into the world, and put their mark out there. To be seen as a powerful, and successful. To earn a good salary, and to be a somebody.
They want to find the one until they're pregnant, and then they want to abandon a career, and settle down. The ages to which I see the girls that push those prams that surround me and getting scarily lower each time. And I can't understand how they aspire to live motherhood when they've only hit puberty five or six years prior.

If you're even remotely interested in my opinion, then the idea of having a baby whilst at an age that is under thirty, is horrific to me. The thought that, at a time like now, when I live at home, and my life is divided between University, and retail, striving for my degree so I can start getting a decent wage packet that allows me the luxury or shopping in TopShop without maxing out my faithful yet abused credit card, and adding a baby to all of that, it makes me shudder.
Don't get me wrong, I know that i've not exactly expanded my maternal gene beyond recoiling at the sight of a crusty noses baby, gurgling though hiccups of white vomit, but I do want children. I want three, if not four, and one day, they will be all that i'll want from life. Everything I work towards will benefit them. But I don't want that now. I've still got two months before I graduate University. I want to work, and to save. I want to clear my twenty year old self from debt, then take off and see the beauty that is the world. I want to meet new people, and build on the memories of old friends. I want to live.
I don't want to jump straight from University, into being a mum. I want a career. I want to earn extremely good money, and I want to buy those beautiful LouBoutins that I salivate over just picturing them on my foot.


I just hope that all of these girls realise that there is so much to the world that they've yet to see before they have the commitment that is a child for the rest of their lives. It seemd like just yesterday we were sucking baby pops, like carefree teenagers, and now the majority of them are responsible for another life.

The 10 Things I Learnt This Weekend.

1. I learnt that Mother Nature isn't fair. Underneath the prettiness of flowers, and the delicious rays of early Spring that we were teased with Saturday morning, she's cruel. The tsunami in Japan was devestating, and to think that's just the beginning. That flood wiped out homes, lives, and history in the matter of seconds. And those fortunate to survive that ordeal now have to live with the fact their homes, their families, everything is gone. We know nothing about the types of people this tsunami affected. They could be good people, some may have done the odd bad thing, and some may just be downright evil. But at the end of the day, it doesn't matter, because regardless of who they were, Mother Nature took their lives, and ruined them in under an hour. Everything they worked for is gone, and it's not fair. To all those affected, or killed during that tsunami, my heart and hope go out to you.
2. That spending your weekend in retail, dressed head to toe in cheap, nylon uniforms, and serving Britain's Most Obnoxous, will never reach the 'Best Weekends' top ten list.
3. That we women on a whole suffer due to periods. My moods have been up and down like i'm slumped on some kind of disfunctional see-saw. And no amounts of chocolate has helped my mood, nor my diet.
4. That Adele's album, 21, should be a must-have on every living iPod. Her talent and voice are astounding, i'm well and truly aboard the Adele fan club express!
5. Buying Tampons will always live up to that humiliating moment you fear, when the checkout guy scans them, an awkward silence falls, and you go redder than your brightly dyed hair. Not a fun moment.
6. Spending almost £26 on over-priced sweets at Sweet Heaven won't help our bank-balance, but they will make you feel good whilst watching films :)
7. I think, maybe, I put you on a pedistool, and realising that crushes me slightly.
8. The Reader is another notch on the favourite films list.
9. That as much as I tell myself i'm over you, I got over you ages ago, somewhere inside, a small fraction of my heart is holding a rebellion of its own. Every now and then we share a moment when neither of us is sarcastic, or rude, and in that moment, I want you again.
10. That tacos are always a winner.

Smile.

"Smile.
Its the second best thing you can do with your lips."

Be Who You Are.

After racism, the thing I hate most is discrimination against sexuality . . . homophobia.

Who is one person to say what is right in life, and what isn't?
No one in this world holds that right in my opinion. That power to preach to the rest of us what we should be for, and against. What we should encourage, and what we should hate.
Telling someone who they can love is restricting their existance.
So they don't follow the stereotypical lifestyle. Boy meets girl, boy and said girl fall ever so happily in love, boy and girl then marry, boy and girl then start a family . . .
Just because thats what we see in films, and read in books, the iconic happily ever after story, it doesn't mean that its the structure for life, and we have to fall in line and conform.
People should be free to love who they love, without judgement and discrimination.

I can honestly say that when I have children one day in the future, I will encourage them to be the person they were born to be. Whether thats straight, bisexual, or gay - I don't care.

Scales; The Bane of Life.

Why do us females do it to ourselves? We're obsessed with our daily, if not continual, self-weigh ins, practically praying to be a few pounds lighter. And as our bare feet grace those scales, we're left with this plummeting feeling of regret as we see that that little dial hand that we rely on so much hasn't shifted. If anything, it's gone up.
And then we proceed to mentally list everything we ate that day, wondering which of the offences was the one to make us gain those horrific, life changing, universe alligning, pounds.

And I can't help but wonder, why? Why do we do it?
I'm obsessed with weighing myself. I lost almost a stone, but after a lapse in willpower, and dedication to finally 'getting fit' - I slipped, and my life tipple at the moment is a four bar kit-kat, dunked neatly into my mug of coffee, melting the chocolate, and filling my mouth with the delicious, pleasure that only chocolate can give.
But then I spend the hours that follow practically torturing myself about what I just ate. Will I wake up tomorrow heavier? Will I put that stone back on?
Yes, it's likely that I will jump back on that scale and have shot back up to the weight I was a few weeks ago.
But I also know that at any point, I can put on my exercise DVD, and fight through the eighty minute fitness DVD until the sweat soaks me, and I hit the shower feeling much better.
But I won't, because i'm counting down the hours until my dad goes to work, which currently stands at a two hour countdown, and then I'll practically launch at one of the two kit-kat bars that I spotted in the fridge earlier, calcuating that if he takes one to work, that leaves one for me, and my coffee.

See, us women will always be the same.
Weight will always define us in some way. We could be the skinniest we've ever been, and fear food completely. Or we can stay the same weight we've been for years, moaning but too lazy to actually get up and do something about it.

We just need to find a balance.


And a hammer to smash up those scales, because to be quite frank, i'm sick of jumping on and off them to see if the slight exercise motion has shifted any weight.

A Ring Means Nothing;

Lol :)