Monday, 28 June 2010

More About Me

I feel that the time has come to let you all know more about me.

Before you ask, no, I'm not going to reveal my social security number to the world, or post any humiliating pictures, or tell you my true identity for that matter!

Instead I'm going to let you into a secret, one about the love of my life – Billie Joe Armstrong. (Of course I love my boyfriend very much too!) For those of you not familiar with the name, he's Green Day's supremely talented and oh so gorgeous front man, guitarist and singer. I used to be head over achy heels for Blink 182's Mr Tom DeLonge, only frankly, where BJ (yes, I am aware of the pun) has improved over time, DeLonge's beginning to look...well...a bit ratty.

When Billie declared on stage "SOMEBODY FUCK ME!!" I guess I was one in a very long queue of fans who would be happy to oblige. Even my extremely hetro boyfriend would have had to remind himself of his sexuality!

I'm not however one of these 'some-time-fan-girls', I've loved Green Day for nearly 10 years and Dookie goes down as one of my all time favourite albums. And they, like their music just get better with age.

For me, standing alongside 36000 other fans at LCCC earlier this month allowed me momentarily to forget Arthur. I thought-cheated on him with the sublime Mr Armstrong! Music can do that. If you love something so much, it can overcome you to such a degree that the point where you end and the music begins becomes intrinsically blurred.

My fetish for punk rock has presented itself in several ways over the years. From my love of big sturdy boots (as I've mentioned before, these have a practicality to them too), to having my ear (just the one) pierced more times than I can remember (the other has one modest single piecing), to my recent "quarter life crisis" of dying bits of my hair pink again – something which I did on a regular basis as a teen. I love anything which can make me feel different for the RIGHT reasons. I'm quite a girly girl, so I love nothing more than vamping up my DM's with a tiny little mini skirt.

Hell, I know I'm 23; I SHOULD begin to grow up and make myself sophisticated. But I don't want to. So much of me feels old that I want to look and behave as young as possible. And as for uni, I STILL don't know what I want to do when I grow up!!!

So roll on Leeds festival for more puck rock mayhem and madness!!!

Monday, 21 June 2010

What Does Disabled Look Like Exactly?!

Hands up everyone who has received the huge compliment "you don't look disabled." Yep. Most of you – thought so! I usually respond with a big smile and say "Thank You!" to the patronising, narrow-minded, blind-sighted git who made the remark.


Other idiots take it one step further: "you're not disabled." This has been said to me MANY times; respond with the exclamation: "I'M CURED!" and throw your arms around them in a huge embrace and they will be CONVINCED that there's something wrong with you – possibly in the head.


After a weekend in Manchester with the boyfriend to see the mighty Green Day I received an array of these unwelcome comments. While I'm pleased that I don't look like I've got a chronic debilitating disease, I also find it INFURIATING that people assume that a disability can be discovered with the aid of a quick onceover with their beady eyes. Seriously, what do they think we have doctors for when every Tom, Dick and Sally think they are qualified to make these judgements?


The worst I encountered was a stupid whore waitress, whom when asked "could you tell me where the disabled loos are please?" Responded by slowly looking me up and down, narrowing her eyes and remarking "for you?!" My temper wanted to exclaim – "No you stupid bitch. For my imaginary crippled friend lolling behind me in a wheelchair with no legs and one eye, which would clearly satisfy your idea of what it is to be disabled." I actually responded by calmly narrowing my eyes back at her and simply stating "Yes, for me." To this, she turned away and sniggered. She
actually sniggered!! Needless to say, we did NOT eat in San Carlos, Manchester.


To say I was enraged is to put it lightly. I actually wanted to smack the disgraceful bint.


It seems that anyone who hasn't come face to face with someone who has a disability assumes there has to be signs, indicators that we are worthy of using a toilet we can actually get up from unaided.


Other than my splint, which although I wear all the time I keep covered with arm warmers, there are no outward indicators of what's wrong with me. I'm too stubborn to use a wheelchair. I would rather drive and park close to where I'm going, or if I want a drink, pay for cabs several times a night. And I can't use walking sticks or crutches as my hands are so damn crap. I hold onto my boyfriends arm instead.


I think some people would like to see the Nazi idea reintroduced. Only instead of forcing Jews to wear stars all the time, they would like to see disabled folk brandished with big blue badges stating: "I AM GIMP".


No thanks.


I'd rather continue to have arguments every time I need a pee in a restaurant.


Next time someone gives me that kind of grief again, I plan to look them squarely in the eyes and say: "No, I'm lucky I don't look disabled. It must be so unfortunate for you that you do."

Tuesday, 15 June 2010

Let’s Talk About SEX Baby!

Anyone who thinks a relationship with Arthur spells the death of sex is seriously mistaken.

Ok, so bedroom acrobatics are possibly off of the menu, and I wouldn't recommend taking the karma sutra too literally but you can still bounce with the best of 'em!

I'm guessing when your other half thinks of a threesome he's probably more likely to picture the two of you plus the oh-so-fine Holly Willoughby, or the uber sexy Megan Fox; but you, your man and Arthur can get along just fine.
The key is conversation.

And I don't mean giving your other half a list of "what hurts the most today", aim for; "I find it really sexy when you stand at the end of the bed and I put my ankles on your shoulders" as opposed to "not tonight dear, I can't go on top as my knees feel like they're made of mushy peas." Of course if the two of you find mushy peas a turn on I'm sure you could introduce them somewhere else along the way!!

There are also two very good reasons to keep 'up' with the passion even if you don't really fancy it. (And before my more mature readers start asking me about HRT (Eewww) I'm 23! And I'm not a doctor. Ask your GP about that!) For one, it's a fact that the sex related endorphins help to ease pain. So whatever pain is caused during the deed will most likely take care of itself. And two – it's the most enjoyable form of exercise that I can think of!!!

So sweat baby! Do it like they do on the discovery channel!

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Wednesday, 9 June 2010

One for the Guys


One of my male chickadees asked me why not write about how Arthur affects the guys. My response was : Well duh?! I'm not a guy, so how can I!?!

But after a moment's reflection, it got me thinking. Being involved with Arthur if you're a chick is bad enough, but for a dude?! Aside from the obvious homosexual gags I COULD make, it must be very emasculating at times. Times, for example, I've had to go back into a shop and ask the chap behind the counter to open my bottle of water. My other half would be mortified if he needed to do this.

It's called "Big Strong Man Syndrome" it's the same debilitating condition which not only prevents those with the Y chromosome from asking for help, but also directions


Then there's sex. I've never played with strap-ons, but you only have to watch to see that most positions are far more physically exerting for men than women, who are expected to be bendy, not thrusty!


I think men feel that it's more socially acceptable for women to be weak and helpless, but guys; well their macho default setting is giving them grief. And sometimes their mates are too.


Let's face it though guys, in some ways you have it easy. You can pee standing up, so no embarrassing tasks of having to ask the barmaid for the key to the disabled loo when you've drank one too many beers. You're not expected because of your gender to do the housework, cooking, cleaning, and ironing – to carry babies for 9 months then GIVE BIRTH.


Regardless of how down trodden and pissed off you guys might feel about sharing your bed with Arthur, try to remember, it does NOT define you. Now go away and think of three reasons why you're pretty damn fine – then tell me. Write it on my wall, PM me or leave a comment on here.


Go on! Do it!!!



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PS : More for the guys coming soon – don't worry dudes, you're not forgotten x x x

Saturday, 5 June 2010

Arthur and the Extra Bulk

One RA sufferer recently asked me how she can lose weight even though she can't move much. Well first off, I've seen the pictures and she has NOTHING to worry about, she's gawjus. Secondly, if I knew the answer, I'd be 8 and a half stone and have the body of Jennifer Aniston. And the boyfriend would be fetching my size 6's out of the loft (that's a 2 to you, my American friends).


Unfortunately, as I've got older I've got fatter. I'm now a 10-12 (6-8 USA) and feel squidgy with it. I have to admit, I've never really struggled with my weight per se. When I was 17 I couldn't launch myself over 7.7stone. Then I met the boyfriend – Hello Curry! Bonjour pizza, Mc D's, KFC's and all the other fatty goodness's! Let's just call him my downfall!


Six years and two and a bit stone later I'm not exactly ready to sew my mouth shut and declare chocolate celibacy but I would be happy to ditch a few pounds. The way I see it, I have three options:

  1. Starve
  2. Chop my head off
  3. Cut back on takeaways

Now none of these are especially appealing to me, but I think I'll 'plump' for 3. ('Scuse the pun!)


So in answer to your question, I'll let you know when I figure it out!!!


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Tuesday, 1 June 2010

Less "Wishy-washy" more "WOW! Hottie!"

Today I am going to explain why the occasional gothic tendencies are a must for any SGWA. And; I hasten to add, no you don’t need to go to any drastic length like dying your hair black or piercing your lip or getting a big ass tattoo. You simply need to work with what comes naturally.

If like me, you tend to become more than a little pasty (that’s pale to you, my American friends!) you’ll soon see why this works. It’s all too easy when you feel under the weather to tie your hair back, pull on a hoodie and try to fade into the background. These simple ideas will make you go from “wishy-washy” to “WOW! Hottie” (Even if you do feel like crawling under a rock for the next three years!)

Now here’s your shopping list:

*Kohl eyeliner in black

* Lash lengthening mascara, also black

* Lipstick – As red as you dare

* BIG BLACK BOOTS (We’re thinking, flat but daring statement boots here.)

Learn to work the boots and you’re half way there. We all know that high heels are all but impossible when Arthur’s behaving like a badly trained Jack Russell pup nipping at your ankles, but these boots won’t just look good, but they will hold you up and give you some much needed support too. At the same time they will help you away from being a shrinking violet and give you an image with attitude.

As for the makeup, so long as you don’t go so overboard that you wind up looking like a demented Bratz doll – load it up. If you’re too shy to go the whole hog with the lippy, concentrate on the eyes. IT’S ALL ABOUT THE EYES.

Throw on a pair of leggings and a little dress and you’re ready to rock!!!

Gothicism is my comfort blanket, give it a whirl – you might love it too!!!

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