I blog when things go bump in the night

There are two possible reasons for this blog post. The first is that I believe what I'm about to say is so crucially relevant, it simply must be unleashed into the public domain. The second and most probable is that I'm home alone and trying to throw myself into any activity that takes my mind off the erratic footsteps and loud bangs I keep hearing. Right now I'm convinced an intruder/ghost is present and I'm near death. Best lock the door and pray I don't need to take a tinkle.


Tonight's subject matter: The main things that instantly turn me off a man.

Long fingernails. I believe there is an acceptable amount of growth. On the one hand I don't want a man to receive weekly manicures and I wouldn't insist on a nail biting habit but anything that could cause a painful scratch is just plain wrong. The biggest faux pas? One long nail on your little finger. Is that sexy to any woman? The mere thought makes me shudder. I recall serving one young man in the SU bar who sported such a look and I could barely hand him his change.

An un popped spot. It can happen to anyone, after all we can't all be on constant spot head alert but somehow I don't see this as a two way street. I'm allowed spots because I'm human but prospective dates become these obscure creatures with who I bestow ridiculously enormous expectations upon. Any "human" imperfection is a no no. Also, asking me to pick said spot will result in me being a little bit sick in my mouth.

A spiked hair do. For the same reason that men like women who to have the "I just got out of bed look", women too enjoy a messy, unkempt mane on a man. Any look that screams "I've spent two hours making sure each section of my hair is styled in an opposing angle and running your fingers through it is likely to have the same effect as stroking a wire brush" is not appealing. You are not in Blazin Squad or in a witness protection programme under the new identity of a hedgehog.

A Facebook faux pas. Firstly, an overabundance of statuses. One per day is the desired maximum but two is allowed in certain circumstances. Any description of yourself should be short witty and concise. Don't make it seem like your entire day was devoted to checking the grammar and spelling of your About Me section. Finally, the most crucial. The profile picture. Any posey shot, any taken by yourself on your camera phone in the quintessential MySpace pose, any taken in the mirror, any topless pictures and the most crucial, any professionally photographed pictures. Don't be a twat.


Finally, what do I think is the main thing that turns men off women? Probably writing angry, man hating blogs like this. Apologies for the rant, I only realised how disgruntled it sounded after reading it through. I'm normally so nice.

A rant about my lack of maternal instinct

I'm not child friendly. Maybe this goes against the maternal instinct that I as a woman am supposed to bare, but they are loud, selfish and impossible to communicate with. Give them stubble and a beer gut and they could be an ex boyfriend.

These feelings were further fuelled by an unfortunate train ride earlier today. Unbeknown to me I had boarded a family friendly carriage, complete with crying babies, screaming toddlers and one particulary annoying culprit who sang Baa Baa Black Sheep over and over again. Not the entire song though, just those four words. Someone needs to teach that girl a damn song or just find a way to silence her. Never have I felt such anger towards someone in pastel dungarees.

But before I make myself sound like Rose West in the making I would like to point out that being the baby of my family hasn't given me much experience around young children. Maybe this is why I find children so irritating when they act..well, childish. I'm sure if I ever have children of my own I will love them no matter how loud, messy or selfish. One things for sure though. If they must sing politically incorrect nursery rhymes, I'll at least make sure they know the full song.

any good tips for cheating?

As I sit in my room three hours away from my first exam in four years, I have a horrible churning feeling in my stomach. I'm unsure whether this is nerves about my imminent failure or the fact that I've downed a can of Relentless in less then 5 minutes. I'm much more used to Red Bull. I knew I shouldn't have punched above my weight. So now Im wasting more revision time, jittering away and complaining about how I am near to failure.

But the truth is I've never done too badly in exams. I've always found myself to be a lazy sod throughout the rest of the year but come exam time I'm fuelled by fear of failure, motivated to do well and determined to open that results envelope and see a good grade beaming back at me. On the whole it's worked out that way. I seem to morph into hermit like state around exams, locking myself away in my room, nothing to keep me company except my flash cards and revision notes. Then on the day of the exam I emerge from my room, blinking at the bright sunlight like a mole just burrowing out of his hole, and walk into the exam feeling quietly confident.

This time, none of that happened. I didn't feel the fear, I didn't feel the motivation and I didn't feel determined. Jut because I spent 6 hour in my room, I seem to fool everyone into thinking I was intensely revising but in reality it was a 50/50 split between reading over notes and watching Come Dine With Me.

I am near failure, I wonder if they might be linient on me if I burst into tears and start ranting about how I'm just no good at anything. It worked in year 9 when I didn't want to climb up that rope. Rope burn doesn't bode well with me.

Right back to revision. Straight after a quick Facebook check. Don't get me started on Facebook, that could be a whole other post. Evil social networking temptress.

Oh how I wish I was a junkie

Ok so not the conventional opening to a blog but I'm sorry to admit that this controversial topic has been on my mind lately.

I don't dabble with drugs (really mother I don't). I'm much more a full pack of flyers saucers washed down with a cold glass of Dr Pepper kind of girl, but as of late I've noticed a recurring theme. People start using drugs and drop 4 dresses sizes. It's hard to not be slightly tempted. A minute up the nostrils and pounds of the waist..

Now before you start singing the Grange Hill classic "Just Say No", I am fully aware that illegal substances have their down sides. It's just that everytime I see a skinny girl in a skin tight leotard dress with not even the hint of an after dinner podge, it makes me wonder what it would be like to dabble.

I never will though. One unfortunate incident involving pills at a Halloween party and I was convinced the radiator was trying to kill me. Plus I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve and by this I mean breaking down in the middle of the frozen aisle of Iceland because my heavy basket was hurting my hands, a tin of baked beans had dropped out and I just couldn't take anymore. So me on a comedown doesn't seem like the prettiest (or most manageable) of situations.

And if my mother is reading this and frantically typing "how to help your druggie daughter" into Google then relax. The only white powder on my person at present is the sherbet from my dib dab. It's a mellow high.