The Changes a Year Can Bring

It has, shamefully, been very nearly a year since I last committed anything to blog...

There has been a lot of change.
But some things never do.

I just found a notebook with scribblings I wrote over a year ago, when I saw an article about the sexual connotations of a cookery writer being photographed covered in caramel, and they all still ring true..

" I have had a realisation.
In as much as some people can be described as a 'Foodie', I, Birdgirl, am a Sexie.
My sin of gluttony, my weakness for excess does not lie in the food cupboard as for some sensual people, but purely between the sheets (or anywhere else) - in sex.
And I don't think it's purely down to lust -though, naturally, that plays its part - but a deep-seated fascination and curiosity about sex. Not just wanting it but wanting more, now, faster, slower, harder, different.
Wanting to explore it, to understand it. To get under the skin of it.
And as much as a foodie still under their desire for fine flavour needs food as fuel to survive, purely for nourishment, so I need sex.
And, just as a foodie may occassionaly have to fall back on - either for comfort, convienience or in desperate need - a basic food such as baked beans on toast, such will I crave or rely on missionary or the quick touch of a vibrator to get me through.
But I quest, search out, require more.
Be it romantic, sensual, gentle, fumbling or hard fucking, I want to experience it all, have a knowledge of all the delights sex can offer me, not limit my palete to one flavour but open it up to the whole cacophony of sensual pleasures to be had.

          Why sample one delight when I could have many?
          I want to experience the feel, the taste, the gasp of many lovers.

 What is a meal if made of one ingredient? "

Since I wrote this, and since I last blogged, I have been doing my best to live up to my libido's quest. There are many sexy stories I could tell, which, rather than being blogged have been emailed - in detail - to Scar. It's probably time I outed these sordid emails of my own volition before they are recounted back to me by a 3rd party, having recently discovered that my antics have been shared amongst her colleagues, and I'm well known to them, under the pseudonym of 'sex-friend'. Joys. (And thank you, Scar.)



But one lesson I can pass on for now - when life offers you dessert, don't question it. The answer should always be 'fuck yes'. And there is always room for seconds.

On Beauty and comparing legs.

I cannot compete with the ones who are fitter.
The ones with lean limbs, hips that little bit slimmer.
The ones with tanned skin and the pearly white grins
the ones wearing skirts so short that it skims
that place that unites us, yet makes us compete
for the attention of men who'll treat us like meat.
Just a dish on the menu - you want leg, or the breast?
For I know that my womanhood can't match up to the rest.
I'm not like the pictures you see on the bus
or the silk legged teenagers that scream look at us!
I'm not of the type that wants to wear heels,
or lie about my age with chemical peels.
But I want just for once to feel like I fit,
go out with no makeup and not look like shit.
Wear tights that aren't as opaque as a glove
to the scars on my legs feel not hatred but love
feel a vague sense of pride in this body of mine,
instead of the shame that I feel all the time.
The shame that no matter what I do I can't match
halfway up to the women who're seen as a catch
The ones who don't need to make love in the dark
The ones with smooth skin that bears not a mark.
Not a scar, not a vein, not a pimple or bruise,
the signs of beautiful women; And besides them, I lose.

Oh hai, I done a poem.

Months ago, I mean months and months and months ago, I heard a poet called Hollie McNish on Radio 4.
I liked her. It reminded me I like poetry a lot, though I never read it.
I got the chance to see her the other day, in an intimate scratch session for mum's with babies while she works through her latest project of turning her album 'push kick' into a theatrical piece about motherhood. I felt like a total fraud being there, and took the toddler (and my boss) as cover for being the only non-mum in the room.
But, she and the performance poet I saw later in the night whilst working on a cabaret show (sexy burlesque dancers, then the poet made everyone cringe with works about sex addiction, depression and wanking - the last line of which was apparently 'It takes two to tango, but only one to wank'....I say apparently, because I'd actually left the room by that point to cringe in privacy) inspired me to start writing things again myself. Once you're in that lyrical flowing language mindset, it's hard to shake off, and I've been trying to rhyme and measure my timing whilst talking on the phone ever since.
But, here are some things that I started working on, which need work, but were a quick off the cuff reaction at midnight last night. They work better spoken, and I may upload audio at some point.

Things to do someday

Every night when I sleep,
I write a list of things 'to do'
someday.
And when I wake, they're not done.
When I work, when I play,
if I try hard all day,
they're not done.
These lists, theses schemes, my plans and dreams,
they're waiting for me, someday
some magical time
when I'm free, when my time is for me,
someday.
When I'm not running behind,
trying to keep up with the daily grind,
the list will diminish.
But I can't see the day when I'll be close to finish
For any item ticked of is replaced in a flash
by three or more other things waiting for me to be free.
Someday.
Someday I'll work through the things to be done,
some which have waited since 2001
And then I'll be free. Free of the list that needs my attention
And then I'll pause to consider
if life would be better
without the hope and the waiting, the anticipation
of the goals yet to score.
And then I think I'll add more.
Yes. Someday,
I'll write a list of the things to add
to the list of the things that I'd like to achieve,
though right now I find it hard to believe, that
someday
I'll even find the precious time to.
To write this list, of things, 'to do'.

The people I (probably) won't be dating: Part 2. The internet.

So, I'm back on the internetty shelf.

'Dating'.

By the virtue of being female and not looking like an utter troll, I'm having to clear out my inbox of dating site messages 200 at a time.
Unfortunately, only about 2% are worth reading beyond the first sentence - if there IS more than one sentence that is, as an unsurprising amount of emails are one-line wonders from utterly unsuitable men, this despite me adding to my profile that I'm a fan of intellect, can be a grammar nazi, and

 sorry, I don't respond well to messages in text-speak, or ones that start (and finish) with 'hi babe wanna chat'....EDIT: No punctuation, NO response. 

 still. There they are. Rolling in. Without punctuation. Here's some examples of the men who due to their opening gambit, I shall not be touching with a bargepole. Unless possibly, the bargepole is on fire, and they're doused in petrol.
And yes, these are the emails IN THEIR ENTIRETY.

1. hi their (this guy sent me the same message twice in 2 days. Didn't pause to consider grammar either time.)
2. Hey how you doing? Your right you are a walking attraction with those dredz! But i sopose it what makes you unquie :) (Spelling? What now? Spelling?)
3. Raaaaaaaaaaaaar!
4. Duck herding sounds like fun quak quak quak lol have you ever played the duck song game? You have to quak a song and the other person has to guess the song sounds rubbish but is super fun :)  (OK, so, I may have opened myself up to oddballs by suggesting duckherding as a date, but seriously people, PUNCTUATE! And never LOL at me.)
5. Hey :)
   Im Ant x (hi. I'm unimpressed.)
6. love ur look
7. hay hi fancy a chat sometime, xxxxxxxxxx  (from a man dressed as a sexy woman in a serious way. The cross dressing tempted me, I have to be honest. But my email standards won.)
8. wow u so sexy!!!
9. Its really good picture of yours, just wondering Is that your real hair? (no, clearly I stole it.)
10. Hey :o) You sound fun. Are you into music?x (oh, ffs.)
11. hi how are you how is your week going x (better before your email)
12.  like u r style, your a hippy babe right (is that even a sentence, or just words in a line?)
13. Impressed about your pics .
    Creative with some ink , would you let me practice my tattoo skills on you? x (er, no?)
    
14. Morning me cute lady xxx hws ur day going on so far xx had a lill peek on ur profile n i ws jst wandering if u wld mind if i do ask u on a date me cute lady xx :-) xxx (yes, I would mind. Hugely. Now run away before I fetch the guard.)
15. Nice girl :) (Idiot boy. *faceplant*)
16. Hey (.........?.............)
17. I'm not going to lie I skim read most of it but i did like the first 5 lines and the conversation at the end. (....????.... seriously? You expect me to be interested?)
18. hey hey how you?xx
19. u a hippy chick lov the look proper rock chic xxxxxxxxxxxx
20. Hey babe, your beautiful... i was wondering if your into black guys? cause id love to get to know you xxx (....this one I actually replied to...... 

    "I'm not into guys who make an issue of their race. It's  skin. I like men. I don't care about brown/blonde hair, or  blue or green eyes. why would I care how much melanin is in  someone's skin? If you're only interested because I'm a 'white' girl....  forget it.".......................funnily enough, he didn't reply...)

There were more, but everytime I sign on to the site to go through my old messages (most of which got the delete button halfway through....) I get 5 new messages come in, and frankly, I have enough to handle right now... if Mr.Right is currently trying to get in touch... he'll have to wait. I have a list of 5 Mr.He-might-be-ok's to thoroughly vet before I go through anymore!


The vetting process is now incredibly important, having gone on a spontaneous date without chatting to the guy first the other day.
Amongst other things, he....

•  sang me the Tigger song (with a lisp, and all the actions, and not in an ironic way)
• referred to himself in the 3rd person (ie. "Jasons' don't like that")
• tried to touch my face repeatedly having just been told I have a phobia of face touching.

When I've recovered from my 2 weeks of dating 6 people simultaneously, I shall blog the best (and worst) bits of it. Until then, I'm going to sleep.
And leave you with this email I received from a 'large' gentleman who's picture made me shudder (not in a good way....

that is one amazing picture,i wanna live in that picture,marry it and rais a family of tiny pictures

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!

On why I'm still single....

Earlier today, I had the following conversation with the 5 year old I look after.
She was having lunch while her toddler sister was sleeping, I was picking play-doh out of my hair and peeling the hello kitty stickers off my clothes.


'Do you have any boyfriends?'

'Erm, well, do you think I have a boyfriend?'

'*thinks very hard* No, I don't think you do.'

'*nods sagely* Indeed. *then, (very much perplexed myself...).* why do you think I don't ever have a boyfriend?'

'I think you don't have one because you have me.'

'That much is probably true sweetie, that much is probably true.'



DOUBLE FACEPALM

Jokes from the riots my Mum didn't appreciate...

Hopefully this is actually making some kind of impact on the world news, not just the UK. Although I don't begin to rate the current mindless violence and thuggery on the same page let alone scale as the famines, world disasters and looming financial ruin facing the world, London is in the midst of a meltdown.
We have riots.
High streets (including my local one) have been smashed, looted, and set on fire. As have train stations, houses, cars, buses.....

I came close to rioting myself when I travelled an hour across London yesterday to attend a long booked appointment with the laser hair removal people to find the entire town on lock-down and patrolled by police, without so much as a text from the clinic to advise me all bookings we off. I mean honestly. Even in the midst of a riot, I expect general politeness and decency from the services I'm paying through the nose for.

While London had merry bonfires, I had my mum 200miles away texting and calling in panic every 10 minutes convinced that, as a Londoner, I was currently being carried off into the night by a gang of youths. (Or, even more of an affront to her delicate sensibilities, I may have got caught up in it and was currently kicking a policeman in the shins with my size 6 DMs.)

So, I get messages like this, received while I was (attempting) to walk to a bar with my boss and her stepdaughter for a girls night out....

"Just seen the 10pm news, rioting is happening in Clapham now. Hope you're home safe..... are you? xx"

(ye gods... how does she always know when I'm not at home?!)

As a Brit, and a firm believer in deflective wit, dry, dark humour, making light of sticky situations, and never admitting to fear or true emotion, I stand by my decision to never give her a straight answer or act like a responsible adult when replying to her texts....


"yes, know what's happening*, but keep me posted on the latest - we only have internet, no TV.... Unless we go down the road and nick one. x"

(*because a group of men with hoods up just ran past dragging metal bars on the ground)

She didn't find it amusing.
I sent her a reassuring message later on too:

"All's good here. Can't talk, battery dying on phone. ...it got shot by the police, innit."

Again. Apparently making light of the subject is not well received 200miles away.
Meanwhile, half a mile down the road where destruction hit last night, shops emptied and trashed, several homes were gutted by fire (and a fancy dress shop... seriously... who targets a fancy dress shop?! Unless the riots are a front for people with clown phobias to rid the world of their nemeses) all the locals have got up, dusted themselves off, and picked up dustpans and brushes to tidy up the mess left behind.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is British grit. Blitz spirit.

And although I don't necessarily agree with the way things are being dealt with by the 'authorities', this following internet find just made me spit out my tea through my nose:

I realise I'm lucky- no one I know has been hurt, made homeless or suffered anything more than seriously annoying road closures as yet, but, in the words of Monty Python, always look on the bright side of life.

I am.....

tired.
Out of patience.
Out of cash.
Out of my mind.
I am...... done in.

Above all, I am totally sick of being so hopelessly single - somehow it's come as a bit of a shock to me that I would ever be on the shelf like this - I've been pretty much in relationships or being strongly petitioned to be in one since I was 15.
Flirting is even harder in an already tricky city, when you're generally chained to a buggy when out and about.
Like the guy I saw twice today, who checked me out in a long and hard over-the-shoulder-stand-still-to-look way, twice, while I had two children in tow. How can I respond to that?! It's not as though I can stop the kids and drag them back 200yards and go 'hiiii..... they're not mine, you know. Please. Date me.'
Still. It might be worth my while getting a T-shirt printed with words to that effect.

Thus disillusioned with my eternal spinster status, I actually signed back up to the dating site..

I got this far into my profile....

London can be an isolating place when you're single.
I know, I was warned, I should have listened.
Foolishly, I arrived in London for work without having packed a man in my luggage, and am now stuck in the single-girl-in-London-loop where I work too hard and meet too few!
Seeing as my downtime is mainly spent catching up on work and friends on the internet, it makes sense to utilise it for the hopeful expansion in my dating life too, and so, here I am.
I am...
A girl
A dreamer
Hopelessly excitable about pointless things
Stubborn & feisty, but hate confrontation
Shy but flamboyant
Totally confused by simple things
Impressed by conversation, good manners and intellect
Unimpressed by money, big muscles, and heavy drinking
I hate making decisions.
And I get myself in trouble for being brutally honest.
Would like to meet someone...
who thinks outside the box
who can keep me grounded

....and realised it sounded more like a blog post in the making than anything a prospective mate might read or respond to. Although... the kind of person I would like to have about would of course be utterly charmed by the way I write, and my description, but ultimately, on the internet, (and from experience, particularly this site) the men checking you out rarely have more to say then 'hi you look nice want to chat xxxx' GAH.

Also, as ever, I found myself on the verge of signing up for dates when I'm about to leave for 10days to work at a festival in deepest darkest countryside, which renders it beyond the utterly useless idea it already was.

And so, I am, again, single and without the time, cash or energy to even try doing anything about it.