6 reasons not to fuck him on the first date

#1   You actually quite like him. 3/5 times he will not message you because you fucked him on the first date. 2/5 times he will message you, but only to fuck again. And 1/5 times, he’ll message you because he actually quite likes you, too. That’s real maths.

#2   You’re sad and/or mad because of another boy, and tend to make rash choices instead of confronting your feelings. Lashing out your fanny is not the answer; you will feel bad about it the next day.

#3   You’re worried about other people calling you a ‘slut’. If you’re a grown ass woman and you are potentially not doing something because you’re scared of what other people are going to brand you, you are not grown enough to be doing it.

#4   You think you’re a ‘slut’. Just don’t do it. You won’t feel good about it.

#5   You’re doing it for validation. We’ve all been there. Done it because we can. Because our skinny jeans took 3 minutes to get over our thighs that morning. Because he wanted to fuck us anyway. Having sex with a man because he calls you ‘hot’ and ‘sexy’ will not make you feel hot and sexy the next morning. You need to be a confident woman who loves and owns herself and her body first.

#6   You’re shit-faced. Almost irrelevant because you won’t really remember at the time, will you? But if you are intoxicated to the point at which you won’t remember what decision you made or why you made it, you should probably refrain from allowing strangers to enter you. If he’s a good guy, he won’t have sex with you in such a state anyway.

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Men In Crates

As you all know, because I complain about it every other post, I don’t have a man in my life, so I don’t tend to spend a whole lot of time looking for gifts for men. But if I did, I would head straight to Man Crates.

HOW SUBTLE WAS THAT?

Fo’ realz, though, it’s pretty cool. Obviously I’d never heard of it before because I never know anything cool, but I was pleasantly surprised. Personally, I love shopping for boys’ clothes, but I know that that’s not always a present that they want, even if it’s something that they desperately need. Guys are categorically hard to shop for. It’s just a fact. So Man Crates does all the hard work for you! They have a selection of different themed crates which you can choose from, and they’re shipped with a crowbar to open them with! A CROWBAR! My faves were all the alcohol themed ones, surprise surprise, but especially the Personalised Whiskey Crate. I do have to say, though, I’m not a massive fan of their outright disregard for bows, ribbons, and fluff. Never underestimate the power of a well placed ribbon!

They have quite a few ‘survival’ themed crates (zombies, duh), and in that spirit, thought it would be fun to see what people would want to see in a crate if they were marooned on a desert island. I think we’ve all played this game, so you know the drill. This is what I would want, please!

#1  A man. A man would serve multiple purposes. There’s obviously sexy time, because, what else are you going to do on a desert island? But he’d also be useful for building shelter, protecting me from anything that might try to kill and eat me, finding food for us, and just generally taking care of me. I am not capable enough to be a feminist in this scenario; I would genuinely die within 24 hours. I think my top pick of man would have to be Thor – I know he’s not technically a ‘man’, or ‘real’, but no one’s really shipping me men in a crate either so we’ll just allow it. Plus, he’s a total babe. And I’m not just talking Chris Hemsworth in general here, I specifically want him as Thor. Okay? Good.

What. A. Babe.

#2  Alcohol. This would also serve multiple purposes, I believe. Primarily, it would be used for drinking because fuck being sober. But also as a disinfectant or as something flammable to get a fire going, perhaps? I would like red and white wine, bourbon, tequila, gin, and rum. Mixers are for pussies. Thanks.

#3  Ice cream. I’m not entirely sure how proficient Thor is in the hunter-gatherer way of life, though I imagine he’s pretty much amazing at everything, so I’m not too worried about starving. BUT YOU CAN’T HUNT OR GATHER ICE CREAM. In my opinion, ice cream is essentially it’s own food group and probably the greatest thing ever, so I couldn’t do without it. Flavours I would like include, but aren’t limited to: pistachio, lemon, coffee, and mint chocolate chip.

#4  Pen and paper. This counts as one and I would like an unlimited supply, please. Apart from having dirty, dirty sex with Thor, I imagine there is very little to do on this island. I would say that I’d use the time to start exercising and get really fit, but I think we all know that’s never going to happen. If anything, judging by my intended alcohol and ice cream consumption, I’m just gonna pack it on. I mean, what’s Thor gonna do? Cheat on me? GOOD LUCK WITH THAT, THOR. So, the simple pen and paper will provide endless entertainment. First off, I’d make a calendar to accurately log how long I’d been stranded with a literal god. Then it would be used for writing stories and making games. The usual.

#5  Tampons. Because this is the real world.

This list could have been a lot more exciting, but, as you can see, I’ve really gone down the practical route. Genuine essentials only!

What would you like to find in a washed up crate if you were marooned on a desert island?

The Fading Firefly

The fog had surpassed looking thick; it felt thick. I felt enveloped in it. I could barely make out the others in front of me, their signals twinkling faintly and sporadically. I dipped and looped, dancing gracefully – almost hauntingly – in the night sky. It was almost tragic that no one could see me. That wasn’t the point, though.

As it does, panic found it’s way to me, and grace quickly devolved into something more staccato. For just a moment, I was secretly glad that my light was hazy.

When the fog lifted, I waited with bated breath for the lights.

Only darkness waited patiently to greet me.

There were no more lights to follow; there was only space. I was once again enveloped.

Bright and solitary, my light shone out like beacon.

No one came to find me.

I started to fade.

First kisses don’t always end with a twist, Kesha

I don’t know about you guys, but the potential of a first kiss scares me shitless. I can’t read signals – I don’t know what I’m feeling, let alone what the other person’s feeling. People don’t always have a ‘move’ à la Ryan Gosling in Stupid Crazy Love, SO HOW ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO KNOW IF SOMEONE WANTS TO PUT THEIR MOUTH ON YOURS?

You wait for the ‘moment’.

I think that, often, those movie type magic moments are so fleeting that they’re really just hard to recognise, especially for a first kiss. When you know someone well, moments are there all the time – you can be smiling at each other on an escalator and know it’s the time to kiss. It’s not though, by the way, save that shit for private, you animals. Every first kiss is a new experience; every time is like exploring new territory. No, not literally the insides of their mouths, metaphorically, YOU ANIMALS. I think that unless you’re crazy confident, you can never guarantee that a kiss is on the cards, and this is why there’s no natural ‘moment’ for it. So, more often than not, the moment has to be fabricated. This can happen in a number of ways, some more standard and socially acceptable than others.

For the most part, no one really says anything before a first kiss, it’s usually all about ‘the eyes’. In my mind, I don’t even know how to make ‘the eyes’, but apparently I give them out all over the shop. Oh well. Boys are generally pretty good at picking up on this look, and that’s how they know they should go for it, especially in club type situations. After a date, or when you’re a tad more sober, however, it can be a little bit more difficult than that, and guys tend to come out with a line of sorts..

“So..” You know that awkward pause when you’re standing on the platform/at your bus stop after a great date but neither of you has really been explicit about your intentions? And you have 3 minutes until your appropriate mode of public transportation arrives and you’re not quite ready to say goodbye? And you don’t really want to leave without getting felt up a little bit? But no one’s doing anything? Yeah, that’s when one of you will be so bold as to say ‘So..’. And then you make out until TFL cockblocks you and it is glorious.

“Come here.”/’Get over here.” He says something to this effect, grabs you, and lays it on ya. This is probably my favourite, except for the split second of mild overwhelming panic when you’re not entirely sure what he wants you over there for. I enjoy that it is dominant without being forceful, and that the guy is confident enough to sense what you want and take charge of the situation. PERFECT.

“I really want to touch your face.” We’d been through three hours of drinks, a drunken walk home, and the whole of The Big Lebowski whilst lying on the bed together. No one had made a move, and to be honest with you, I was quite content with that. However, we had met on Tinder and pretty much planned for me to stay the night, so I knew a kiss was coming at some point. I just didn’t expect it to take so fucking long. I basically spent five hours wondering when the kid was going to make a move. We were lying really close on the bed, he kept touching my legs – it could have happened at any time. Eventually, he must have decided that the opening credits of Megamind really set the mood as he got closer and closer to my face and declared that he wanted to touch it. I should probably say that it wasn’t a completely random thing for him to come out with, as it is a well known fact that I freak out and smack anyone who touches my face, but, still. It was weird.

“You’re so awkward.” He wasn’t wrong, but that was definitely weird to say, right? So, we were sitting on his sofa (which he made an effort to let me know was from Heal’s) and I was downing my drink because he kept staring at me and I was hella unnerved by it. I told him to stop, he said his line, and then he just went for me. I was sitting with my knees up against my chest. I know I said I’m shit with signals, but I could not think of less inviting body language! How did he read my acute discomfort as his ‘moment’? He then later tricked me into his bedroom by saying he could hear his housemate at the door. His housemate was not at the door. I’m just that stupid.

How do you feel about first kisses? What’s the weirdest thing someone’s said to you before they’ve made their move?

Flirting with Fannies

A couple of weeks ago, I was so bored of boys that I switched my Tinder ‘discovery preference’ to females. No prior thought was put into the decision; I just did it. So, although I’ve never done more than kiss a girl, I do think they’re amazing. Girls are just better to look at. They have a way of being simultaneously delicate and strong, chaste and coquettish, and you can empathise with them in a way that you can’t with men. 

I think I went in to it with romanticised expectations of connecting on deeper levels and actually being able to have conversations with like-minded women, as opposed to wading through the shit that men tend to spew. I was wrong. So wrong.

Here are some things that I have learnt grossly generalised about the lady loving ladies of Tinder –

  • They are not afraid to show you their boobs, two messages in.
  • They are not afraid to ask to see your boobs, two messages in.
  • They love straight girls. Direct quote – ‘I love straight girls‘.
  • Asian girls are always shocked to find another Asian girl. Every. Single. Time.
  • They like to ask if you’ve ‘been with a lot of guys‘. 
  • They want to show you ‘how to lick pussy‘. Apparently it’s different when a girl does it.
  • They have no problem getting naked on those stupid Tinder ‘moments’ that ALL your matches can see for 24 hours. 
  • They want to sext. All. The. Time.
  • Tattoos and piercings are a big thing. 
  • 80% are super sporty.

Here is what I learnt about myself from flirting with fannies –

  • I am 100% more likely to show my boobs to a girl than a boy. Because that’s what happened.
  • I literally think eyebrows are everything. But I already knew that.
  • I’m essentially attracted to hotter versions of myself. Basically, Esmeralda.

This is what I think I look like when I put coloured contacts in. If only.

  • I have no problem telling anyone that I want to sit on their face.
  • I think sexting is really dull.
  • I would rather look at boobs than a dick pic.
  • I would rather look at a dick pic than a pussy pic.
  • Other people’s vaginas make me wonder about my own. 

Considering that two boys are currently trying to ask me out on dates and all the girls only want to talk about putting their tongues in unmentionable places, as opposed to actually doing it, girl-on-girl action does not seem to be on the cards. For now, at least. Disappointing, or what?

Ladies, have you experienced other girls on some kind of dating platform? Fellas, does your experience of girls differ greatly?

What’s in my bag?

So, because I’m super nosey and love watching these kinds of videos on Youtube, I thought I’d do my own rendition, regardless of how lame my stuff actually is!

My bag is a few years old, I don’t know the name of it, and I can’t find a link to it anywhere. Sorry, I tried. It’s from Anya Hindmarch (I obvs didn’t purchase it at full price), it’s huge, and it’s the softest, slouchiest leather you could imagine. Although it’s a super casual, easy to wear, day bag, I think the silver/grey/black studs easily take it through to the evening, and also give it a slightly edgier look, whilst still remaining feminine. 

I never really appreciated how difficult it must be to be a fashion blogger until I tried to take a picture of this fucking bag. It’s basically impossible. You need a tripod or you need someone to help you. And you need patience. And a nice background. I HAVE NONE OF THESE. I had to wait a whole week until I did something social (drinks, duh) and get someone to help me.

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 As you can see, the bag is basically a bucket. It has a zip pocket on one side for tampons/drugs/condoms etc, and one of those little phone pockets on the other. Now, I don’t know about you, but if you give me space, I will fill it. What you’re about to see is an alarmingly light day.imageMy oyster card and my purse are probably the most important items in my whole bag/life. For those ofyou who don’t know, oyster cards are how we use public transport in London, AND THEY TAKE ALL YOUR MONEY, EVER. Literally. Literally. That’s not a typo, I said it twice on purpose because LITERALLY. My purse is fairly old, and it’s from Next; it’s nothing fancy but I think it’s so cute! Pastels and ice cream shades are always a win if you ask me. It never has any money in it, but it does have a shit load of cards. So many cards, in fact, that a friend asked me in the middle of Nando’s why I have so many. I said it was a girl thing; is it?

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My next most valuable item is probably my 1st generation iPod Touch. I got it on my 18th birthday, five and a half years ago. I clearly take care of my shit. It hasn’t been updated in about a year and sometimes it refuses to charge, or just turns itself off for no reason and won’t turn on again, but I couldn’t survive the city without it.

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If you couldn’t tell by how basic this blog is, I’m not the most technologically savvy. So I have a physical diary which I lug around with me and write shit down in, instead of just keeping everything on my phone like every other person. It’s from Paperchase and I buy refill packets for it every year. Yes, I am about 40. I also have a little notebook that I carry around, to write notes in, naturally. It’s from a discount homeware store somewhere in North London, and I thought it was cute and small enough to fit in every single one of my bags. It reads,“She woke up and realised she had forgotten the definition of the word ‘impossible’. She decided it must not have been that important”. I wish I could say that this was me all over, but I have a horribly defeatist attitude. I think of this quote as something to aspire to.

image That week’s issue of Stylist. Should I be watching Scandal? Let me know!image

I have a lot of keys. This isn’t even all the keys I have. These were just the ones swimming around in there. Property management = keys.imageSo, I’m not really someone who does touch-ups. I slap stuff on before I go out, and then it’s out of my hands. There’s always an assortment of products at the bottom of my bag, though – I am a girl, after all! 

  • Korres Lip Butter in Guava – any kind of lip balm is a handbag essential, and this one is lovely. It smells amazing and it’s so buttery smooth with Shea butter that it applies like a dream. The range of balms is actually tinted, but Guava is marketed as clear. It’s not the cheapest balm out there, at £8.00 a pot, but sometimes a little luxury is nice.
  • Maybelline Colorsensational Shine Gloss in 150 Shock Pink – I don’t think this picture does justice to how bright this pink actually is. So I was shocked (get it?) when I realised how wearable it really is. Although it’s super pigmented, it doesn’t look like too much on the lips, even during the day! It’s a little on the sticky side, so your hair will probably get stuck in it multiple times during the first hour after application, but it lasts on the lips a pretty decent amount of time! I definitely recommend it. Let me know if you’ve tried any other shades, too!
  • Revlon Colorburst Matte Balm in Showyy’all know I love this
  • L’Occitane Hand Cream – is there anyone who hasn’t had one of these samples? Also, if you don’t keep hand cream in your bag, start. 
  • Marc Jacobs’ Daisy – this is the original Daisy, and in my opinion, definitely the best. I’m not even going to try to explain the notes and shit in it, but it’s really lovely, trust me. Give me a sniff next time you see me, or, alternatively, go to a store like a normal person. 
  • E.L.F Mineral Lipstick in Natural Nymph – this is nice. It’s not amazing, but it’s nice. It doesn’t come off too chalky and it doesn’t have that ‘concealer lips’ look either. I bought it so I wouldn’t use up my MAC Blankety (which is in the Amplified formula and just so beautifully creamy, btw) so quickly. I can’t say I reach for it all that often, but I do like it, and it’s useful to have in the bag just in case!

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You can’t really not carry any water with you these days; London is in heat. It’s gross. And no one wants to be the bellend that faints on the tube and ruins it for everyone. CARRY WATER, FOOLS. If you didn’t know, I eat a lot. I’m always hungry. I think it’s because I’m still growing, and my mother agrees that I am indeed growing.. sideways. Bitch. So I tend to carry some kind of cereal bar or small snack around with me because fuck wasting £3 on a measly amount of food when I could spend that on nail polish. These are Belvita Chocolate Chip Breakfast Biscuits and they are yummy. Gum is essential, but this gum is shit. I bought it at an U-Bahn station in Berlin because I had run out. Ignore it, it’s not even worth seeing.
imageI hope you enjoyed this little peek into the life I carry around with me, you nosey fuck. There’s no tampons in there because I haven’t had sex in a lifetime, and therefore have the most regular cycle known to woman-kind. No surprise periods for me! It’s bitter-sweet, really. 

Is there anything vital you think I’m missing? Do you think I’m packing light or are they going to make me open my suitcase at check-in? 

Berlin, tampons, and handshakes

If you follow me on Twitter (do it), or paid attention to previous posts, you may know that I have family in Berlin and have just been to visit them for 10 gloriously tiring days. Although my time there is mainly spent doing the school run, going to playgrounds (they have sand, it’s cool), eating ice cream, playing with Lego and yelling at small children, I occasionally also manage to get out. I am fully aware that I in no way take advantage of being in probably one of the best cities ever to go out in, and I know it’s a pathetic excuse, but those kids are fucking draining. Every time I feel like I want a baby, I just think of them and my tubes literally try to tie themselves.

Don’t tell their parents I said that.

Anyway.. 

A trip to Berlin wouldn’t be complete without heading back to Prenzlauer Berg. And a trip to Prenzlauer Berg wouldn’t be complete without heading back to Duncker Club to make me feel like I was 16 again. 

Duncker is dark and grimey and alternative and gothic. To me, now, this is a logistical nightmare. All my band t-shirts have been relegated to pyjama status and I enjoy wearing big earrings and a bold lip out. I left the apartment in denim shorts, a plain black t-shirt and flats, and my uncle told me that I was overdressed. Fucking Duncker. When I was 16-18, I didn’t wear make up and I dressed so grungey that I fit in perfectly there, but I have evolved since then, as people do. My other issue is this: how the fuck do you dance to that kind of music? I tend to just sit the fuck down, sway a little, and drum my hands on my thighs. THAT’S NOT A NIGHT OUT.

I hadn’t been to Duncker for about four years, and I really didn’t want to go. Throw in that it was, like, a million degrees that night and I had just started my period and a four year old had told me that I would never have a boyfriend like John Smith, it’s safe to say that I was in a dark place. But, it was our last night in town and my sister really wanted to go out. What a bitch. So I sucked it up and we set off to meet The Travelling Welshman at the club.

Basically, Duncker sucked. The band sucked and drove everyone out. They sounded like they were 15 and playing in their bedroom, though their abundance of facial hair signified otherwise. I felt a little bit bad for them to be honest, but I felt even worse about the fact that I was sweating out of my fanny. It was time to leave. 

We ended up walking ten minutes to the Welshman’s apartment so that we could pee, he could roll a joint, and I could have horrendous flashbacks of losing my virginity (not to him) in his apartment. When I went to the bathroom, though, I noticed that he had a little dish-like bowl full of assorted tampons and pantyliners. Weird, right? I came out and asked him if he had a steady female night-time companion who kept them there, or he just kept them there for lady visitors to borrow. The answer was the latter. That’s weird, right?! My first point was that it made him look like he had a girlfriend, that girls he brought back would definitely think he had a girlfriend. He didn’t care about that. My second point was that it’s just weird. Like, I appreciate it when a guy has shit like face wipes or something that I can take my make up off with if I’m staying over, and I get that women aren’t always armed with an emergency tampon in their bag and it’s useful and considerate to have – but to have it out on display? WEIRD! What do you think? Let me know!

So, anyway, we ended up at Kaffe Burger, which always tends to be a good night. It’s a pretty well known place – Russian Disco, and that – so it tends to attract a lot of expats and tourists. Again, it’s crazy casual, and fairly run down, but nowhere near as grimey as Duncker Club. Due to said large number of expats – which Berlin is literally so full of, by the way – I didn’t have to wait more than 30 seconds alone at the bar holding my vodka cranberry and my sister’s Campari and orange (weird, right?) before an American decided that my resting bitch face wasn’t going to deter him from striking up a conversation.

He was really lovely. He was 32 and a freelance animator. He’d moved to Berlin for a girl (like literally half of the men there), and ended up staying for 7 years. He was like a taller, slightly darker version of Donald Glover with the stupid hipster glasses and so much energy I couldn’t keep up. I genuinely enjoyed talking to him; he was funny and interesting and attentive. He bought me drinks and would help me look for my sister when I got worried that I hadn’t seen her in a while. He told me that he really liked me – what do you say to that? – and that he wanted to kiss me. Naturally, I laughed and downed my drink. I told him that I needed to talk to my sister and the Welshman as it was miraculously two hours later and 4am, and I needed to check when hometime was. I came back and told him that I had to go, and gave him a handshake. A HANDSHAKE. That’s not a euphemism, either.

Like I said, he was really lovely; I just didn’t fancy him. I didn’t want to kiss someone just for the sake of kissing someone. Had I been more drunk, I probably would have been all over it, though. And, considering I remember next to nothing about the boy who fingered me on the streets of Schöneberg the week before, I was more than happy to be sober enough to make this choice.

Am I growing up?