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.


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?


Let’s talk progress

It’s March, guys. MARCH.

Yes, I am one of those girls who says, ‘OMG, WHERE HAS THE TIME GONE?!’

Just let me have it. Please.

So, if you remember, before 2014 hit, I made a small list of things that I would like to leave behind in 2013. I won’t lie – I’ve not done very well. Like, at all. Here we go..

  1. W – basically, we’re friends again. Just friends, though; no shagging. I know what you’re thinking – what a fucking retard – and you’re probably right. I really hope not,  though. Things feel different this time. I wouldn’t say he’s changed, he’s just stopped lying. Maybe I’m an idiot to believe that, but I’ve had no reason not to. I’m still fairly wary but every day it gets a little bit better. I feel like we’re real friends now; we go for brunch, hit up museums, have drinks – real friend shit. Sure, we have a lot of ‘history’ and it gets dredged up a lot, but we also joke about being soulmate friends and how neither of us will find anyone better. Most importantly, though, we send each other voice notes singing Frozen lyrics – real friend shit. I’ll admit it, it’s a weird friendship and sometimes I don’t really understand it, but it’s so easy. It’s always been easy. I won’t say I think he’s a better person now than he was, but I do feel like he’s better to me. I’m not going to say any more about him as he’s vain as fuck and loves reading about himself too much, but for now, I’m happy we’re in each other’s lives.

    It’s verging on sad how much we love it

  2. Cake – exclude birthday cake and I’ve still done pretty badly. A few days into the year I had a dilemma – do muffins count as cakes? After asking around and being told that they in fact do, I refrained from eating the BLUEBERRY muffins for breakfast. Then the next morning rolled around and that restraint flew out the window. Whoops. I also ate some kind of cake bar which I didn’t think counted, but apparently did. And, I’ll just say it – I ate regular cake, too. I’m weak. Shut up.
  3. Vomming – I’ve actually stuck to this one! Despite having been drunk off my face multiple times since the New Year, I’ve managed to keep it under control. Mornings after are significantly better when you’re not being judged and reprimanded. I’ve really enjoyed being a (semi)responsible drinker – I’ve not done anything I’ve regretted which is boring refreshing.

    I no longer look like this

  4. Unsafe sex – you have to have sex to have safe sex. I don’t want to talk about it. Shut up.
  5. Unemployment – so, I went back to nannying for a while. Not for the hilarious and boisterous little boy that I used to look after, but for a nightmare incarnated in a four year old girl. I have multiple small cousins and am around children all the time yet I have literally never known anyone to cry so much. Ever. I understand kids are attached to their mothers, I do, but when she’s IN THE SAME HOUSE, there’s no reason to cry out for her. I could barely take her outside as she’d cry her heart out in the middle of the street and I’d worry that someone would think I’d kidnapped her. She cried so hard I thought she’d hurt herself. The kid had so much attitude as well, and I shit you not, she even hit me. I did not get paid enough for that shit. As for ‘real’ work, the situation is dire, guys. You are more than welcome to give me a job. Please.

How has the new year been going for you? Are you happy with 2014 so far? What would you like to change this month?

The Four Week Bucket List – Results

So my four weeks have passed and I reached none of the goals outlined here. Before I tally everything up, you can see what I have done here and here, and I’ll tell you about the last date I went on.

I call this one the boy because, at the tender age of 20, that’s what he is. I was somewhat tentative about meeting him but he had good chat so I thought why not? When we met at King’s Cross I instantly thought he had a young face. Then he spoke. Brilliant. He had a young voice, too. But he was cute so off we headed for coffee. We sat down and I asked him what he wanted. He asked why I was offering to treat him. I deflected the question as I didn’t want to tell him it was essentially because he was a child and I couldn’t let him buy me anything. When I came back with our drinks, the first thing he said to me was

You have really long legs

I was so in there. Coffee was nice; we chatted and flirted for a couple of hours until he said that I should come back to his. I countered with suggesting we go to a museum instead. This was quickly shot down. He grabbed my hand, pulled me up, picked up my jacket and lead me towards the door. How could I say no to that?

Being 20, he is still a student. But he’s currently on a placement year, though still living in a student house and living like 20 year olds do. After searching his kitchen for something to drink, he found a bottle of Sours at the back of a cupboard with no lid on it. He handed me the bottle.

I’m an adult. I can’t drink that.

Bloody youths.

We ended up watching Supersize Me. Least sexy movie ever. Obviously my super sexiness countered this though and he was all over me. So the boy is super fit. Like his body is just solid. He does one arm pull-ups like Arrow. LIKE GREEN ARROW! If that means nothing to you, you’re lame. So I was a little self concious about getting naked – think Emma Stone telling Ryan Gosling it’s like he’s photoshopped in Crazy, Stupid, Love, except neither of us are that hot.

in my wet dreams

Plus, I didn’t want to sleep with him after having slept with the American a couple of days before. He was having none of that, though. The boy was strong. And rough. And super dominant. He backed me into a corner and pinned my arms above my head, demanding I do as he say and take off my jumper. Now, I think of myself as a strong girl; I can hold my own. But the boy had me. He picked me up, threw me around, pulled my hair, bruised the shit out of my torso, and it was crazy hot. The boy was a man. Naturally, things started to escalate. I then so delightfully put a stop to them by announcing that I needed to pee. He was thrilled.

Upon my return we decided to have dinner. Having already looked around his kitchen I knew the options weren’t going to be great. I don’t want to give much attention to this part of the evening. He made me egg fried rice. Enough said.

After dinner we quickly picked up where we had left off. No surprise there. But he had no condoms. I was somehow super sensible and restrained and didn’t have sex with him. Huge surprise there – even I was shocked at myself! Honestly, I went into the date not expecting much, but I had a really good time. He’s still a kid; he exudes that youthful flippancy and indifference that’s just tiring once you’ve grown out of it, but he’s pretty cool. He earned a reply when he messaged me the next day, and we are still talking.

So! Let’s evaluate the past four weeks, shall we? Here’s what I set out to do, and what I did do is in bold:

  • ten dates – went on seven
  • not pussy out of talking to cute boys at bars (post coming shortly) – every time I was at a bar I was already on a date! Fail
  • bang two new people – banged one, although could have easily been more
  • learn how to do the splits – didn’t even try
  • dance more – every day in my room, bitches
  • have one last incurable hangover – haven’t been out once! Tragic
  • sort my shit out – not even a little bit 

As you can see, I wasn’t that successful. And now I am 23 and super responsible and dignified. We’re going out for my birthday tonight. I’m obviously not going to embarrass myself in any way and will execute the night with shit loads of modesty and grace. Watch this space.

23 in slightly more depth, but not much

23 was nice and simple. Woke up to a big Disney princesses balloon because I’m such a grown up

Came down, had breakfast and opened some presents.

Went for lunch and saw the new Thor movie. Chris Hemsworth is a babe.

Had dinner with the fam. Nodded politely at requests to get my life together. Shook my head violently when told I should start husband hunting. Asians. Pah.

Ate cake. Oreo cake. It was amazing. I could have jizzed my pants.

Drank too much wine. Ended up having this conversation:

Me – I thought you would have said happy birthday

W – Didn’t know it was your birthday

Happy birthday

Me – [balloon emoji]

That was lame

I didn’t know what to say

W – Cunt is what  you usually say

And then I sent a picture of my birthday cake. What is wrong with me?

Drank some more wine. Fell asleep on the sofa. I’ve a pretty good idea what 23’s gonna look like

The Four Week Buck List – Second Update

So another 10 days have passed and I have accomplished shit loads very little. To see what I’ve already managed, click here, and to see what I set out to do, click here.

To be fair, I was in Berlin for five of those days. Not hunting for Aryan cock, but on a wholesome, family trip looking after my adorable little cousins. That’s not to say, however, that family trips to Berlin haven’t turned into complete and utter debauchery in the past, but that’s another story for another time, maybe. Berlin was great. It always is. The boys (my cousins) were horrendously naughty but have such butter wouldn’t melt faces that they could get away with murder. I got a rash on my face because the 5 year old thinks it’s hilarious to lick instead of kiss; I got scratches on my cheeks and chest and an almost bald spot because the 7 month old likes to grab and pull on everything; and I got sick. In fact, we all got sick.

At first it was just my sister. She was whining and complaining all evening but I ignored it as she has a strong tendency to be something of a drama queen. Next thing I know, she’s vomming in the bathroom and eloquently describing how diarrhoea is like having a wee out of your bum. An hour or so later, my aunt gets it. Around 10pm, the 3 year old wakes up with it. We think back and realise the 7 month old may have had it. I start freaking out. These are not good odds. I decide that I am strong willed and I refuse to get it. Mind over matter. ‘Move your big toe’ and all that jazz (we can only be friends if you get that reference, by the way). 

So, with the apartment becoming more and more like The Walking Dead, I shut myself away with the 5 year old – who slept soundly through all the commotion, by the way. The kids’ room is really cool. They have this thing called ‘the high bed’. It’s basically another level built into the room where the 5 year old sleeps. It has a play area and loads of cool stuff up there, but the steps are sketch as fuck if you’re anything more than 3 feet tall. But being cocky and confident that I was stronger than any bug, I slept up there anyway. Obviously, around 3am, it came for me. With one hand over my mouth I clambered my way across the high bed – thank fuck for night lights – and then tried to slide down the stairs on my arse. I leapt over the 5 year old in the pull out bed I should have been sleeping in and legged it to the bathroom. Of course I was a fraction too late. Brilliant. There was sick everywhere. In my hands, in my hair, all over the loo, on the walls and on the floor. Just brilliant. After cleaning, I go back to bed. Obviously the high bed is out of the question, and because I’m so loving and want to give him the best chance of not getting sick, I steer clear of the pull out with the 5 year old. This leaves the 3 year old’s bed. Just to be clear, it’s not just a bed that the 3 year old sleeps in, it’s made for 3 year olds. It can’t be more than 4 feet long. I’m 5’8″. Fuck my life. 

The next morning, the 5 year old gets sent to school to keep away from all those infected. An hour later, we get a call saying he was sick as soon as he got off the school bus. What a trip. 

Anyway, I’m back in London and better now, so things are back on track. I had a third date with the American the other day, so obviously I slept with him. He bought me Smarties, Skittles, and Penguins – how could I not? It was great. Casual and easy. No awkward fumbling. Watched episodes of It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia naked and eating Skittles in between rounds. Perfect. I do have two issues, though –

  1. He wants me on top all the time. Don’t get me wrong, I like it up there, but not the whole time. Oh, you want to switch positions? Great! Oh, reverse cowgirl? That’s still me on top. Fucker. But, when I am bouncing about up there, I can see Big Ben and the London Eye out of his window, so I don’t mind too much.
  2. He talks too much. Anyone who knows me knows that I’m not the biggest talker. This extends to sex. I don’t mind a bit of dirty talk, but if you ask me a question mid-thrust, I’m not going to answer. And then it’s just awkward; you’ll think I’m not having fun and I’ll want to gag you. The same goes for narrating what’s going on. You don’t need to. I’m right there with you doing it. It’s not a documentary and you’re not David Attenborough. I’m not going to lie, I did tell him to stop talking a couple of times and swiftly redirected his mouth to much better use. 

So, as you can see, a lot of the list is yet to be completed. My birthday is a week away. Wish me luck!

A Little Update

I finished my MSc two weeks ago and life has since slowed down significantly. Having no day to day purpose has definitely taken it’s toll on me. Looking for jobs when you still have no idea what it is you want to do is a depressing, uphill struggle. To think that I’ve only been in this situation for two weeks, and it could easily go on to be two months is more than I can bare. But, like I said, it’s only been two weeks; I’m not a lost cause yet. And as it’s only been two weeks, I’m not quite ready to write about the struggles of unemployment just yet.

Life hasn’t been all doom and gloom, though. I’ve managed to catch up with all the friends I neglected whilst working on my thesis, go to a gig, and spend time with my family. It’s been nice.

Let’s talk about the gig first. I saw James Blake at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire last week and he was literally incredible. The boy has an amazing voice. It sounds no different to how it does on his album. He played a good mixture of old and new songs, and his gorgeous cover of Joni Mitchell’s ‘A Case of You‘ (my favourite). I had shivers the entire time. What a babe.

I had gone with one of my best friends. He’s outgoing and crazy and I love him to pieces, but that night he was a hilarious mess. After a lot of wine and shots, he started asking all the couples (the place was filled with couples!) around us if they had done anal. When they said no, he started to preach. Why are the men in my life such active anal advocates?! It was inappropriate, but hilarious and a great night nonetheless.

One of the highlights of the fortnight would definitely be the little housemates reunion I had with the girls I lived with during my undergrad. We started the day brunching at My Old Dutch, because pancakes are obviously the best way to start the day. We had a slight mare over whether we should go for sweet or savoury ones, and as I am the most indecisive person on the planet, slight mare turned into huge mare. After much deliberation, I eventually settled on the savoury ‘Greek’ pancake. It was good, but I should have stuck to my usual apple and cinnamon. It comes with ice cream, after all.

After brunch we headed on down to The British Museum – who doesn’t love a free, indoor activity when it’s forecast to rain?! The British Museum is definitely my favourite, probably because it’s all rather anthropological – it even houses The Anthropology Library and Research Centre for the Royal Anthropological Institute! However, we spent little time looking at any ethnographic artifacts or learning about any cultures. Instead we mainly moved from room to room, corner to corner, gossiping about sex and boys. So unfortunately I came away with no great new knowledge to relay back to you all, but it was fun nonetheless.

We spent the rest of the day chatting over coffee, dinner, and drinks. It was beyond pleasant. Three months between catch ups really is too much.

As far as boys go, things are drying up again. I’ve not seen W in almost three weeks and all other potentials have fallen short. One boy told me that he didn’t like being ‘messed around’ by me. What had I done, you ask? Oh, nothing other than refuse to meet him for the first time in an unsafe place in the dark. I don’t want to end up in a suitcase, thanks.

I did get another message from J on Saturday which read:

Wanna play tonight? x

Ermmm, no, thanks. Like, obviously I’m amazing and you can’t get me out of your head, but enough’s enough. Why is it always the ones you don’t want that want you? Sigh.