I’m a dark lighthouse. I can’t sing you through the storm, and I can’t carry you ashore. You’ll be tossed around in the waves that never cease, upon the rocks that never breathed; still I’ll be dark.

Dear Annoying Person

It is not your place to make pronouncements about my future and my value based on your opinions about my so-called potential. A smart girl should not be repeatedly told she ought to become a doctor/lawyer/whatever any more than a sexy girl should be repeatedly told she ought to become a stripper. I find it highly fucking annoying when guys tell me that I could do better. I’m happy with what I do and I’m happy with my goals. I am a person to be valued, not a test score to be compared. Staring at my standardised test percentiles to the exclusion of the rest of me is just as tiresome as staring at my tits instead of my face. And it doesn’t make you any less of a prick. So shut the fuck up.

Dear Fairy Tales

I’m not so sure the world is as dark of a place as you imply. There are truly good men, there are truly wonderful women, and they do find each other. Sometimes they save each other; sometimes, there aren’t any dragons at all. The perfect man or woman is not, in my opinion, someone who magically does everything right, but rather someone who wants to do the right thing, and works at it. I think there are lots of people like this in the world, making everything brighter.

I blame men who want a perfect woman, but won’t lose a beer belly. I blame women who want a man to cater to their every need, but don’t consider that his sex drive is also a need. I blame people who don’t try every day, in some small way, to make their partners happier. I blame people who don’t try, but still expect to win.

If you want a princess, you have to be a prince. And if you want a prince, you have to be a princess.

I want to want you

…but I don’t. I’m sexually attracted to maybe three people (not counting Captain Jack)

I know I’m fortunate in many ways, and I’m not asking for huggles and pity. Understanding, maybe?

One man I developed a crush on in a matter of minutes. I even - oh god - googled him. I fall so rarely that when I do, I fall hard, and it’s unsettling. Bah.

This post was rambling and I so don’t care.

I love watching you awkwardly excel, so brilliant and just a bit goofy. The year I first imagined what love would be like, I was imagining what it would be like to be loved by you. If I could have you, so I believe, I could be worthy of just about anyone. But it isn’t my number you dial nervously, not knowing for certain if you are ready to hear my voice. And it isn’t my hand that you hold nervously as we watch a summer blockbuster, shivering in the dark theatre. I’ve grown up a bit, or tried to, and I’ve found a lot of people to hold me and tell me I’m beautiful. I think of you less and less, but every time I do, an unsilenced piece of me aches for the dream I carry. I wish I never thought of you; I almost wish we’d never met. I hate that I want you so much, and that I probably always will. You are a dream that hurts more than a nightmare, but when I close my eyes and find you, I don’t want to open them. I’m plummeting through the clouds, horizon spinning over my head, chord unpulled. Good night, good night, you’ll be gone in the morning, and if I’m lucky, I won’t think of you tomorrow.

It’s hilarious when men respond to a woman who says “I’m not interested in you, go away” by saying “I wouldn’t fuck you anyway!” Firstly, it’s almost always a blatant lie, but that’s not the funny bit. It’s funny because the men saying this actually think they’re being offensive. They really do.


Listen, you beer-swigging, tracksuit-wearing moron. I, for one, want nothing more than for you to be attracted to someone else. I revel in the thought that you’re masturbating to some horrifying scenario in which I don’t play the slightest part. I treasure the idea that I’ll be free from your pesky attempts to worm your way into my heart-patterned undies. You’re annoying and completely unaware, apparently, of just how annoying.

Ugly babies

I don't want children. No, I really don't.

I don't coo over babies, I haven't dreamt of the perfect wedding since I was nine, I don't want to be pregnant, I don't want to host a three year old's birthday party, and I don't want to spend hours talking about how to burp and the colour of poop.

I'm well aware that there are rewarding facets of parenthood, and I am also aware that those facets aren't enough to change my mind. I am at peace with this, and perfectly happy. So why aren't other people?

People react in ways I consider strange when they discover that I don't want to have children. Women seem (for the most part) to be either jealous of my firm resolve, or condescending, as if they believe I'm going to have a few more periods and then suddenly change my mind. Also, my lack of desire to reproduce offends some who discover it. It actually offends them. And I don't know why.

I have always believed, perhaps self-indulgently, that I know myself well enough to realise I would be a good mother, but I just really don't want to be one. Sometimes I feel less feminine, or I become an outsider when other young women start to talk about wanting a family. But I know who I am, and I know for certain that I don't want to be a mother.

I don't understand how this makes me selfish, and those who accuse me of this vice never give me a satisfactory explanation. We are not cavemen. Our species is not about to die out. I don't need to have children to continue the species, and since I have no emotional need for children, I see no point in having them at all.

I just don't understand why this bothers people so much. People can get surprisingly close-minded when it comes to reproduction.

Okay, that's the end of my little rant about breeding.

Sometimes I feel lonely, even when there's people around me. Mostly because the people around me are nothing like me. I can get on with most people but there is only a very small group of people that I can actually get, and most of them live far away. I feel like a smartie in a bowl full of nuts.

Men masturbate weird. Seriously. I don't know why they describe to me how they like to relieve themselves, but I'm always surprised by their techniques. One guy told me that he likes to do it with a sock on his penis (I told you men do that!) One explained to me how he humps a pillow, another likes to use toothpaste, another wears a rubber glove (even posher wank?) and my favourite is most definitely the guy who ties his bits to a door and then opens and closes it.

Sorting through my things tonight I came across an old shoebox, I remembered the box but couldn't remember what I kept inside it. Curious, I opened it up and found inside old letters tied in a pile together with a red ribbon, used train and concert tickets, and other little trinket things. It was a box of things I had kept from past relationships, stuff I didn't really want to throw away, a box of old love if you wish. I stopped my packing, went and made myself a cup of tea, sat down in front of the fire and started to read through the letters. Old memories came flooding back to me, the people, the places, the way I felt when I was with those people in those places. It wasn't a bad feeling, I don't feel sad at all, quite the opposite actually.

One of the things I have always admired about myself is how I can walk away from a relationship with no hard feelings, no anger, no bitterness, no hate. I'm still friends with most of my old boyfriends, and that's because they weren't really bad relationships. I put a 100% in to a relationship when I love someone, yes I have a few flaws, but I'm actually a great girlfriend. I see the bitterness in so many people after a relationship has come to an end and I never understand. To feel that way towards a person you once loved, once kissed, once slept with, once had sex with, is all so odd to me. Obviously, when a relationship is over I feel sad, it's inevitable really, but, this time I feel different, there's no sadness, no tears, no eating ice cream and listening to Billy Joel. I'm okay, I feel fine.

I feel like I'm slowly learning to guard myself, my emotions usually get the best of me. I wear my heart on my sleeve and usually it gets torn apart, or maybe I just know deep down that this is for the best, for both of of us. In a few years time I might be here again, looking through this shoebox, being reminded of him and the memories we have together. I've added him to the box now and packed it away. This all reminds me of how sentimental I really am. I'm a hopeless romantic, that will never change.

I've been told that I can sometimes be mushy, corny and cliche, I don't mind this, I quite like cliches, cliches are usually true. I'm always going to be this way. I believe in love. I want that romantic, corny, cliched love. I put my all into my relationships, I give a lot. I think my problem in the past has been my eagerness to serve them my heart on a big ol platter. I'm starting to rebuild those walls back around my heart, they will take a lot of knocking to get through next time. I thank you for handing me the bricks. I don't regret this decision.

What I need to do now is just have some me time. I was so busy trying to live up to someone elses expectations that I forgot who I was, I need ME back.

Joe (Leaving New York)

I woke up yesterday morning with a stuffy head and an eerie feeling. I sat down at the computer desk with a cup of tea, something just didn't feel right. I booted the computer up and logged in to the many social networking sites I use and went to check messages from friends. Something was wrong, something had happened to my friend Joe, that's all I could tell from other friends posts and messages, none of them really made sense. I spent the next few hours in a panic and trying to find out what was going on, there was a rumor going around that he had died. I was hopeful and told myself it was just a misunderstand. An hour later it was confirmed and I was sent a link to a newspaper article.

The Florida Highway Patrol has revealed the name of a man who died in a crash Tuesday night.
Joseph Leo, 31, of Oviedo, was trying to walk across State Road 50 near Rouse Lake Road from south to north about 9:50 p.m. when he walked in front of a vehicle.
The 2002 Pontiac, driven... by Michael Pucci, 23, of Dunnellon, was unable to stop and struck Leo.
Leo was pronounced dead at Florida Hospital East. Pucci had minor injuries.

My heart sank, it kind of felt like I had been hit by a car myself. It was a different Joseph Leo I told myself, I knew deep down that it wasn't. How could this happen? Why did this happen? I still can't understand how one minute he was here the next he was, just ... gone. The rest of the day was filled with shock, heartache, anger, pain and disbelief. I'd lost someone who is...was a big part of my life.

Missing Joe kicked in straight away. I thought of all the little things I would miss about him, like how he called me a strumpet and moopsie face, how we nicknamed each other Muffins and Mittens, our deep conversations about love and life and writing and our silly conversations about the robot dance and M.C. Hammer pants, our love of tea and crumpets and cheese. I'll miss ranting about our insomnia and creative block. I'll miss comparing the little differences between America and England, like Waldo and Wally. I'll miss our hugs from across the ocean and moaning to him about boys. There's so many things about Joe that I will miss, the list is endless.

I don't think I'll be able to listen to another Barenaked Ladies song, or that song by Suede, or watch the Simpsons without thinking about Joe, and that's fine, I want to be reminded of him, always. I just hope that one day I can smile when I think of him and not fill with tears and feel like my heart is being stamped on by a fat guy wearing steel toe cap boots.

I was actually mad at him for a little while, mad at him for walking out in front of that fucking car. Then I realized, I'm not mad at him, I'm mad at the world, the world he left behind, mad at whoever took him away. And, who do I talk to when I'm mad or upset or just feeling a bit meh? Joe! He always made me feel better, and now he's gone and he can't make this better. I know what he would say 'time will heal' and he's right, of course, he was always right, even when I was adamant that he wasn't. There will always be a void in me, that place where he was. Joe really was such an amazing person.

The most valid and important things I learnt from Joe is that there truly is good people in this world, people who love you for who you are, people that don't have an ulterior motive, people with great minds and huge hearts to match. I'm so thankful for that. Joe helped me open up and realize that I shouldn't shut people out and it won't always hurt to let people know how I feel. He was the first friend I said 'I love you' to and the first one I believed when he said it back.

He helped me through so many tough times. He inspired me and motivated me and helped me be creative, he was like my muse really. He was such a great writer, we were always bugging each other to write more stuff. I looked back through all my emails from Joe, right back to 2007, it took me a whole night. I found poems he had wrote for me and read through some of our conversations. I realized that Joe was the only person I really talked to, the only person I shared secrets and deep feelings with. I read our conversation about time machines, Joe believed that some time in the future someone would successfully build a time machine and charge a million dollars to use it, I told him he was silly. I really hope he is right and If sometime in the future they actually do build that time machine like he said, I'll be paying a million dollars to use it and go back and drag his ass away from that car.

Joe was, is, loved by so many people. This world has truly lost a great soul.

If I've learnt anything from this tragic event it's that people are special and life is precious. We sit around and moan about our boring nine to five jobs and not having enough cash to buy the latest gadget when we should be grateful for what we do have. We should cherish the people that are still with us, learn to love life, learn to love people, tell people how you feel about them, make damn sure that they know you care, because tomorrow they could get hit by a car and be removed from your life forever.

I still can't believe you're gone. Life will continue, but I tell you this now, buddy, you won't be forgotten. I will take what I have learnt from you and you will always have a place in my heart. I'll always love you.

Rest in peace Joseph Carmine Leo, you will be truly missed.

I am Erica, give me a latte

I can absolutely relate to Erica Strange, from Being Erica. I feel entirely hopeless too. I just wish I could drink a hazelnut latte and get the chance to go back in time and right all my wrongs. But then I think, if you could go back and do it all differently, would you still be you?


I've made mistakes and had unpleasant experiences in the past, but I think I'm a pretty decent person. If I hadn't of had them experiences and made them mistakes, I wonder, who would I be now?. If you could go back in time to any point in your life, would you? And what point would that be?

I went to Starbucks after writing this and pondered those questions for a little while. I got that hazelnut latte, just in case, of course nothing happened, but it was really yummy.

Never Look Back

The rain trickled gently down the window of the cafe. It was a bitter day, one of the coldest they had had in January. She always liked the rain, it was almost a comforting feeling to sit warm and cosy inside while watching and listening to the pitter patter of rain drops. She had been warming her hands, wrapped round a cup of coffee. She picked up the cup and took a graceful sip. Holding back tears was not new to her, she looked up sweetly, almost like a child looking for sympathy, and forced a sweet smile. His eyes were fixed on her, glaring up from behind his paper. Showing signs of weakness was not acceptable to him, and he was fixed on her every move. It made her feel nervous and she fidgeted a lot. He knew his harsh words hurt her, but he seemed to take some sadistic pleasure in making her feel so small.


She placed the cup back down on the pretty floral china, she had noticed it had the same pattern as the one her grandma used to use for Saturday tea. "Well dear, I have a train to catch" she stood up quickly, almost as if she was in a rush. She was not, her train did not arrive for another hour and the train station was five minutes walk from the cafe. She had planned to use the time to read a book she had picked up in a thrift shop on the way to meet him. He looked up and folded his paper in an almost aggressive manner. "I'll see you soon, sweetheart." She leaned down and hesitantly kissed his forehead.

Walking to the exit of the cafe, she stopped to compose herself, she felt tears welling up and a lump in her throat. She turned and hoped to see some sort of reaction from him, "I love you" he whispered. Half heartily smiling she whispered back "I love you too" he looked back down at the paper. Reaching out to the glass doorknob she turned again, to take one last look at his face, she took it all in, his big deep brown eyes, his wavy brown hair, taking in his features, memorizing his face. She muttered "and goodbye" under her breath. She knew in her heart she would not be coming back, this time. His cruel words had cut her too deep.

Arriving at the train station she placed her bag on the floor and slumped down on the bench, opening the book she read the first line "You should never look back" She smiled and continued to read. Waiting for her train she felt fine. She let out a sigh of relief and wondered where she would be when she reads the last line of the book ...

The Bar

I consistently hated being alone at night. I would create ridiculous scenarios in my head and invent ’ secret escape plans’ just in case those scenarios did actually happen. I would get myself into a frenzy about the glitches in my plans and sleep with a light on, if I even dared to go to bed. This Friday night was the worst, there was an almost sinister feeling in the atmosphere. I glanced out of the window at the empty fog filled street and was overcome with a sense of dread, I just shook it off and closed the drapes. Slumping down on the settee with a half empty bottle of port I flicked through the channels until I came to a documentary about Jack The Ripper. I was always fascinated by Jack The Ripper. As a child I’d read a book about infamous murders and The Ripper came in third favourite after The Black Dahlia Murder and Death Through The Porthole. The documentary ended and up next was some sort of game show where men would compete to date the latest clone of a super-starved wannabe model or something or other. I decided to give that a miss and go for a walk into town, it was before ten on a Friday night, after all. I squeezed myself into some skinny jeans, pulled on a tight pink top that gave me a killer cleavage, fluffed my hair, slicked on some red lipstick and eight inch heels, dosed myself in cheap perfume and downed the rest of the port.


My heels click clacked on the pavement. I could barley walk in them sober, I was failing even more then usual being half-cut off a bottle of vintage port. I stumbled into the nearest bar. It was a dingy, seedy little bar, downtown on the corner of Baker Street. Some people would say it was the worst part of town, I didn’t agree. Like any other bar in town it had its regulars. Mostly low class hookers and their clients, broke art students who felt out of place in the trendy cocktail bars uptown, depressed wannabe musicians drowning their sorrows with a scotch on the rocks behind a cloud of cigar smoke and old drunks who had been kicked out of everywhere else, including their homes. The place wasn’t very welcoming; mismatched bar stools covered with tatty tartan fabric, off-white walls yellowed by cigarette smoke, aging movie posters tried and failed to add colour to the walls. The atmosphere hardly added a hospitable affect, a miserable looking old guy with a handlebar mustache sits reading The Mirror and ignoring your order, the jukebox spits out songs about depression and heartbreak, above the shelf full of dusty bottles and antique teapots hung Guernica, a painting by Pablo Picasso. If this place were a song I’m sure it would be a Billie Holiday classic.

The people sitting in the place looked like they shared the pain of the Picasso masterpiece. A woman dressed in all black sits alone by the door twirling her fingers around the top of the wine glass on the table in front of her. Her eyes distantly looking out of the window, a look of mixed lost and melancholy on her face. Her painted cupid bow lips clutched an unlit cigarette. She places the cigarette in the ashtray, takes a small sip of her wine and returns to her routine of twirling and staring. A trampy looking man is asleep in a drunken state, his head propped up by the bar, clutching an empty glass, having wiped his memory with liquid morphine. No one will bother him here, no one will look at him like he’s a disgrace to the nation. He’ll stay in this position until closing hours, before he finds a park bench or something to sleep on. A bleach blond haired girl falling out of her blue sparkly top twirls her hair and giggles loudly and annoyingly while flirting with a handsome guy at the bar, he’s swarthy and full of charm and wit. He’s a regular, I see him in here every Friday night, different girl hanging off his arm each time. I once fell for his good looks and sweet talk. We had a few drunken nights together, the fucking was fun, and he was pretty good at it, but he wasn’t as amazing as these girls made him out to be, ‘I’ve had better’ I told myself. He winks at me and I give a little smirk back.

Two old men sit at a round table in the center of the room chatting about the latest flush they have had on the horses. The old men were once heart breakers, in their dandy hats and smart jackets, they flirt with the barmaid who doesn’t look the slightest bit impressed, they think they can still charm the ladies. Their conversation moves on to the latest episode of Eastenders their wives made them watch, while they sip their gin one says ‘that Stacey is such a nice girl’ while still claiming he doesn’t watch the program. A gay couple is entwined in the dark corner of the room. Hiding from the cruel, discarding world they live in. To me the bar is just a place, to them it’s an escape. A place where they can be themselves without being ostracized. They look around shiftily before kissing each other quickly, never being a hundred percent comfortable with themselves.

The door bursts open and the room is suddenly full of energetic chatter and lively laughs. A group of indie looking teenagers walks in. They order foreign beers and chat about the latest Radiohead and Muse albums. They sit here because they want to be different; they want to say that they drank in a place no one else knows about. Some people have a thirst to be accepted, others not. One male in a pinstripe suit and stripy scarf orders a martini, the waitress sulkily slams the glass down on the bar with a thud. He politely says thank you before joining in the chatter about this years Glastonbury festival. Amongst the large group of friends sit a couple, clutching each others hands and staring at each others eyes intently. Almost as if a bubble surrounded them. They order one cocktail, two straws.

The only source of artificial light, an art deco lampshade hanging from the ceiling, starts to flicker and dims, putting the bar into a dark, mystical shadow. “Just like making out in the wardrobe for seventh heaven,’’ one girl says, her friends giggle and roll their eyes at her. Two perfectly polished girls with knock off designer handbags open the door, take one look around and leave. I guess it wasn’t their kind of place. Later a group of teenage boys enters with their hoods up and their jeans dangerously low. They ask if there are any cash machines, the barmaid answers with a blunt ‘no’ before giving them death stares for even trying to talk to her.

As for me, you may ask why I choose to come and sit alone in a seedy bar on a Friday night? Well, I guess I’m just lonely and where else could I find the most interesting people to watch and write about? Here they don’t need to put on facades and pretend to go along with the trends or like the latest pop song, they don’t need to pretend they’re over that man or that they live perfectly happy lives. Here they let it all out, warts and all.

I found this place eight months ago after a nice spelt of early twenties angst, entranced by the gloomy atmosphere; I spent hours pouring over details of my life and love before noticing that the other people in here shared my pain. Ever since then I sit here and people watch. Everyone has a story to tell; happy, tragic, sad, heart breaking, interesting, odd, fucked up. I look up at Guernica, maybe the scene isn’t so far off. I can stumble my way back home now. I’ve drank and wrote and took comfort in the bar, in the people in the bar. I suppose it’s a kind of escape to all of its regulars, including me.

There is a huge spider on the wall…HUGE! SPIDER! I can see the hairs on its evil spidery legs.

My logic; Cover eyes and start screaming. Maybe it will go away.

Someone needs to come in and heroically remove the spider from the wall and put it outside so it can roam free and away from the screams of a scared girl.

I don’t like it!

Procrastination

I really should be doing something productive. But I’d really rather not, I’d rather just sit here. And I told myself that I’d put pants on in exactly 26 minutes. I’d really rather not do that, either.

I like men with;

Beards
Glasses
Manners
Great taste in music
A loaded liquor cabinet
A big penis heart

I don’t want to be around humans right now. I’m now in hermit mode at home, in my tartan pants and Rolling Stones tee. Pigging out, writing, reading stuff ( I started my reading list last night, The Book of Imaginary Beings is first)


I think I’ve moved past the point of worrying now. While it’s mostly becoming acceptance, there also may be a sprinkle of bitterness in there this time. But that’s okay, it’s just a wee sprinkle anyway.

I’m going to go and have another beer. So it’s 5 am. Judge me. Or join me.

I want to fall in mutual weirdness

We are all a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we fall in mutual weirdness and call it love.

I have returned

Hello, Blogger!

So, I went away and now I’m back. I missed you, did you miss me? Me and my friend are on this whole write a blog post a day kick, so you will be pleased to know you will be updated regularly. You have a free viewing into my heart and soul on this thing. Be warned, I ramble, a lot!

News ~

I’m back on the market (watch out bearded men) and back at Mummy’s house. I don’t technically own a home or live anywhere. Weird. I’m a hobo, but I always knew that I was destined for hobo-ism. One thing I love about being back here is my Mummy’s vast selection of teas. I’m currently drinking Earl Grey, it’s lovely, the smell of it alone is calming. I always say “A cup of tea will brighten your day” I might make that my slogan.

In other news; the move I put off in January 09 is now back on the cards. I will be a Manchesterian come Summer time. And I will be living with a boy who’s room smells of hamsters.

My Etsy shop will be back up and running soon. I decided on the name ….. drum roll….. Hobo Designs.

I’m working on lists of things I want to achieve and experience in 2010, so they will probably be posted in the next few days. I know a trip to America is being planned, but there’s much more I want to do next year, you know, now I’m footloose and fancy free.

My current obsessions are ~

*Travel books

*Betsey Johnson dresses http://www.betseyjohnson.com/

*Warm hearty winter cooking

*Stephen Fry podcasts

*Learning to speak Italian

*Making wrist cuffs out of old belts

*Thrift shopping

*Pop culture

I’m reading The Catcher in the Rye, for like the fifth time (If you haven’t read this book, I don’t think we can be friends anymore)

I've been writing more stuff lately, short stories and such. I'll blog some of them sometime soon

Peace out!