Living in the moment

I’m addicted to my phone. I have it with me all the time. I check it probably hundreds of times a day. I spend hours messaging people and hours on social media. It runs my life. Phone addiction is a real thing, and I’m sure there are people reading this that have the same problem. It’s widely known now that when you check your phone and you have a notification, it increases your dopamine levels, and that’s why we keep doing it.

I feel more and more that smart phones have ruined my attention span and ability to focus. Sometimes I will be listening to a podcast or watching a TV show, and I will still check Twitter or be Whatsapping someone at the same time. It’s distracting, time wasting, and bad for your health. I often have days where I think what did I actually do today? And the answer is just play on my phone.

At the weekend I went away to Suffolk for a friend’s wedding. I didn’t know there was going to be a beach nearby so that was a nice surprise, as I fucking love beaches. (Not packing a bikini did not stop me, as I can swim just as mediocrely in a vest top and shorts). There was no signal at all on the beach, and it made my beach experience so much better.  I did take some pictures but that only took a few minutes.

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The rest of the time, I wrote my morning pages and then I swam for ages because there was literally nothing else for me to do. It was a great spontaneous artist’s date, that I could just enjoy for what it was without mindlessly scrolling my Facebook news feed.

On the walk back to the B&B I got signal, (this was handy to check I was walking in the right direction because I’d got a lift on the way there), but the walk took longer than it was meant to, as I kept checking my phone. I did have to send one message about arrangements for getting to the church later, but the others could have waited. I also accidentally sat on a stinging nettle when I stopped to do stuff on my phone, so I guess that was the universe’s way of telling me to get off my fucking phone. Having said that, I discovered that I actually quite like the feeling of stinging nettles, and could totally incorporate this into some kinky outdoor sex in the future.

Recently I have been trying to put my phone on flight mode when I want to get stuff done, but I still find that 5 minutes later I will just take the phone off flight mode. Today I really wanted to try and break this habit, so I intentionally went out without my phone for probably the first time in about 16 years.

And again, without being able to use my phone, I had an awesome time. I took some bags to the recycling centre, then walked to Ally Pally park. With no phone to distract me, I noticed my surroundings more. I looked at the clouds. I watched a bee pollinate every flower in sight, and enjoyed the feeling of the grass under my skin and bare feet.

It was a little frustrating not being able to take any photos, but I soon got over it. I wrote a few poems in my notebook and appreciated  just being in the park. I wished I’d taken my hula hoop, so maybe I will do that in future. I had no idea what time it was, because I haven’t worn a watch since circa 2004, but there was something really lovely about this. Eventually I realised I was going to get hungry soon and needed to get some dinner. So next time I will take food too.

Being in the shops was another challenge, as I didn’t have anything to occupy myself while queuing, but it was actually okay. I channelled my inner 90s gal and it worked. I feel like we were all so much more patient back then. Because you had to be. You had to wait for so long for everything. Music, TV Shows, Movies, Dial Up Internet.

You had to actually phone someone on a landline if you wanted to talk to them. And sometimes they weren’t in.  If you wanted to skip a song, you had to fast forward and then guess when to stop it. And then maybe sometimes you went too far and you had to rewind. When you stopped that cassette tape in just the right place, that was a satisfying moment. We don’t have moments like these anymore. Everything is at our fingertips, which is why we get so impatient if someone doesn’t text back straight away or our WiFi stops working. But maybe we should learn some of the patience we had back then.

When I got home, I resisted the urge to check my phone, and put my food in the fridge first. Then I went on my phone and immediately lost 10 minutes of my life to Twitter, so now it’s on flight mode, and has been for the last three hours. Go self control. I’m definitely going to try and go out without my phone more often, and hopefully this will train my brain not to check it all the time when I do have it with me. Because I don’t want to look back on my life and realise I wasted half of it staring at a little screen.

Smartphones are great, and social media is great –  I wouldn’t have so many people reading my blog without it. But like everything in life – they need to be consumed in moderation.

Stuck in the 90s

On Wednesday I turned 32. Which I always remember is the same age Brittany Murphy was when she died. Which makes me want to clean my shower properly, so I don’t get toxic mold poisoning. But I hate cleaning. Or do I? More on that later.

When I was a teenager I thought that 32 was super old. I couldn’t imagine being that old. Or if I could, I thought by 32 I would be ‘settled’, probably married with children. I guess because that’s what you assume when you are a kid. That’s the narrative you’re sold, especially as a girl, and especially when I was younger and we didn’t have Frozen to teach us that true love can come from your sister, not just from a man.

Although I didn’t have a sister, so that would probably have just pissed me off. I couldn’t understand as a kid why my mum couldn’t just give me a sister, because I didn’t know that some things do need to come from a man.

But anyway…anyone who knows me or follows me on any social media knows that I am obsessed with the 90s, which is ironic because we didn’t have social media in the 90s. I didn’t even have a hotmail account until 2001.

It confused me when I was younger why my mum was obsessed with the 60s and would still listen to The Beatles and The Supremes – I was like ‘ listen to some new music, mum!’ before slamming my door and putting on the Spice Girls.

But as we all are doomed to turn into our mothers, despite our best intentions (HEAD DESK), now I basically haven’t moved on since circa 1999. I still wear shag bands and chokers, watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer on a regular basis, and recently sang Jennifer Paige’s song Crush at karaoke (while on a Tinder date which I realise is not very 90s).

So I thought, what better way to spend my birthday evening with my mum than to go and see ‘2 Become 1’. A 90s themed musical (with real 90s songs). It opens with one of the characters Jess sobbing into her landline after a break-up, and singing All Saints Never Ever (All Saints was the first concert I ever went to) before her 3 friends persuade her to go to a speed dating event.

It had everything I had hoped for and more – Shania Twain, butterfly clips, hilarious facial expressions, audience interaction, Titanic, 3 Spice Girls songs, dance routines, Britney, Gina G Ooh Ah Just a Little bit, and not one – but two Buffy References! They even managed to mix ‘I’m Horny’ and ‘Genie in a bottle’ together. It totally embodied the sense of fun that the 90s were all about. 

And there were free badges! I am now the proud owner of a badge that says ‘No Scrubs’ on it.

I loved that there were some references to the way some men see women (‘he wants you to suck his cock, but pretend like you’re doing it for the first time’), and the crap that we read in women’s magazines.  There was also some dramatic irony about how online dating will never catch on because it’s better to meet someone in real life, and the character Molly imagining a terrible world where we don’t have a Labour government and there are loads of cuts to the NHS, and the arts.

It was basically a wonderful trip down memory lane for me, even though it made me a bit sad that I never had a Tamagotchi. (Belated birthday present anyone?)

I do feel sometimes like the 90s was a better, more innocent time, sure we had lads mags, but there was something more tongue in cheek about it, plus we had Girl Power to balance it out. And I’m sure loads of bad stuff was still happening (I remember the war in Kosovo) but we didn’t hear about every bad thing all the time because no one had Twitter. The 90s was a time when a Union Jack dress was nothing to do with Brexit and a troll was a toy you would collect.

There was so much hope! (Before the ultimate disappointment when your cassette tape got tangled and even a pencil couldn’t save it). Especially with New Labour. I loved Tony Blair so much at one point that it was my dream to become a politician. Not even joking. Can you imagine? I mean I do have the legs for it.

Maybe 2017 can be the new 1997? The small optimistic part of me wants to believe that on the 9th of June we can tell Theresa May to talk to the hand ’cause the face ain’t listening. And if not I plan to get drunk and listen to Nirvana. Actually I will do that either way.

Although the 90s resonate with me and I love them, I don’t necessarily love who I was then. It’s easy to idealise the past, but I’ve changed so much  and I much prefer the person I am now. And yes I’m not where I thought I would be at 32. But I discovered that I don’t want a conventional 2.4 children life, and also more recently that sometimes I hold myself back because of self-fulfilling prophecies I have about myself.

I spent years telling myself I couldn’t be good with money, or tidy, or good at cleaning, or able to achieve certain things but that’s just me limiting myself when there should be No Limits, and now in the words of Ultra Nate, I’m free to be who I want to be.

I also think I’m starting to get the balance of simultaneously living for the present and planning for the future. As Buffy would say ‘seize the moment ’cause tomorrow you might be dead’.

So yes, I am stuck in the 90s, and I think that’s okay as long as it’s musically and fictionally, not mentally. I do have to accept that it’s not 1997 anymore, and that’s a good thing. Maybe I’ll even start listening to some up to date music. While I clean my shower. I just need some 90s nostalgia to Spice up my Life sometimes. 

P.s. If you’re reading this before Edinburgh Festival 2017, go and watch ‘2 Become 1’ before you regret it like I regret never seeing the Spice Girls live (which was going to be the band I hadn’t seen on my list of ten bands, except I don’t do bullshit Facebook fads like that).

2 Become 1, written by Natasha Granger and Kerri Thomason, was at King’s Head Theatre Islington, 12th April 2017 – 29th April 2017 and will be at The Gilded Balloon Teviot (Venue 14) Edinburgh Fringe Festival 2017 – Tickets here 

The Best Kind of Sex

The best kind of sex is the sex you didn’t know you would be having when you woke up that morning. The kind that blindsides you some idle Monday, because you thought he had a girlfriend, and you wouldn’t get to fuck him again for a very long time. And yes you said you were giving up casual sex, but really you meant you were giving up casual sex with idiots from the internet that you just met.

The best kind of sex is casual sex with a man you know really well, whom you have nostalgia and memories with. Who knows what you like, what to say and do. Sex where there’s no ‘what will this lead to?’, because you already played that scenario out, and he doesn’t want to be (metaphorically) tied down. The best kind of sex is sex with an ex, partly because it rhymes.

The best kind of sex is the sex where beforehand you have deep conversations, mixed with flirtation, and when you insult and tease each other, you start getting very turned on.

The best kind of sex is the sex where you’re really excited about playing chess first and you get drunk and play strip chess, (and you win). Even though you’ve seen each other naked loads of times, but he hasn’t seen your tits since they grew a whole cup size. And you’d forgotten just how beautiful his nipples are.

The best kind of sex is aggressive, filthy, and funny. Sex where he chokes you, and sticks his fingers down your throat. Where he pulls your nipples so hard that you scream, and he covers your mouth with his hand. The best kind of sex is the sex where he goes down on you, while you grab his hair, and you ride his mouth with your pussy. Then you kiss him and you can taste yourself on his lips, and you love the taste. The best kind of sex is the sex where Garbage is playing in the background, so you’re getting wine, kinky sex, and 90s nostalgia, and these are three of your favourite things in the whole world. 

The best kind of sex is the sex where his dick is really hurting you inside by hitting against your back wall, so you accidentally say ‘maybe you should just put it in the back hole instead’, and you instantly regret it, because you know that there’s no going back now.

The best kind of sex is the sex where you let him give you anal, even though you haven’t done it for so long, because you have that rule now about not receiving unless you’ve given first. But you break that rule for him, because he’s already been in your arsehole, in fact he was the last guy in your arsehole.

The best kind of sex is the sex where he fucks you in front of a mirror because he wants you to see yourself being abused. Sex where you hate it, but you love it, but you hate it, but you love it.

The best kind of sex is the sex where he falls off the bed and you can’t stop laughing, the sex where you accidentally push one of his balls back up inside him, so he looks really angry when he cums. The sex where he cums on your face, in your hair, and a little bit in one of your eyes.

The best kind of sex is the sex where he cuddles you after to comfort you after all the nasty things he did to your body. Where you can be gentle and spoon each other, and you sleep like this in a post sex glow.

The best kind of sex is the sex where you wake up in the morning and he wants to fuck you again, but you’re half asleep, so he wanks over your face. But it’s taking ages, and you accidentally start talking about recycling and contact lenses, which he tells you is not good sex talk, but you both laugh about it.

The best kind of sex is the sex where he wants you to wank him off instead, and says that most girls aren’t that good at it, but the way you do it feels amazing, so you give him one of the best hand jobs you’ve ever given, and he comes all over your tits, while looking and sounding like he just had the best orgasm of his life.

The best kind of sex is the sex where he says for some reason he thought it might be shit, but he had a great time, because he really has a way with words, and it reminds you of the backhanded compliment Hugh Grant gave you once about your stand-up.

The best kind of sex is the sex you can feel the next day (and the day after that). Sex where you’re hungover, and both your holes are throbbing. Sex where your whole body aches, where you ache in places you didn’t think it was possible to ache in after sex. Sex where you have the beginning of a bruise on your cheek from where he slapped you over and over, and when you get in the shower, your nipples sting under the water from how sore and swollen they are. Sex where while you’re typing this, you can feel the cystitis that you knew was coming.

The best kind of sex is the sex where it’s violent, painful, pleasurable, affectionate, intimate, and most of all – fun. The best kind of sex is the kind of sex you want to have all over again…

So how did you two meet?

One of my friends, who has mostly dated people from OkCupid, asked me recently whether I thought I would meet someone IRL, and if that’s even possible now. So I decided to make a pie chart of all the men I’ve dated/had sex with since University and how I met them. The good news is that most of them I did meet in real life. The bad news is that almost a third of them are comedians.

pie-chart-2

Some extra facts for you:

One of the men in ‘comedy’ was a non comedian, but he was friends with a comedian and we met when he was in the audience at one of my gigs (the only time I’ve ever dated an audience member)
The one on holiday was coincidentally friends with a comedian I know
The one from the bar was working behind the bar
The one from the dating event was also working behind the bar
‘Other’ was this guy I met at Erotica one year, who was helping his dad sell Botox

Comedy

Comedy seems to be the main way for me to meet someone, but now I’m not as keen to date another comedian. It was new and exciting at first dating fellow comics, and getting to meet so many new men, but now I’m kind of over that, and want comedy to be my thing, rather than our thing. I’m obviously not going to rule it out, but that’s just my preference.

I do wish that more male audience members would chat to me after gigs though, and not just to say ‘I don’t usually find women funny, but you were great’, I mean actually chat to me. I did a gig the other week and made eye contact with a man both while I was on stage, and afterwards from across the room, but a few minutes later when I was going to find him to talk to him, he had left.

I’ve heard a lot of female comedians say that they don’t get hit on by audience members, possibly because some men find it intimidating. Perhaps in my case men are scared off by my kinky sex jokes. But if that’s the case then it’s good they find out sooner rather than later. 

A few months ago I did sort of get offered a threesome after a gig in Buckinghamshire – there was a couple, and the woman was trying to get me to go out with them afterwards, and then said I could stay at their house, but she was really drunk and I couldn’t tell exactly what the situation was. The 21-year-old me would have stayed out with them anyway and just seen what happened, but I just really wanted to go home to my own bed and sleep. Clearly I’m not young or cool enough to have threesomes anymore. 

Through friends

Through friends is clearly by my statistics also a great way to meet men, but this has almost always ended badly for me, so I’m a bit reluctant to try that route again. Having said that if you’re my friend and you have any friends you think I’d be a good match with, that I haven’t already dated and/or fucked, then let me know.

The problem with online dating

One of the many problems I have with dating is time. In that I probably don’t actually have enough time to date even though I want to, and this is amplified when it comes to online dating. If I’ve met someone already in real life and I already know I like them, then I’m way more likely to make time to meet up with them, but if it’s just someone I’ve been talking to online, even if I think we might get along, then it’s hard for me to sacrifice time I would spend with myself or seeing friends, to meet them.

I cancelled a date today as I needed time to write a monologue to submit to something as the deadline is Friday. But if I’d already met him and knew I liked him then I might have been more willing to try and do both in one day. (I am half way through the monologue and now I have writer’s block on what to write next. Hence writing this blog).

What I’d really like

I wish more guys would talk to me in real life, and I don’t mean the man that said ‘hey baby’ at 11pm the other night on the street. I wish guys would talk to me in coffee shops, or at bars, after my gigs, or in the supermarket. I hate the fact that this happens all the time in films but never actually happens in life.

And before anyone says that I can make a move first – I do sometimes (both in real life and online) and it’s usually met with horror, disinterest, or initial interest leading to fear because I’m interested, and so ultimately disinterest.

Maybe when I find a guy who does genuinely like a woman making the first move (not just says they do), that will be my ideal man and we will fall in love and have hundreds of babies. (JOKE).

So why don’t men talk to us in public?

Perhaps because women are more vocal about sexual harassment now, men are scared of being accused of this, so some of them just avoid talking to us altogether. Weirdly this hasn’t stopped actual sexual harassment. But there’s a big difference between starting a friendly conversation with a women and seeing if she wants to talk too, and being that annoying guy who won’t leave her alone.

Perhaps another reason is because a lot of the time I don’t make an effort. I’m pretty low maintenance. I often don’t wear any make up. Sometimes I don’t wash my hair, and dry shampoo is not as effective as I want it to be. Basically I look rough as fuck about 50% of the time.

Yesterday I put on some make-up and did my hair, wore one of my favourite dresses, and a necklace everyone seems to love. I went to host my Tuesday night quiz. One of the teams drew a heart on their answer sheet with ‘quizmaster’ inside it, I was bought a drink anonymously by an ‘Irish guy’ (that’s all the barmaid would tell me), and I caught a random guy at the bar checking me out. 

So maybe if I want to be chatted up like in the movies, I need to look more like I could be in the movies, not like I just woke up and couldn’t give a shit (even though some guys do find that look more sexy). I guess part of this also has to do with feeling more confident about myself, and therefore coming across as more attractive. 

The last reason is that a lot of the good ones are taken. I was standing at a bar the other night ordering pizza and briefly spoke to a cute guy. Then the bar person handed him two drinks and he walked away. Bye cute guy who probably has a girlfriend or boyfriend. 

What now?

Dating myself has been going well. I went for pizza alone the other day and had a great time, as I didn’t have to talk to anyone else. In terms of meeting someone, I am going to make an effort to approach men in real life regardless, I will re-arrange that internet date I had to cancel, and I’m going to go to some dating events this year (and hopefully it won’t just be the barman I fancy this time). 

Top image from izquotes

Men are a Distraction (Flaky Chris, Horny Nathan, and Sexual Harassment)

I decided that in order to attract a relationship, I needed to give off more of a relationship vibe on OkCupid, so I re-answered a couple of questions, added ‘no hookups’ to my profile, took off some of the sexier pics (which I shouldn’t have to do but I thought ‘okay I’ll play the game’), and added some ‘look how much of a fun girlfriend I would be’ pics. It hasn’t really made much difference to the quality of messages I’ve been receiving, but at least if the right guy does come across it, then it will be clearer to them. 

There was a guy called Chris I’d been talking to since December, and after my decision to look for dating rather than sex, I told him about this, and he said he was still interested in us meeting up.

We arranged to meet on a Wednesday afternoon in a cool cafe on Brick Lane. I got there at 4.40 (only ten minutes late for once!!) and text him saying I was there. He replied saying he’d thought he messaged me to change it to 5.30.

WHAT?!

I said ‘okay I’ll just chill in the cafe and listen to a podcast’. Then at ten past 5 he sends me this:`

chris-2

Then he said I was the first person he’d stood up ‘unintentionally’! Apparently people just go around doing this, yet I once turned up to a date just to tell the guy I didn’t want to go on a date with him. Which I think is the right thing to do.

I joked about him flaking due to not wanting to be on my blog, and he said actually he’d quite like to be on my blog, and I said it was too late, and he’ll always just be Flaky Chris now. I’m aware his wish has still come true. (Be careful what you wish for, Chris).

We chatted on Whatsapp for a bit and he said he’d still like to meet me, and because I keep forgetting that I’M AN AMAZING WOMAN WHO SHOULD STOP GOING FOR IDIOTS WHO AREN’T GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME, I said ‘well okay, you can come to my gig on Saturday’, because I have to be there anyway, so it doesn’t matter if you turn up or not.

I thought about if for a few days, and then decided that I didn’t want Flaky Chris to come. Yes it can be fun having a date at your gig, but it’s also annoying in a way. It was different when Tory1 came to see me, because I’d already met him, but it still took away from me a little. I did a gig last week run by the same people who had been at Date with a Tory, and one of them said it was good to watch me perform without being distracted by him. I just did jokes about him instead. 

So I told Flaky Chris not to come to my gig, as it was my first of the year, and I needed to focus on the comedy. #TheComedysMoreImportant

Now if I’d been really clever in the first place, I would have given him the details of another gig to go to that I wasn’t going to be at, and he would have gone there, and I could have got my revenge. But sadly I didn’t think that quickly. 

Anyway, Flaky Chris then asked if he could come to the next gig after that, and I said some friends might be coming (which was sort of true). He kept messaging me, so I eventually replied and asked him how his weekend was, and got a reply I was not expecting.

He told me he’d been doing a parasite cleanse, and that he was disappointed he’d ‘shit out a worm but most of them are to (sic) small to see’…

I purposefully tapered off the conversation after that, and that was the end of Flaky Chris and his flaky parasites. 

But let’s talk about Horny Nathan…

Nathan was another one who I’d been talking to online since December. I asked him about what he was looking for, and he said just a casual thing at the moment. I said that wasn’t really what I was after, and told him about my bad experience. He agreed that even casual sex still needs some sort of connection and intimacy, and I thought ‘well we all have needs’, maybe I could try it again with someone different.

But we carried on chatting and the more we chatted, the less I was interested in meeting him. He always seemed to be telling me he was horny and his sexting style was a little strange. Not only did he lack imagination, but he’d often put a winky face after something blatantly sexual.

For example:

Feel the inside of your pussy all over my cock 😉

Why is there a winky face after that?

It reminded me of a song by a comedian called Lucy Cox where she sang, ‘winky face means sex’. Winky face is something you use after innuendo to make it extra clear there was a bit of flirting going on. 

When you’re already talking about sex, there’s no need to confirm that you were talking about sex! Also I don’t mind chatting a bit about sex before you meet someone, maybe just to work out compatibility, but when that’s the main topic, I get bored of being just your wanking material.

He was mostly only messaging late at night (oh I wonder why), but one time we were daytime chatting and he suggested us meeting to have sex. I reiterated what I’d said in the past to him about going for a drink with NO EXPECTATIONS just to see if we got along, which he’d seemed to be fine with a couple of weeks ago, but not anymore.

nathanscreenshot-2

Why are people going to other people’s houses that they’ve met online without meeting in public first?

Of course I’m very aware that you can still be raped and/or murdered by someone you’ve met in a public place, and then gone back with later (remember that Tinder hotel story one of my Tinder dates told me), and I’m also aware that most rapes and murders are carried out by someone you know.

However, I do think that meeting someone first, and getting a sense of what they are like before you go home with them is the most sensible thing to do in this situation, but clearly he doesn’t have the patience for this.

I also don’t understand the assumption that you’re definitely going to fancy each other. Even if someone looks attractive in their pics, I think a lot of us have been on dates where the pics might as well have been of a different person. When you’re in a pub, it’s not quite as difficult to leave prematurely, but once you’re at someone’s house, that’s a lot more awkward.

Anyway, Horny Nathan hasn’t replied since then. He’s probably still horny and most likely wanking right now. 

But moving on to more important things…

I think I’m a fairly chilled feminist socialist. I don’t tend to rant about feminism or politics that much online, other than sharing the odd piece here and there. I’ve never been to a march, or a protest before, and probably wouldn’t have gone on Saturday even if I didn’t have other plans.* Because effort. And crowds. Okay I’m basically a lazy feminist. I’ll like your social media posts with all the witty placards and signs, but actually go along myself? No chance.

But something happened to me on Saturday that made me think maybe I do need to be a bit more proactive. And it seemed all the more telling that it happened on the same day as the Women’s March, and Trump’s inauguration. I went to my friend’s birthday drinks in the evening, and had a really good time, and I was walking home from the tube probably around 11.30pm.

In a very short space of time after exiting the station I had 3 different men saying things like ‘gorgeous’ and ‘sexy’ to me. I was annoyed, but I was cold, and wanted to get home, and the lazy feminist in me couldn’t be bothered to say anything. But then a few minutes later, I realised three men were walking behind me, one of them made a weird noise, the sort you would use to try and summon an animal, and another one said something about me, I can’t remember what it was but it made me feel uncomfortable, and was an unwanted distraction to my journey home.

The culmination of all these events meant that I couldn’t stay quiet any longer. In the past I’ve shouted at guys or told them to ‘fuck off’, but this time I decided to talk to them about it, in a calm way, without losing my temper. 

I turned around and told them that it wasn’t appropriate to do that to a woman walking on her own late at night, and that they should have more respect. One of them tried to argue that some women like it and that it was a compliment.

As we walked down the street, I tried to explain that most women I know don’t like it, and they’ve probably just never told them.

And yes, sometimes I like sexual attention from men, of course I can admit that, but it’s all about context. And this was the wrong context. It’s not nice to feel outnumbered and intimidated.

The one who made the noises kept asking me questions like ‘where are you going now?’, I told him this was inappropriate too, and the men laughed at this (not in a good way), and couldn’t understand what was wrong about what they were doing.

I went on to say that they’ve probably never felt scared that they might be attacked or assaulted walking by themselves, but that’s how women feel sometimes, and especially at night time they should just leave us alone. But no matter what I said, they just didn’t seem to get where I was coming from, and it made me so angry and upset that they couldn’t see it from my point of view. 

So now we have a President of the United States who doesn’t seem to care about consent or women’s rights, or anything that makes logical sense. A President who would probably would take the side of these men who thought it was okay to harass me on my way home. 

I won’t even apply for a job where I don’t meet one of the points on the person specification, yet Trump acts like he never even read the job description. And yes maybe Hillary wasn’t the best option either, but at least she was qualified for the role, and didn’t go around saying it was okay to grab men’s dicks without their permission. But so many people were too distracted by Trump’s incredibly unconventional approach to running for president to see through his bullshit. It seemed like the more controversial he was, the more support he got.

I’ve seen a lot of posts on social media saying that democracy happened and people should get over it, yet I keep thinking about the fact that Hillary actually got more votes than Trump. More people wanted her to be president. If this had happened in Brexit there would have been outrage.** ‘Oh we know you got 1,269,501 more votes, but sorry babes some votes are worth more than others’.

Saturday night was another reminder that a lot of men in the world just don’t respect women, not enough to turn up for a date, not enough to want us for more than just sex, not enough to criticise a female politician intelligently without resorting to gender based remarks, not enough to support our reproductive rights, and not enough to let us walk home in peace without feeling the need to comment on the way we look. 

What can we do about it?

What I said to those guys probably didn’t make any difference, but maybe if the next woman says something to them, and the woman after that, maybe if we keep challenging this behaviour, eventually things will improve. I don’t know. And I understand why most women would put their heads down and just keep walking, because there is a real risk of something awful happening to you. But I’m not going to stop challenging it. And I might even go to a women’s march next time. I can use my new found love of arts and crafts to make a good banner.

And what about dating?

I just keep finding that men are a distraction, and not just the ones you like either. The ones you don’t like are a distraction too. The time you spend checking online messages and profiles in the vague hope there will be a decent one there.

It annoyed me that I’d wasted an afternoon waiting for some guy who didn’t have the basic capability to organise his day properly. (I’d even been willing to overlook the fact that he often made really bad spelling and grammar errors on text, despite good grammar being one of my favourite things, as he said he was dyslexic).

If I think about my happiest times, a lot of them are when I was single and didn’t have any guys on my mind. So yeah it would be nice to have a partner to go to the next Winter Wonderland with, but I’m just going to try and not put too much attention into it, just check the apps every now and then, and meet people that seem cool, but not waste too much time messaging, or agree to meet guys I already know I won’t be compatible with.

At the beginning of this month, I wanted to go on a date every week, and basically treat it like a numbers game, but someone pointed out to me that I was turning it into project, and this might not be the best approach, and I agree. What I really would like is to meet someone in real life, and this seems so rare now, but I’m also going to keep going to cool and interesting places and see what happens.

Maybe I’ll find someone to be my boyfriend this year, and maybe I won’t, but in the meantime I’m dating myself. I’m going to be my own best boyfriend. Take myself on dates, cook myself great food, watch movies with myself, maybe use my vibrator a bit more often, and cuddle myself…yeah that last one is weird, I guess I can use my teddy or new piggy for that instead.

*I was watching one of my female friends in the Musical Comedy Awards heat- so in a way I was still supporting the cause

**Side note – let’s not forget that the outcome of the referendum was supposed to be advisory, yet I suspect even with the fact there now has to be a vote in parliament, there’s nothing we can do to stop Brexit now, and even Jeremy Corbyn seems to want it (just put us all out of our misery Jez and admit you secretly voted leave)

My new piggy:

piggy

Holding out for a hero (decent guy)

So after my recent revelations about casual sex, I decided to approach my dating life with a view to it turning into something more meaningful. Okay if you’re really going to make me say it.

I’m looking for a boyfriend.

This means when I’m seeing someone, I will be waiting for a while before I sleep with them. 

Let me explain.

I don’t think that it should matter whether you fuck a guy within 5 minutes of meeting him or waiting 3 months to do it, it shouldn’t make a difference to whether they want to go out with you or not. But it does. Not always, but it does.

When Tory 1 said that we should go out for dinner first before we had sex so we were more invested, he did have a point.

I still don’t understand why you would say that to someone and then turn around and say you thought it was casual. 

But anyway, I think that it came from a place of truth.

Which is that when men are not invested in you, they will fuck you maybe once, or twice or even several times, then often decide they don’t want to see you anymore.

I’ve always been one of those people that says you should get it out of the way within the first few dates, because what if you’re not sexually compatible? What if he has a small dick?* What if he has a really weird dick? What if there’s no dick?

But how many times have you had sex with someone you really like and/or you’re really attracted to, and it’s been really bad, or there’s been something really wrong with them?

In my experience, you can usually tell by making out with someone and/or talking about sex if the sex is going to be good or not. And if the sex is so bad that you can’t sustain a relationship with them, then you will just have to break up. Que sera sera.

Why not find out first if you would want to be in a relationship with each other based on spending time together? When you’ve established that, then you can have sex.

One of my friends recommended I read one of those cheesy dating books called ‘Become your own Matchmaker’ by Patti Stanger, which has steps for attracting a mate. It was a bit conventional for me, and as is usually the case with these books, the end goal is marriage, which is not something I want, but I did learn some really good tips such as the ‘non-negotiables’. This means you make a list of 5 qualities you absolutely need to have in a future partner, so you don’t waste time on people you are really incompatible with. I think this is fantastic idea, and I wish I had done this years’ ago.

Anyway, she also advocates waiting to sleep with a guy, but she goes even further to say you should tell them:

‘I’m really attracted to you, but I’m not the type of girl who sleeps around. I need to be in an exclusive, committed, monogamous relationship before I can have sex.’

Of course I could never say this with a straight face. Especially since most guys I meet want to Google me when they find out I do stand-up, and that means they come across this blog. However, I do think I could say to someone that I’m not ready to have sex with them until I’ve got to know them a bit better.

This is also a little different for me, as ideally I’m looking for more monogamish than monogamous. For me that would translate as most of the time you are committed to that person, but it’s not the end of the world if something happens with someone else on the odd occasion – use a condom and let’s move on. I would like to talk about my reasons for this in more detail, but I think that will have to be a whole other blog entry. So in the meantime…

I can imagine some of you may still be skeptical.

But think about when you were at school/college/maybe even uni…a lot of time you would start ‘dating’ someone, or call them boyfriend or girlfriend without even having had sex with them. Often because neither of you had had sex yet. But that person might be the first person you end up sleeping with months or years down the line. It was all done on attraction and personality. There was no worrying what if he/she’s not good in bed? So why don’t we do that now?

Honestly, I’m just a bit fed up of giving my pussy away and then being hurt afterwards. And yes it shouldn’t feel like ‘giving it away’, but from now on my puss is certainly going to be more picky.

This might be difficult for me, as I can be quite a sexual person, especially when I meet someone I am really into. But on the flip side, I can also often be way more into getting to know someone, and doing activities together, than the actual sex. Anyone who has heard my chess joke knows this. So I think I’ll be fine. Having said that, if you beat me at chess, that is like foreplay to me, so it might be better to stay away from that at the beginning. 

But yeah, this is an experiment, and it might not work – I may still end up getting hurt, and writing all about it on my blog, but there’s no harm in trying it out.

To be continued…

*Notes on a small dick

Guys, I know it’s not your fault if you happen to have a small one, but sadly there’s not much I can do about that.

I know that by not fucking until it’s more like we’re in a relationship, I do run the risk of a Samantha/Richard situation from Sex and the City, but let’s be honest in all my years of dick handling, there’s only been one that I really couldn’t be in a relationship with. (I started sucking it when it was flaccid and around 3 inches long. I kept expecting it to grow, and it got harder, but not bigger. I didn’t have sex with it).

Plus, you can feel a guy’s dick when you’re kissing them, which I often do, to check size and shape in advance.

I forgot to add to my previous blog post one of the funniest points of the evening, which was when I was giving him a blow job, and he asked me if he had a big dick. I told him now was probably not the best time to ask me such a question. (It was below average). To be honest, given what a fucking idiot he was, I should have just said that, but oh well, maybe he’ll read this blog post and find out…

62f669851b042263aa27ed98a9480d62

Why I gave up casual sex

I re-joined OkCupid a few weeks ago. I’m not sure why. I think I was probably bored. Or maybe I just wanted some attention. I guess I thought maybe it would help me get laid. ‘Why do I need help getting laid?’ I hear you ask – well there were a few guys I know that I could probably have sex with, but for whatever reason, I’d made the decision not to – maybe I didn’t fancy them enough, or maybe I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction (you know who you are), or maybe a bit of both.

OkCupid is different to Tinder in that anyone can message you, even if you don’t have a match, so as a woman looking for men, you get inundated, mostly from men who make you recoil in horror and/or can’t string a sentence together. After spending a lot of time deleting messages, blocking guys, and despairing at the world, you start getting a few half decent guys messaging you. I started talking to one, a student architect. He was 26, looked kind of cute in his pics, and it said something on his profile about how he was looking for a girl to corrupt him. Just my type, I thought.

We moved to WhatsApp, and talked over Christmas. It was discussed that we might go home together if meeting up went well, then he started sending me really weird questions such as:

‘Are you good at sex?’

‘Was that (bikini pic on my profile) recent?’ – I told him it was from 2014 so it was followed up with ‘Still got a slim body?’

‘How tall are you?’

‘What’s the height of the mattress on your bed?’

‘Have you got nice feet, do you think?’

‘Are these questions too weird?’

And then finally my favourite of them all:

screenshot_20170104-202235-2

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DO I LIKE FOREPLAY??!!!

I was transported back to my younger days when I didn’t realise why sex didn’t feel that good because I (and some of the guys I was with) didn’t know that you’re supposed to spend lots of time on the pussy (and other places) before you stick your dick in it. I told him I like having my nipples pulled (hard) and being slapped in the face. He said he probably wouldn’t be comfortable with the latter, which reminded me of my most recent blog post.

I said I wasn’t sure about us still meeting up, I didn’t know if we would be sexually compatible, or that he was sexually experienced enough for me. He said that he’s different in real life, and we should at least go for a drink and see.

So against my better judgement, I went to meet him at the tube station and we went to The Duke of Edinburgh (shout out to old Wood Green work colleagues). He was cute, but there was something really awkward about him, and although we had a bit of a chat and found some common ground, (we both went to Uni in Leicester, although he’s a De Montforter, so I win). I really didn’t like him as a person, and there was barely any actual chemistry, just two bored people, slightly attracted to each other, sitting in a pub together.

We had a couple of drinks, then I suggested we play pool, as I thought this would bring some excitement into the evening. It was fun, and I very almost beat him, but then I potted the white ball, while potting the black, so lost by default.

After we finished, he said shall we go and play chess? (It says on my profile that I’m looking for someone to play chess with). The pool game had created a very small amount of tension, so I agreed, and we began to walk home. I thought this would be the perfect time to ask him about his political opinions, since I don’t remember him answering those bits of the OKCupid questions.

Me: So if you’re from Barnet do you vote Tory then?

Him: Well it’s more Chipping Barnet who are Tories, and I have voted for different political parties, but yes now I do vote Tory.

My head: Of course.

He goes on to fanboy over why Margaret Thatcher was so great, because she made it so anyone could better themselves, no matter whether you were a shopkeeper, or a lawyer. (Or something similar).

If anyone would have wanted one of those busts from that Sherlock episode, it would have been him.

Me: Yeah so basically she made it better for self-employed people, but not if you’re a single parent with a part time job.

Him: Yeah.

(No further discussion on this).

Me: So did you vote Brexit?

Him: Yes.

My head: Seriously…

Me: Why?

Him: *gives me a convoluted explanation which suggests that Germany want to become a superpower again and we should have no part of that*

Half way through this conversation, I nearly fall over because it’s so slippy and icy on the pavement, but he does not seem to find any humour in this. Just like earlier on in the pub when I told him his glasses looked like Harry Potter glasses.

Me: But how is leaving the EU going to be better for Britain?

Him: *avoids the question like he’s practicing to be a politician*

Me: Just give me ONE GOOD REASON why you voted leave?

Him: Well I can’t remember that far back – it was in July.

Me: It was June the 23rd actually.

We go into my flat. It turns out he’s OCD about tidiness. If you’ve ever been to my flat, you’ll know this is not a good mix.

It becomes apparent that he does not want us to play chess, which honestly I was quite disappointed about. We start kissing and I’m glad to discover he’s a lips-only kisser. We start doing other stuff, and at one point I end up sitting on his face. He’s doing quite well, I’d probably give him a B plus, but doesn’t seem to be enjoying it, so I ask him if I need to go and wash my fanny, as I have been out all day. He unconvincingly tells me that it’s fine, so I go to the shower and have a quick wash. I’m not that sensitive! If I blatantly ask you if it needs washing, then it’s fine to say so. I’ve stopped sexual activity before to ask guys to go wash their dicks real quick.

We end up having sex, but he’s one of those guys who can’t stay fully hard the whole time in a condom, so that’s annoying. I don’t self-lubricate loads usually anyway, but it keeps drying up more than usual, so we have to use a lot of lube. Probably because there’s no real connection between us, and my pussy knows the truth, and is not cooperating.

He keeps telling me what to do, but not in a hot way, and any time I get even a little bit rough with him he acts like a total pussy about it. Eventually he ends up cumming on my tits, which I haven’t had for a while, so it’s nice for nostalgia. I get out my vibrator, but my clit is also refusing to play ball, so I decide to give up.

I start to feel a little emotional, I’m not sure if he notices, but he immediately gets up to go and have a shower. Which NO ONE HAS EVER DONE TO ME AFTER SEX BEFORE, and it feels a bit rude. But given his logical architect OCD Tory personality, I’m not massively surprised.

After he comes out of the shower, I go to pee (determined not to get cystitis from this experience), and let myself cry a little in the bathroom, and when I come back he’s already got dressed. It’s obvious now that I’m upset. I sit on the bed crying and he leaves, and I realise I have not yet learnt my lesson about leave voters.

Awkward as fuck.

I think the whole experience reminded me of what happened with Tory 1, and the rejection that I felt from him. The fact that the sex I’d just had was devoid of any intimacy made it all worse, plus the fact that I hadn’t cum, and he had, and that’s why I got sad.

I’ve had some great casual sex experiences in the past (more with people that I already knew though), but I think now I’m a bit older, I need something more, or at the very least I need to be more into it to in future, if I do ever do that again, and not just doing it for the sake of it.

In short:

If your pussy ain’t pulsing, then there’s no point fucking.

Stop sleeping with Tory Brexiters because clearly they have no soul.

My favourite part of the night was playing pool, so I obviously need to do this more.

I’ve used the word ‘pussy’ in this blog a lot. But for some reason I always call it a ‘fanny’ when I’m talking about washing it.

No one seems to have a good reason as to why they voted leave.