Last night I met another fashion student, who made the last one look like an idiot. She was awesome, we got on perfectly and she was completely lovely.
We were, however, in a gay bar. And, until 30 seconds before she left, she thought I was gay. Once I told her otherwise, her friends were already moving on so I didn't even get her number. Idiot.
The wonders of the internet knows no bounds, however. We had a picture taken by one of these online galleries, and I have tracked it down. She was the one who wanted the picture taken before I'd even noticed the photographer and so I think - or hope - she might check the website. I've left a comment there asking her to add me. And god, I hope she does.
Or I'll be just the tiniest bit annoyed.
Showing posts with label Girls. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Girls. Show all posts
Saturday, 8 March 2008
Friday, 7 March 2008
The Principle Problem
I, in all fariness, am a man of few actual principles. I believe in giving people a fair crack of the whip. If people have had a fair crack and are still fucking idiots, then they deserve all that they get.
I also believe in relative freedom. That is to say, as much freedom as can be achieved realistically in the current world we live in. For example, in the 'First World' (Great Britain, in this case) people are sort of free. Free to buy what they want (if they have the money), work what job they want (if they have the qualifications) and be friends with who they want (which isn't as easy as it sounds). I think even these relatively liberated people could do with being free from fear, though. It's a bit of a bastard, really. Not just the fear of being blown up by a deluded religious zealot, either. Fear of not having the prettiest hair, the most up to date clothes or the hippest music tastes. In this sense, I believe even the 'First World' isn't truly free. Neither can it be (I believe, whether you like it or not, everyone serves somebody or something), but it could be more free than it is right now.
Right. Mini-rant over. Major-rant pending.
So, I am quite bereft of principles in a political, proactive sense. Some people are not, and I think these people should actually respect what they believe in.
I recently became involved with a political female. Without going too deep into the politics, she's a socialist (justice for everyone, no concentrations of power) and a feminist (in the sense that she wants fairness between genders, not some kind of stereotypical 'man hater'). She's involved in an open relationship, therefore quite liberal and 'modern' about relations.
We spoke all night in a scene (albeit edited for time) that wouldn't have looked out of place in a sugary, Hollywood rom-com. We fell asleep in each other's arms, later, out of sight of her friends, and did a little bit of kissin'. All good. In the morning, and later via cellular communication, she told me she couldn't remember meeting anyone like me and really wanted to see me again. Somewhat hampered by the fact that we live 200 miles apart.
An opportunity came up a week later for us to see each other in my current city. I was caught in work but we agreed to catch up over at least a quick drink over a few hours. I text her, asking about it a day before. Nothing. The next day, I tried again. Nothing. One step away from stalking, I contacted her over the internet and got no reply.
The friend who introduced us sighed at these stories. She'd sort of warned me about her, early on, and admitted this was sort of her normal way of dealing with boys and girls.
The girl's principles are an integral part of her life. And yet she played the role of a 1950s adulterer, basically. Finding a piece of eye candy, telling them they're amazing and using them for a while before going back to their relationship.
If she, a revolutionary by her own admission, can sell out her principles by acting like the kind of man part of her political viewpoint is directly against, it sort of explains to me why cunts like Patsy Hewitt can leave the government to line their pockets in private companies (Boots, in this case). I wish I was disappointed, really.
I also believe in relative freedom. That is to say, as much freedom as can be achieved realistically in the current world we live in. For example, in the 'First World' (Great Britain, in this case) people are sort of free. Free to buy what they want (if they have the money), work what job they want (if they have the qualifications) and be friends with who they want (which isn't as easy as it sounds). I think even these relatively liberated people could do with being free from fear, though. It's a bit of a bastard, really. Not just the fear of being blown up by a deluded religious zealot, either. Fear of not having the prettiest hair, the most up to date clothes or the hippest music tastes. In this sense, I believe even the 'First World' isn't truly free. Neither can it be (I believe, whether you like it or not, everyone serves somebody or something), but it could be more free than it is right now.
Right. Mini-rant over. Major-rant pending.
So, I am quite bereft of principles in a political, proactive sense. Some people are not, and I think these people should actually respect what they believe in.
I recently became involved with a political female. Without going too deep into the politics, she's a socialist (justice for everyone, no concentrations of power) and a feminist (in the sense that she wants fairness between genders, not some kind of stereotypical 'man hater'). She's involved in an open relationship, therefore quite liberal and 'modern' about relations.
We spoke all night in a scene (albeit edited for time) that wouldn't have looked out of place in a sugary, Hollywood rom-com. We fell asleep in each other's arms, later, out of sight of her friends, and did a little bit of kissin'. All good. In the morning, and later via cellular communication, she told me she couldn't remember meeting anyone like me and really wanted to see me again. Somewhat hampered by the fact that we live 200 miles apart.
An opportunity came up a week later for us to see each other in my current city. I was caught in work but we agreed to catch up over at least a quick drink over a few hours. I text her, asking about it a day before. Nothing. The next day, I tried again. Nothing. One step away from stalking, I contacted her over the internet and got no reply.
The friend who introduced us sighed at these stories. She'd sort of warned me about her, early on, and admitted this was sort of her normal way of dealing with boys and girls.
The girl's principles are an integral part of her life. And yet she played the role of a 1950s adulterer, basically. Finding a piece of eye candy, telling them they're amazing and using them for a while before going back to their relationship.
If she, a revolutionary by her own admission, can sell out her principles by acting like the kind of man part of her political viewpoint is directly against, it sort of explains to me why cunts like Patsy Hewitt can leave the government to line their pockets in private companies (Boots, in this case). I wish I was disappointed, really.
Friday, 22 February 2008
Domination!
The world of nursing is pretty genderfucked. Don't get me wrong - I like it, but it's - as Jimmy Greaves once said (about something completely different): "It's a funny old game."
I like to think of adult nursing as a mini-matriarchy. Obviously, within the health service adult nursing is but a small part. A lot of medicine, like the world in general, is a patriarchal sort of gig. Which makes the little, woman-dominated island of adult nursing quite unique. A lot of older men that I know couldn't cope with living outside of a patriarchy, in my opinion. I'm something of an exception, I'm happy to say. One of my bosses, after the entire staff poked a bit of gender-based fun at me (which a softer human being could have wrongly mistook for bullying), told me: "We're all bitches here, sorry."
I told her I'd get used to it.
And I will. It's quite strange, to spend half of my time in one little world and the rest in one that is quite different. But I suspect it must be quite different for the female students.
The idea of Female-Solidarity is a hazy one in pop culture, and although the ethos behind it is lovely it often falls prey to backstabbing within the traditional patriarchy of British society. On the ward, it seems to be worse. In a sense there are no real male figures for anyone to play for or play off, and so you're really down to the bare bones. In fact, being a man within the system makes you into something of an impartial observer, which is fun. I'm sure if the staff I'd met were single, closer to my age, etc. I might end up taking up a different role of 'eye candy' (which wouldn't be a completely horrible fate) but right now I'm happy to observe proceedings. It's fun.
I like to think of adult nursing as a mini-matriarchy. Obviously, within the health service adult nursing is but a small part. A lot of medicine, like the world in general, is a patriarchal sort of gig. Which makes the little, woman-dominated island of adult nursing quite unique. A lot of older men that I know couldn't cope with living outside of a patriarchy, in my opinion. I'm something of an exception, I'm happy to say. One of my bosses, after the entire staff poked a bit of gender-based fun at me (which a softer human being could have wrongly mistook for bullying), told me: "We're all bitches here, sorry."
I told her I'd get used to it.
And I will. It's quite strange, to spend half of my time in one little world and the rest in one that is quite different. But I suspect it must be quite different for the female students.
The idea of Female-Solidarity is a hazy one in pop culture, and although the ethos behind it is lovely it often falls prey to backstabbing within the traditional patriarchy of British society. On the ward, it seems to be worse. In a sense there are no real male figures for anyone to play for or play off, and so you're really down to the bare bones. In fact, being a man within the system makes you into something of an impartial observer, which is fun. I'm sure if the staff I'd met were single, closer to my age, etc. I might end up taking up a different role of 'eye candy' (which wouldn't be a completely horrible fate) but right now I'm happy to observe proceedings. It's fun.
Monday, 11 February 2008
Girls once more...
Sometimes, I like my women like I like my vices. Addictive and very bad for me.
The recent gal I've met is amazing. But it's going to get messy, I fear. Still, as a very lovely songwriter once stated:
"I'd rather have your heart broken by you,
Than never broken at all..."
The recent gal I've met is amazing. But it's going to get messy, I fear. Still, as a very lovely songwriter once stated:
"I'd rather have your heart broken by you,
Than never broken at all..."
Thursday, 24 January 2008
Girls and I
I've been having issues, recently.
I'm single and happy. That's a fact. My last relationship ended really badly, disillusioning me towards humans for a while. My ex, whose name I'll withhold for legal and obvious reasons, and I had been together for 2 and a bit years, on and off. By the end of that period we were different people, and we'd grown apart. Me upwards into fun and her downwards into being boring, but different people sounds nicer. Anyway, in the end I just stopped speaking to her to see what she'd do. She predictably did nothing.
Recently I dreamt about her. Well, that's not wholly true. I dreamt I was an Olympic-level athlete in the new sport of Urban Swimming (don't ask) before dreaming about her. In this dream, she was over me. Utterly and completely, didn't give a shit about me anymore. New boyfriend, new life.
I woke up, irked. The fact that I felt irked, irked me even more. I actually don't care about her, anymore and I hope she doesn't care about me - although I suspect she probably does. And yet I still felt a genuine longing for her.
Problem is I remember her as two people, really. The student who I fell in love with and the 'professional' who was distinctly boring, predictable and unlovable. I miss the former. The dream (and subsequent dreamscapes involving ladies) was probably more about me.
Girls and I? Maybe. Although that'd be a bit too easy, psychoanalyticilly. The battle might be more inside my pretty little head. The complex management of the feminine and masculine sections of my subconcious is a perilous arrangement, probably not helped by the fact that, last week, that lovely pole dancer illustrated how out of shape I am on the pole, one of my favourite outlets of fun.
This also seems a bit easy and convenient. My overactive subconscious aside, I'm generally blissfully happy (if completely skint) recently, so there can't be that much to fret about. I don't know, to be honest, but it's useful to get my words down on a computer screen.
I'm single and happy. That's a fact. My last relationship ended really badly, disillusioning me towards humans for a while. My ex, whose name I'll withhold for legal and obvious reasons, and I had been together for 2 and a bit years, on and off. By the end of that period we were different people, and we'd grown apart. Me upwards into fun and her downwards into being boring, but different people sounds nicer. Anyway, in the end I just stopped speaking to her to see what she'd do. She predictably did nothing.
Recently I dreamt about her. Well, that's not wholly true. I dreamt I was an Olympic-level athlete in the new sport of Urban Swimming (don't ask) before dreaming about her. In this dream, she was over me. Utterly and completely, didn't give a shit about me anymore. New boyfriend, new life.
I woke up, irked. The fact that I felt irked, irked me even more. I actually don't care about her, anymore and I hope she doesn't care about me - although I suspect she probably does. And yet I still felt a genuine longing for her.
Problem is I remember her as two people, really. The student who I fell in love with and the 'professional' who was distinctly boring, predictable and unlovable. I miss the former. The dream (and subsequent dreamscapes involving ladies) was probably more about me.
Girls and I? Maybe. Although that'd be a bit too easy, psychoanalyticilly. The battle might be more inside my pretty little head. The complex management of the feminine and masculine sections of my subconcious is a perilous arrangement, probably not helped by the fact that, last week, that lovely pole dancer illustrated how out of shape I am on the pole, one of my favourite outlets of fun.
This also seems a bit easy and convenient. My overactive subconscious aside, I'm generally blissfully happy (if completely skint) recently, so there can't be that much to fret about. I don't know, to be honest, but it's useful to get my words down on a computer screen.
Tuesday, 13 February 2007
First Post
Quality title, eh?
Of this post, I mean. Not the blog.
For reference, the title of the blog refers to the professional I'm going into. Nursing. If the government will give me money.
The catch is that I have a penis. And, despite the fact that the tiny shreds of optimism left within me held hope, people still think this is very funny. People from all walks of life, to boot! Most recently my 11 year old cousin. I'm glad school is still teaching:
1) Boys like blue
2) Girls like pink
(And, when it comes to medicine)
3) Boys grow up to be doctors
4) Girls grow up to be nurses
I think my time within the arts community, who don't give a shit about anything at all, I acquired some hope for the world.
Silly me.
Anyways, this blog is going to stay as anonymous as possible, for shits and giggles. I'm a young, cosmopolitan male living in the UK and that's pretty much all you need to know.
I'll find myself writing about politics, gender issues, art and girls. Not in that order. You'd think girls would be covered by gender issues, but no. They get a whole category to themselves. For better or worse.
Men are stupid. But I truly believe that women pip them to the post when it comes to stupidity while the rest of the world cheers from the sidelines at this very interesting chase/race. It's certainly something that irks me.
Of this post, I mean. Not the blog.
For reference, the title of the blog refers to the professional I'm going into. Nursing. If the government will give me money.
The catch is that I have a penis. And, despite the fact that the tiny shreds of optimism left within me held hope, people still think this is very funny. People from all walks of life, to boot! Most recently my 11 year old cousin. I'm glad school is still teaching:
1) Boys like blue
2) Girls like pink
(And, when it comes to medicine)
3) Boys grow up to be doctors
4) Girls grow up to be nurses
I think my time within the arts community, who don't give a shit about anything at all, I acquired some hope for the world.
Silly me.
Anyways, this blog is going to stay as anonymous as possible, for shits and giggles. I'm a young, cosmopolitan male living in the UK and that's pretty much all you need to know.
I'll find myself writing about politics, gender issues, art and girls. Not in that order. You'd think girls would be covered by gender issues, but no. They get a whole category to themselves. For better or worse.
Men are stupid. But I truly believe that women pip them to the post when it comes to stupidity while the rest of the world cheers from the sidelines at this very interesting chase/race. It's certainly something that irks me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
