Did The Maths. And I've Decided To Stay Single

I am the only singleton in my group of friends. Some of them have mortgages together. They have all discussed marriage and kids. They are happy. Settled.

I know my friends would say they aren't settling, but are content. I can see that they are actually very much in love with their respective others and I'm happy for them, so this post isn't about relationship-bashing.

...Also, as a girl who previously stayed with their high-school sweetheart for 5 years, I'm not really in a position to be judging anyone...

This post is about how, from my very empty Singleton-camp, I won't be ready to go back to Relationship-ville for a while. It's about how I just can't relate to those who dwell there!

To me, picking a potential life-partner at this age would be like choosing the first option on a menu, without reading the rest. Or watching the first channel you land on, without flicking through the TV guide. Like only ever going to one country or shopping in one shop.  I mean, sure, Wagamama's Katsu Curry is the tits - but are you going to have it every time you go there or will you try one of the other 30 dishes on offer?

10 Things I'm Worrying About Today

In no particular order...

1. Money (always).
2. Attending my first ever Hen Do on Friday. Does this make me old? 
3. What exactly my GP meant when she said I had a "weird" cervix.
4. How much weight I'm going to gain since freezing my gym membership (because of lack of item #1).
5. My friend broke my shower and I feel awkward about asking her to replace it.
6. I haven't replied to any of my matches on Happn, which makes me a horrible person.
7. Seeing Lips on Saturday.
8. How I'm going to get my dysfunctional family together for Father's day.
9. Presenting my business plan and financial forecast to the bank tomorrow.
10. Competing with the BBC and Working Title for film rights next week.

{Dear Diary} Ready, Steady, Jump

It's May. Fucking May. Month FIVE of 2015. In a few weeks time I will be turning a year older, before you know it Xmas chocolates will start appearing in shops like parasitic boils and then BOOM - it'll be 2016. So why the fuck am I pissing time up the wall like I have a Tardis stashed in my knicker drawer?

Because, ladies and gents, if I'm being melodramatic, I am drowning in a tsunami of fear. If I'm trying to be lighthearted, I am pooping it. If I'm in total denial, I'm a little anxious. The reality is more of a paralysis/deer in headlights situation where I'm so caught up in my own fears and self-doubt that I can't move in any direction.

It's an awful thing to admit, but that's the truth. At the end of March I left my job with £3,000 of hard-earned cash, enough to live off for 2 months while I went freelance and started my own production company. I am going to do this, I said, to myself, to my friends, to my family. I may as well have got it printed on a t-shirt or tattooed on my nose, I was that determined. "I'm going to put myself out there and I'm going to Make. It. Work."

How Much Should I Be Paid?

What you should be earning and how to ask for it.

Last week I turned down a job I'd wanted for years. Because it didn't pay enough. 

I know what you're thinking: surely if it was my *dream* job, I'd do it whatever the money? Yes, in an ideal world I would do that job for free because I love this industry and I love being a part of it. And many people sacrifice a wage for the sake of advancing their career, through un- or low-paid internships. Admirable? Maybe. Wrong? Definitely.

We have a National Minimum Wage (£6.50/hour, working out at £12,675/year) but we also have a Living Wage, for a reason. Basically, if you are expected to live off your wage, it must be equal to/more than £17,843/year in London, and £15,308 in the rest of the UK.

The job I was offered was at a *top* independent production company and they offered me just £17,000. It is almost impossible to live off that amount of money in London - so I asked for more. What surprised me was that the company didn't immediately shoot me down and were willing to negotiate. So this has led me to write this post!

You Sucked My Big Toe

According to the internet, there are 5 rules to having a Fuck Buddy:

• Avoid kissing on the lips
• Don't stay the night
• Stick to small talk
• No cuddling
• Turn your heart to stone, mentally lock him in a box with a huge padlock and think of him only as a human dildo

Nobody told me these rules. So it's not really surprising that my fuck buddy and I are in a bit of pickle...

It began back in September. I named him Lips because his kiss made my knees weak, but I didn't want anything serious. On the 4th date I turned to him in bed and said, "You're cool with this just beeing sex, right?"

He laughed. "I like how you waited until after sex to bring that up."

"Priorities," I replied.

"Yeah it's cool," he said. "Makes no sense getting into anything serious."

So we embarked on our Fuck Buddy Adventure. Usually Thursdays, fortnightly, 8pm. We'd chat and then we'd fuck. It was good, uncomplicated. We signed up to go to a high-class orgy together.

I'd like to state now, for the record, that he upset our sexy apple cart first.