Thursday, 11 June 2015

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?

Wednesday, 3 June 2015

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.

Sunday, 10 May 2015

{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."

Saturday, 2 May 2015

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!

Tuesday, 24 March 2015

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.

Sunday, 15 March 2015

If We'd Stayed Together

{Because I spend 60% of my waking life living imagined situations, considering hypothetical outcomes and writing an end to every What If... This is about my dear friend Gellar, who I could not give my heart to. And, it turns out, I was right not to. I'm so glad it has worked out for us both, that we can be friends again, but if (if, if all of the ifs) I had said Yes, where would be now?}

We'd have been together about a month when you found out. If circumstances had been different, I might have fallen in love with you by then. If it had just felt right when we kissed. If the whole mess that is my life hadn't dragged me away. If I'd finally fallen for you after willing for it for so long, it would have been with a beautiful thud of pieces slotting together and a calm acceptance. 

If you had become Mine. My boyfriend. We would have clocked up weeks' worth of late night phone calls, whole albums of naughty pictures and all the other hallmarks of a long distance relationship. My phone, the vessel of our affection, would be my most precious possession; I'd think of it, of you, last thing at night and first thing in the morning.  

When you got the news, would you have told me straight away?

Saturday, 14 February 2015

Pic n' Mix, Poo and Potter: A Valentines Story

The first time I had a boyfriend at Valentines Day was a momentous occasion. Finally - finally FINALLY - I would get a card, and maybe even some flowers. You may have detected a hint of desperation for this to finally happen and you're not wrong. I was 17 at the time. In my mind, I was very late to the Valentines party and I was tired of pretending I didn't want to attend (I really, really did).

So when I eventually did have a boyfriend at Valentines it was a big effing deal. This was going to be the best day ever.

He was 21 and I felt so bloomin' scandalous because hello - a 4 year age gap. Before we even kissed, my best friend and I discussed at length whether his age would be a problem. Would he expect me to have sex with him? Would we have anything in common? Would he find me too immature and inexperienced? It required a whole sleepover and two bags of maltesers to reach a decision. We concluded that yes, it would be acceptable for me to go out with him.

You see, there were undeniable positives to having an older boyfriend. He could drive us around. He could buy us alcohol. And the cool girls at school would totally respect me more than the other nerds for having a boyfriend over 20.

Friday, 13 February 2015

Perfection? I'll have some Perspective please

For the over-achievers, dreamers and impatient souls amongst us.

In films and television (even the deceivingly feel-good faves, like Bridget Jones and Friends), the age of 30 is this looming deadline by which you must have perfected your life. We feel like we have to have successful and rewarding careers, a wedding ring or at the very least be engaged to The One, have a baby on the way, a mortgage, a 5-door car, at least one investment designer handbag and a good anti-ageing skin regime. 

I understand this crazy need to perfect and work, work, work to achieve. When I was 18 I would have told you with absolute certainty that I was going to be engaged by 27. My fiance and I would both want a couple of extra years for our amazing careers before we actually got married at 29. Then after a year of blissful marriage, we would try for a baby. I’d get pregnant and have a baby boy first (his little sister to follow 3 years later), and I’d take a year - no more, no less - out of work, before returning to run my media empire and seamlessly juggle a perfect career/family balance. 

Wednesday, 21 January 2015

Stupid Cupid & Dirty (dirty) Mojitos

Sometimes the Dating Gods decide you deserve a break. More often they decide to fuck with you. And that's fine. I can imagine it must be quite fun toying with our emotions. If I was Cupid I would definitely cause more trouble than good. I'd make people people fall in love with their best friend's husband/wife, make horny teenagers obsess over their maths teacher, and shit on single girls' attempts to find a normal guy to have sex with. It would be hilarious.

Not so much when you're at the receiving end, but I'm learning to see the funny side. I had a date coming up and I'll admit now that I had already written the guy off (9/10 first dates are a complete waste of time). But hallelujah! It turned out to be one of - possibly the best - first date of my life. And I broke all the dating rules...

So a warning now: this post is my naughtiest yet (seriously, I'm blushing as I type... and I haven't even included the dirtiest details).

Saturday, 17 January 2015

Black People Can't Act & Diversity Sucks

2015's Oscar nominations caused a bit of an uproar didn't they? And quite rightly. All of the 20 nominated actors and actresses were white. Of the 10 writers nominated not a single one was a woman. And yep, you guessed it, no female directors received any gongs either.

Everyone jokes about the Oscars being racist and sexist, but how true is it actually? And how far does this extend into the rest of the industry?

Just saying it now: I disagree with the idea of "diversity" and here is why...

Thursday, 15 January 2015

Sexual Misadventures: Part 3

I thought it would be like that Sam Smith song. It wasn't.

Apparently, you have not truly experienced the Single Life until you have had a One Night Stand. I very rarely go "out" (because hello, London ain't cheap) and so I never meet guys in clubs. I also have a very convenient and nice fuck buddy (update on that situation coming soon) who I can turn to when physical needs demand it. So I date at my leisure and haven't needed to resort to a hook-up.

Sunday, 11 January 2015

For the love of London

You are now in London, that great sea, whose ebb and flow at once is deaf and loud, and on the shore vomits its wrecks, and still howls on for more. Yet in its depth what treasures! -P.B. Shelley
I live in London. It’s a grey and red city of juxtapositions, a crazy spectrum reaching across beauty and squalor. I don’t remember when I decided to move here, I don’t even think it was a conscious decision. It was an inevitability. I just knew, always had, London would be my home.