For those of you that know me personally you will know that I blinking love Adele, especially 'Someone Like You' (Oh, and 'Set Fire To The Rain', and 'Hometown Glory'. Oh, but don't forget 'Don't You Remember'...well, the list could go on and I really think you get the jist). I swear I could listen to it each and everyday and not once get bored of it. Whether my flatmate would agree with me is an entirely different matter. But then again, he can listen to the soundtrack of Oliver! more than anyone I have ever meet (and Sister is a dance teacher) so his comments are nul in void. Ha!
As with most things in life, after our initial infatuation we soon move our attentions on to some new shiny toy. However, after finding this new live version of Someone Like You recorded, it states, Live In Her Home my infatuation was immediately rekindled. I suspect this love was never too far away, to be honest. I love the wee intro where you can clearly see Adele wearing her heart on her sleeve and telling the world (let's face it, when it comes to Adele at the moment, most of the world are indeed watching) of her heartbreak. I am forever writing my emotions down in the form of a letter, text or email and rarely muster enough courage to send them, so to see someone write their raw emotions down into a song for all to see is phenomenally brave.
I think the beauty of this song is that we all have a love, crush, etc with that one someone who got away, as the cliche goes (will someone please inform me how to get that damn accent over the 'e' on that word...or possibly note to self, stop using the word 'cliche'). And listening to, and singing (bleating out with all my might), 'Someone Like You' is easily one of the most effective ways of telling that one person, that is still at the back of your thoughts, how you really feel. And this without actually having to have that heartbreaking conversation where you slowly realise that you are the only party that is still in love. It's a win win.
I, of course, have someone who I can imagine, just as Adele mentions in the intro, one day seeking out at the age of 40, if not sooner, meeting him and his beautiful (and 'just lovely' I suspect - cow!) wife and his wonderful children while I'm still on my own. Apart from my shed load of cats, of course. Or worse; still living with my current flatmate. I believe this may just be my new 'Oh God, I'm going to die alone and be eaten by wolves before anyone realises' fantasy (Oh, come on, you have all had that one! Surely?). Somehow I feel this fantasy is slightly healthier. And at least I get to sing along to a beautiful song whenever it enters my head.
So I encourage you all now to find a song, even if it isn't this one, to sing along to at times when frankly, the whole world seems set against you and sing out until it makes you cry. Having a massive cry and outlet can make everything magically seem better. Well sometimes. And if you need some empowerment afterwards I can recommend, sticking with the Adele theme of this post, 'Set Fire To The Rain' or even 'Rolling In The Deep'. They're great for the soul as well as fabulous 'I'm-gonna-be-fine-without-you' songs. I'm starting to see why my friends think I'm a tad dramatic at times...
...Oh well, nevermind, I'll find someone like yoooooouuuuu!
Thursday 19 May 2011
Tuesday 17 May 2011
Nutella and Go...
I apologise to anyone that is not a fan of Nutella as this post is basically a love letter, of sorts, to one of my favourite things in all the world.
However I am feeling, whatever mood I am in, Nutella is always the best choice. Without doubt. Whether I am celebrating, feeling hurt, angry and lost or just fancy a wee treat, Nutella is always my first port of call.
I cannot remember who introduced me to this wonderful spread (if I did, I would be campaigning for their Knighthood), but ever since I can remember I have always loved it. No, scrap that, adored it. UTTERLY adored it. I always have and I always will. It's by far my longest love affair and for someone who becomes a little scared when thinking about relationships, for me Nutella replaces those boyfriends I can, at times, shy away from. Perhaps if they stopped buying flowers and starting buying jars of Nutella I would feel as romantic as they do, or perhaps I would just run to the shop and buy some crumpets to spread it on!? Who can tell.
As I sit here feeling uncomfortable from the addition of someone I once considered one of my closest friends but now could barely call an acquaintance, frustrated by her presence and my utter lack of motivation to complete the final leg of my degree, is it The Nice One that cheers me up? No, he's off walking and taking in the beauty of The Countryside; is it some new beau? Hell no, don't you know me at all by now; is it Dynasty? Nope, she's off on a NYC adventure with her boyfriend 'The Ginger Grump', ah, could it be The Blonde One? Alas, she is travelling up from our home town to rejoin the boyfriend in the move half a mile or so away from their current London abode. No, it is of course Nutella. Nutella and Go to be accurate. My mother recently bought me back eight 'Nutella and Go' pots from her day trip to France. In my humble opinion, that is love. Thank you, mummy. You know me well.
The small fact that Britain does not sell Nutella and Go fills me with mixed views. Although, I am clearly devastated that I cannot get my hands on something that can turn my day from one of utter shite to one of pure bliss as easily as the rest of the continent, a small part of me knows that I would become the size of Russia with a massive debt from living off my favourite snack if it were so freely available. As a child I was allowed a jar of Nutella perhaps twice a year; at Christmas (to be able to enjoy for my Christmas Breakfast, a tradition that I refuse to break even into my adult life) and one for my summer holiday abroad and I feel this worked well. I viewed Nutella as a rare treat and would saviour every single moment we shared. I wish I was even slightly exaggerating this now, however, I really did view Nutella in higher esteem than the majority of my primary school teachers put together.
I just wanted to dedicate a post to something that has been in my life for as long as I can remember and one that I love more than I love most people (that didn't sound quite Annie Wilkes from Misery in my head...crumbs!). For most things in life, I can do with the cheaper fake-o-no-make-o version, I am a student after all, but if you can't have Nutella, there is really no point in having chocolate spread at all. So do I care that you're all probably thinking 'step away from the Nutella jar, tubby?' or even 'I think this girl needs some therapy'...? Of course not, I have my Nutella and Go...
...utter bliss.
However I am feeling, whatever mood I am in, Nutella is always the best choice. Without doubt. Whether I am celebrating, feeling hurt, angry and lost or just fancy a wee treat, Nutella is always my first port of call.
I cannot remember who introduced me to this wonderful spread (if I did, I would be campaigning for their Knighthood), but ever since I can remember I have always loved it. No, scrap that, adored it. UTTERLY adored it. I always have and I always will. It's by far my longest love affair and for someone who becomes a little scared when thinking about relationships, for me Nutella replaces those boyfriends I can, at times, shy away from. Perhaps if they stopped buying flowers and starting buying jars of Nutella I would feel as romantic as they do, or perhaps I would just run to the shop and buy some crumpets to spread it on!? Who can tell.
As I sit here feeling uncomfortable from the addition of someone I once considered one of my closest friends but now could barely call an acquaintance, frustrated by her presence and my utter lack of motivation to complete the final leg of my degree, is it The Nice One that cheers me up? No, he's off walking and taking in the beauty of The Countryside; is it some new beau? Hell no, don't you know me at all by now; is it Dynasty? Nope, she's off on a NYC adventure with her boyfriend 'The Ginger Grump', ah, could it be The Blonde One? Alas, she is travelling up from our home town to rejoin the boyfriend in the move half a mile or so away from their current London abode. No, it is of course Nutella. Nutella and Go to be accurate. My mother recently bought me back eight 'Nutella and Go' pots from her day trip to France. In my humble opinion, that is love. Thank you, mummy. You know me well.
The small fact that Britain does not sell Nutella and Go fills me with mixed views. Although, I am clearly devastated that I cannot get my hands on something that can turn my day from one of utter shite to one of pure bliss as easily as the rest of the continent, a small part of me knows that I would become the size of Russia with a massive debt from living off my favourite snack if it were so freely available. As a child I was allowed a jar of Nutella perhaps twice a year; at Christmas (to be able to enjoy for my Christmas Breakfast, a tradition that I refuse to break even into my adult life) and one for my summer holiday abroad and I feel this worked well. I viewed Nutella as a rare treat and would saviour every single moment we shared. I wish I was even slightly exaggerating this now, however, I really did view Nutella in higher esteem than the majority of my primary school teachers put together.
I just wanted to dedicate a post to something that has been in my life for as long as I can remember and one that I love more than I love most people (that didn't sound quite Annie Wilkes from Misery in my head...crumbs!). For most things in life, I can do with the cheaper fake-o-no-make-o version, I am a student after all, but if you can't have Nutella, there is really no point in having chocolate spread at all. So do I care that you're all probably thinking 'step away from the Nutella jar, tubby?' or even 'I think this girl needs some therapy'...? Of course not, I have my Nutella and Go...
...utter bliss.
he's just not that into you...
I'm not sure I have mentioned this before but I am in fact severely dyslexic (for those of you that have just thought 'how can someone with sever dyslexia write a blog?', go and do some research! Thanks), but although I am dyslexic I am a also an enormous book worm (Don't you just love a bit of irony). There is nothing I enjoy more than being left alone so I can become utterly engrossed in a book and its characters.
The number of times I have wept in sympathy for a fictional characters pain and loss is, I'm almost sure, twice as much as I do over my own heartbreak. This may be tragic, however, it's possibly why I rely on these books so much as they allow me to let go of all of the emotional baggage I find so difficult to let go of myself. Yes, convincing myself that all my tears are being shed for poor John-Boy's grief is sometimes that bit easier than admitting I need to shed these tears for my own emotionally needs (I feel I need to set the record straight here; I have never read any story involving a character named John-Boy, but I couldn't ruin a plot of any book I had read. I'm not that cruel!).
In the true style of a master procrastinator, when searching for a birthday gift for my wonderful flat mate I stumbled across a £3 copy of the book 'he's just not that into you' (Score!). A fairly small book (perfect for procrastinating as I would feel far too guilty knowingly allowing myself to get sucked into a book that was too meaty. There really is an art to a true procrastinator. You never allow yourself to truly realise how much you are procrastinating until you have well and truly completed the job in which you are avoiding, and starting a 900 page gritty novel that would engulf itself into your every thought would be a step too far and there would be no way to excuse that kind of procrastination with several deadlines looming) and if it were anything like the light hearted film of the same name, then it really would be a perfect read. You can imagine then my shock and surprise when this wee find turned out to be a self-help/dating book. Oh, good Lord! Procrastination out the window then. Or perhaps not.
I have only ever read one self-help/dating book and that was only because my darling mum bought it for me as she thought it was 'just a bit of fun'. It was called 'Jane Austen's guide to dating' written by Lauren Henderson, and if I'm honest with you I barely schemed it and raced to the end to complete the 'which Jane Austen character are you?' quiz (Elizabeth Bennet, I thank you). So I'll forgive you for wondering why on earth I would carry on reading 'he's just not that into'. Well, procrastination is a wonderful motivator at times, I can tell you. However, procrastination and self-help aside, this book has turned out to be a genuinely funny read. Who'd have thought?
Greg Behrendt's (author) blunt and at times, brutally harsh explanations as to why a guy is not behaving as you had wished is wonderfully refreshing and actually very witty. He points out, more than once, that men would rather scratch out their own eyeballs than admit to a girl that they just don't like her enough. Men are, in simple, cowards. Greg's words, not mine. However, before we all start quoting Bridget Jones and shouting 'Fuck to the Fuckwittages' from the mountain tops, it's important to remember that men don't lie, of sorts, either. If they are just not that into you, they are probably making it perfectly clear in their actions.
The concept, as you can see, is a beautifully basic one, and one I feel I follow (ninety nine per cent of the time that is), that if a guy isn't calling you, is breaking promises (even the small ones) or even not having sex with you (well, D'oh! on that one!! Really girls) then they are just not that into you. The end. No if's, and's or but's. Ok, so we all know that there are of course exceptions to every rule, however, what are the chances that every single one of us has found a guy who isn't calling us or committing to us who miraculously turns around one day and realises, after you've pointed it out to him, that you are everything he never knew he wanted and decides he does want to spend the rest of his life with you? That you are the exception to the rule or his exception anyway. Slim to none I'm afraid. Therefore, isn't it easier on yourself, and your heart for that matter, to believe that you are simply 'the rule' and move on? I think so. Whether I take Greg's advice on this when it comes to my exception remains to be seen.
Although, I found it difficult to relate to the witty stories sent into Greg, I did find that I really rather related to Liz Tuccillo, the co-author who summarized each chapter. She didn't seem to have any commitment issues herself but she did admit to being attracted to emotionally unavailable men, and boy did I relate to that. There is obviously some characteristic that the emotionally unavailable share that just ticks my boxes. Really, is there any hope for me? I hate to think. Yes, even I, with all my commitment issues can on a very rare occasion fall (or almost) for someone and for someone like me who doesn't put themselves out there all that often it can be all too easy to read far too much into a sign that you wish was there rather than ones that are actually there. I do believe that he's just not that into you might become a most important statement. Let's face it, I'm just not that into so many perfectly adorable men, so why should we be upset when one of them is just not that into us?
So I have decided to listen to Greg and agree with his co-author Liz, and say 'Fuck them all', it really doesn't matter, he's just not that into me. Oddly enough, and I don't quite understand how, it really is quite a confidence boaster.
Can someone please remind me of this the next time I am drunkenly trying to text The Nice One? Much appreciated!
The number of times I have wept in sympathy for a fictional characters pain and loss is, I'm almost sure, twice as much as I do over my own heartbreak. This may be tragic, however, it's possibly why I rely on these books so much as they allow me to let go of all of the emotional baggage I find so difficult to let go of myself. Yes, convincing myself that all my tears are being shed for poor John-Boy's grief is sometimes that bit easier than admitting I need to shed these tears for my own emotionally needs (I feel I need to set the record straight here; I have never read any story involving a character named John-Boy, but I couldn't ruin a plot of any book I had read. I'm not that cruel!).
In the true style of a master procrastinator, when searching for a birthday gift for my wonderful flat mate I stumbled across a £3 copy of the book 'he's just not that into you' (Score!). A fairly small book (perfect for procrastinating as I would feel far too guilty knowingly allowing myself to get sucked into a book that was too meaty. There really is an art to a true procrastinator. You never allow yourself to truly realise how much you are procrastinating until you have well and truly completed the job in which you are avoiding, and starting a 900 page gritty novel that would engulf itself into your every thought would be a step too far and there would be no way to excuse that kind of procrastination with several deadlines looming) and if it were anything like the light hearted film of the same name, then it really would be a perfect read. You can imagine then my shock and surprise when this wee find turned out to be a self-help/dating book. Oh, good Lord! Procrastination out the window then. Or perhaps not.
I have only ever read one self-help/dating book and that was only because my darling mum bought it for me as she thought it was 'just a bit of fun'. It was called 'Jane Austen's guide to dating' written by Lauren Henderson, and if I'm honest with you I barely schemed it and raced to the end to complete the 'which Jane Austen character are you?' quiz (Elizabeth Bennet, I thank you). So I'll forgive you for wondering why on earth I would carry on reading 'he's just not that into'. Well, procrastination is a wonderful motivator at times, I can tell you. However, procrastination and self-help aside, this book has turned out to be a genuinely funny read. Who'd have thought?
Greg Behrendt's (author) blunt and at times, brutally harsh explanations as to why a guy is not behaving as you had wished is wonderfully refreshing and actually very witty. He points out, more than once, that men would rather scratch out their own eyeballs than admit to a girl that they just don't like her enough. Men are, in simple, cowards. Greg's words, not mine. However, before we all start quoting Bridget Jones and shouting 'Fuck to the Fuckwittages' from the mountain tops, it's important to remember that men don't lie, of sorts, either. If they are just not that into you, they are probably making it perfectly clear in their actions.
The concept, as you can see, is a beautifully basic one, and one I feel I follow (ninety nine per cent of the time that is), that if a guy isn't calling you, is breaking promises (even the small ones) or even not having sex with you (well, D'oh! on that one!! Really girls) then they are just not that into you. The end. No if's, and's or but's. Ok, so we all know that there are of course exceptions to every rule, however, what are the chances that every single one of us has found a guy who isn't calling us or committing to us who miraculously turns around one day and realises, after you've pointed it out to him, that you are everything he never knew he wanted and decides he does want to spend the rest of his life with you? That you are the exception to the rule or his exception anyway. Slim to none I'm afraid. Therefore, isn't it easier on yourself, and your heart for that matter, to believe that you are simply 'the rule' and move on? I think so. Whether I take Greg's advice on this when it comes to my exception remains to be seen.
Although, I found it difficult to relate to the witty stories sent into Greg, I did find that I really rather related to Liz Tuccillo, the co-author who summarized each chapter. She didn't seem to have any commitment issues herself but she did admit to being attracted to emotionally unavailable men, and boy did I relate to that. There is obviously some characteristic that the emotionally unavailable share that just ticks my boxes. Really, is there any hope for me? I hate to think. Yes, even I, with all my commitment issues can on a very rare occasion fall (or almost) for someone and for someone like me who doesn't put themselves out there all that often it can be all too easy to read far too much into a sign that you wish was there rather than ones that are actually there. I do believe that he's just not that into you might become a most important statement. Let's face it, I'm just not that into so many perfectly adorable men, so why should we be upset when one of them is just not that into us?
So I have decided to listen to Greg and agree with his co-author Liz, and say 'Fuck them all', it really doesn't matter, he's just not that into me. Oddly enough, and I don't quite understand how, it really is quite a confidence boaster.
Can someone please remind me of this the next time I am drunkenly trying to text The Nice One? Much appreciated!
I think you should start calling me Granny Wendy...
Not starting university until the age of 23, I have spent the past three years feeling a wee bit on the old side, however, I have never felt quite so old as I did yesterday during my opticians appointment. And why is this? No, my eyes have not gotten worse fortunately as I haven't been able to read the top line now for many years (tragic! Just tragic), no, for me it's my astigmatism (basically, a refractive error of the eye...) that is diminishing. Why is it that my eyes declining has no effect on me; I cannot see without corrective lenses be them in my actual eye or in the form of glasses anyway, what difference does how little I can see make!? But the adjustment in my astigmatism just makes me feel as if I should start having a blue rinse (a particular favourite of my darling Nanny's). But why is this? Why does an astigmatism feel so much worse? I can only think that my generation simply doesn't discuss things such as astigmatism (and why would we, it doesn't make for thrilling conversation now does it, even if you are struck by it) and coming from a town which has been described by Eddie Izzard as the town 'that people move to to die and forget what they came for', you can imagine the types of conversations I was overhearing as a child. 'Blue rinse' this, 'cataract' that, 'hip replacement' this and oh yes, you guessed it, 'ooooo my astigmatism'.
An astigmatism problem on it's own would seem like nothing but cocktailed with blood tests for an unknown fatiguing syndrome is too much for an over dramatic person to cope with without having constant daydreams of wearing knitted cardigans, saying expression such as 'Good Lord' and 'Crumbs' and having a walking stick...
...Crap, wait. I do own many a knitted item and am forever being teased for my 'Good Lord' 's and 'Crumbs'. So all I would need now is a walking stick and I would fit right in with my old home town folk.
Well I think I should make a stand. A stand for all the young whipper snappers out there that appreciate an outfit made out of wool and some good old fashioned phrases and that just happen to also have an astigmatism which does not allow them to read the bottom line of an opticians board even with corrective lenses (again, just tragic!) Geee Wiz, I think we're top notch and crumbs, it's better than saying 'Oh My Days'...at least our expressions make sense!
But I do draw the line at a blue rinse. Sorry Nanny, I don't really wish to be mistaken for Dame Edna at the age of 26 and frankly, I like my auburn locks too damn much!
An astigmatism problem on it's own would seem like nothing but cocktailed with blood tests for an unknown fatiguing syndrome is too much for an over dramatic person to cope with without having constant daydreams of wearing knitted cardigans, saying expression such as 'Good Lord' and 'Crumbs' and having a walking stick...
...Crap, wait. I do own many a knitted item and am forever being teased for my 'Good Lord' 's and 'Crumbs'. So all I would need now is a walking stick and I would fit right in with my old home town folk.
Well I think I should make a stand. A stand for all the young whipper snappers out there that appreciate an outfit made out of wool and some good old fashioned phrases and that just happen to also have an astigmatism which does not allow them to read the bottom line of an opticians board even with corrective lenses (again, just tragic!) Geee Wiz, I think we're top notch and crumbs, it's better than saying 'Oh My Days'...at least our expressions make sense!
But I do draw the line at a blue rinse. Sorry Nanny, I don't really wish to be mistaken for Dame Edna at the age of 26 and frankly, I like my auburn locks too damn much!
Sunday 8 May 2011
Well, aren't I rubbish...
To my beloved followers,
I am so very sorry that I have well and truly neglated you over the past mouth. In my defense I have been very busy, rather poorly (blood tests are still underway), helping out my very dramatic and heavily pregnant sister with her dance school (I have become her legs) and did I mention I have been really very, very busy!?
I promise from now on that I shall keep posting at more regular intivals and I shall try and ensure that they are as witty as possible to ensure you forgive me quick sharp.
Now I shall be off to write some lovely posts for you all to read (I was even started wirting some in a wee notebook when out and about just to make sure I can write more of my musings for you to enjoy...)
I hope you can forgive me soon...
Yours, Josephine x
I am so very sorry that I have well and truly neglated you over the past mouth. In my defense I have been very busy, rather poorly (blood tests are still underway), helping out my very dramatic and heavily pregnant sister with her dance school (I have become her legs) and did I mention I have been really very, very busy!?
I promise from now on that I shall keep posting at more regular intivals and I shall try and ensure that they are as witty as possible to ensure you forgive me quick sharp.
Now I shall be off to write some lovely posts for you all to read (I was even started wirting some in a wee notebook when out and about just to make sure I can write more of my musings for you to enjoy...)
I hope you can forgive me soon...
Yours, Josephine x
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