Advice to my Teenage Self.

I wouldn’t go as far as to call myself an adult, but I definitely know a lot more about life than I did when I was a teenager.  If time travel was a thing, and I had access to it, and it wasn’t dangerous, and going back in time didn’t mess up the future, I would have some solid advice to give my teenage self.

Molly – Stop being so mad at your parents.  You are their second child, their first daughter.  They have no idea what they’re doing.  They might seem like they do, but they don’t.  They’re trying to do their best to raise you better than their parents raised them, and it’s only natural that they fuck up from time to time.  They push you so hard because they want what’s best for you – They want you to have the things they never did.  At the same time, don’t let them make you feel guilty.  You are your own person and you DO NOT have to agree with everything they say.  You can have your own opinions, but for God’s sake, respect theirs too.

Secondly – Be kind.  The people you think are ‘uncool’ or ‘weird’ are just different.  You don’t have to be their best friend, you just need to understand that they have their own shit going on, and you being dismissive or ignorant towards them is not going to help that. Smile, say hello, ask how they are and listen to their answer – You could have more in common than you think.

Third – Be yourself.  Sometimes it’s necessary to change how you act around people (eg. I know you think swearing is natural but people are offended by it.  Reign it in from time to time) but don’t ever pretend to be something you’re not.  Don’t pretend to like a band because some boy you fancy does.  Don’t lie about your age on the internet.

Fourth – Listen in class.  Education is the most important thing you can have.  It will broaden your horizons and make you more acceptant of people.  If you have all the facts, you see both sides of an argument and will stress a lot less over feeling like you need to pick a side.

Fifth – Fuckboys are a thing.  If a particular guy only wants to be with you when you’re at a party and he’s drunk, but won’t answer your texts during the week – He’s a fuckboy.  Respect yourself.  If a guy talks to another girl and admits later it was to make you jealous – He’s a fuckboy.  If a guy makes you feel insecure, instead of helping you attain a positive image of yourself- He’s a fuckboy and only cares about himself.  If a guy pulls you out of bed and drags you down the stairs because he’s mad – Not only is he a fuckboy, but he’s also an abusive cunt.  You do not have to waste your time and energy on boys who treat you like an object.  And if your heart hurts because of a break up – I can 100% guarantee you will feel better about it in six months (providing you draw a line under the relationship)

Sixth – How you look does not define you.  How you act and what you do is what people will remember.  Sure it’s OK to be proud of your appearance, but don’t let it be the centre of your universe.  Stop counting calories.  This will lead not only to issues that you will spend the rest of your life dealing with, but also decisions which will be the biggest regrets of your life.

Seventh – For the love of God, I know you don’t have much money, but please, please, if you’re going to wear leggings, invest in a pair that you can’t see your pants through.

Eighth – Everything’s gonna be OK.

I Need You!

Well butter me up and call me a biscuit, it’s been a whole freaking year since I started old bloggy here.

Seeing as I’ve been providing you all with such hilarious and thought provoking content once a week(ish) for a full 12 months, I wanted to know – Is there anything you’d like to ask me?

So the comment section on this post (and all other posts) is anonymous. You don’t have to be a member of WordPress to comment, so please feel free to ask whatever your heart desires.  If you don’t mind letting me know your name, you can also get in touch via various social media platforms (Facebook, Instagram, Twitter).

This could be a complete flop and/or total nightmare, but I mean it when I say; Ask me anything.  Dirty, clean, embarrassing, controversial, political, ethical, stupid, intellectual… Other various adjectives – I will answer them.

Next week’s blog is up to you.

Barney’s Story Time: Mumi’s Adventur

Lst week mumi came home frm work nice and early nd I said hello hello hello plz pet me hello hello hello oh god hello.  then I was rely rely bored so i decided to bark nd bark and bark and wine nd wine and wine till she let me come in bed nd get under the big fluffy sleepy warm thing and I had a snooze nd it was nice.

Heres me bein cute bfor walk

Mumi made food for her face hole and but none for mine.  she says I’m greddy but she is. she always eatin eatin eatin food and gives none to me evn thouh i know she not evn hungry, she just a piggy.  I see it go in her face hole, where does it go?  smells so gud, i’m hungry.  So after tht I wasn’t gonna snooze for her no more and be a good boy cuz why not, i wanna go outside.

Mumi always takes years to leav the human kennel  she has skin but puts on other layers like coat, hat, sock, shoes that I’m not allowed to eat so i just bite them and chew them and ok i do eat them sometimes sorri.

i got too excited when mumi got the lead because then i knew we were definately going to the magical place wer i can run run run and pee pee pee and poo.  i ran away frm her and she shouted so i decided to let her put the lead on my necklace evn though it choke me i dont care WE’RE GOIN TO THE PARK.

we got to the park and hooray I’M FREE so i run away and smell all the things i can see and I make sure those other dogs know this is my park.  the trick is to pee on everything.  even if you have no pee left in your willy, just lift ur leg and pretend, the other animals will think youve done a pee and will know the park is urs.

mumi was talkin into that little black thing that her and daddi have nd always look at, so i decided to run away and hide.  i could hear mumi shouting my name but i didn’t mind because there was still plenty of things to smell and pee on.  when mumi found me after 1 whole hour, she smacked my bum then picked me up and squished me and kissed me on the head and called me a bold boy but then said i was a good boy, so i was happi and she was too maybe.

we walked back to the human kennel when mumi said, oh fuck where are my keys, and we had to go around to the back where the adventur is.   there’s loads and loads of rubish at the back because the men who make banging noise at 8am always throw tiles and bricks and pallets and stuff over the wall becuz they r too lazy to hire a skip.  mumi tried to kick in the red door to our house and she looked sososososo mad.  then she tied my rope to a big hunk of wood and stacked up some rubish and wowwowwow climed up the wall and disapeared over into our yard where i poo!!!

the red door opened and i went into my house, but then i did a little sneak wen mumi was washin the blood off her cut hand, so i ran back outside and more adventur for me, see ya later mumi byeee!

more hrs later after mumi was shoutin shoutin shoutin i decided to come home and mumi was sad but she quished me and kissed me again and we watched tv and i ate a bone and humped a cushon and it was a nice day.

I’m Not a Feminist But…

In the wake of International Women’s Day which was on the 8th of March, I do realise I’m a little late to the party, but on the back of last week’s blog I wanted to enlighten you all about how I feel being a woman in 2016.

So if you read last week’s post you’ll know I had an altercation with a bit of a scumbag who abused his position of work to contact me with inappropriate messages. I recently read a post from a FB friend who went through a load of legal shit because some asshole thought it would be funny to show her his penis.  I’m not going to go on about how all men are pigs (because they’re not) however, my old Sociology teacher will be happy to know that I’ve embraced my inner feminist for this post. There are some differences between men and women that I am no longer OK with.

I don’t think it’s OK to make sexist jokes.  I do need to explain this one, because I’m not calling for an outright ban on jokes that poke fun at women.  I have openly laughed at all the ‘Kitchen Sink’ and ‘Why do women have boobs?’ jokes, but this depends on who delivers them and how.  I know my Boyfriend well enough to know he’s not being serious if he makes a sexist joke.  Mum will know I’ll laugh if she makes a joke about inequality.  However, if I met you for the first time five minutes ago and you ask me; “Why do women make better soldiers?” I will have to restrain myself from punching you in the face, because I know the punch-line is; “Because they can bleed for a week and not die.” 

This brings me onto my next point.  (WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT) I don’t think it’s OK that men will never feel period pain. I’ve talked about this with my Boyfriend and he’s replied with something along the lines of, “Well you’ve never got hit in the balls.” But I just don’t see how these things can be compared.  I don’t know if every woman goes through what I do each month (because it’s a weird taboo subject to discuss), but for the first few days leading up to the actual show, I’m incredibly irrational.  I feel fat, ugly, angry, excited, suicidal, horny, magical, sick, bloated, happy, thrilled, depressed.  I feel emotions that don’t have labels.  Then when my actual period arrives, I feel like my uterus has been sawed apart, stitched back together with barbed wire, by an unlicensed doctor in an alleyway with a rusty needle. And I’m uncontrollably leaking blood. And I have to be embarrassed in tescos buying ‘lady products’. And my back hurts.  And I have to get up in the middle of the night.  And it smells weird.  And for some reason, I’m not supposed to talk about it. For 5 days.  All this so we can squeeze a person’s head out of our vage?  And yeah, it is fucking gross but this is once a fucking month for 30 odd years, so honestly, I think I would rather be kicked in the balls.

I don’t think it’s OK that women are expected to smell good all the time.  I’ve never been one for perfume, and the only reason I wear deodorant is so that I don’t sweat.  I’m not dissing nice smelling things, but when did smell get sexist?  Why is there a man’s fragrance and a women’s fragrance?  Surely if you think it smells nice, you should wear it. So what if it’s blue? This applies to men too.  You like the smell of strawberries?  Who doesn’t! No one is going to call you out for smelling like a fucking dream.  And if they do, that’s OK too because that’s their opinion and they’re entitled to have it.  You’re entitled to disagree.  That’s how life works.

Lastly, because this is becoming a bit too ranty for my liking, I don’t think it’s OK that women’s eyebrows are so important.  I love doing and wearing make-up, but what is with this recent obsession with eyebrows?  Why have I become so obsessed with them? Why do I look at other girls and feel JEALOUS of the hair above their eyes?  That hair is there to stop sweat from dripping off your forehead and clouding your vision! And yet I feel like Picasso if I manage to do them well.  Why do I have to have works of art when men can just have natural sweat-defenders?

Being a woman is pretty uncool.

Advice from St Valentine

As we all know, the most important day of the entire year is coming up.  Valentines’ Day! This is the day that our partner is absolutely obliged to spend the most amount of money on us, the day that our minds are finally read and our dreams come true.

If you are single, this blog is not for you.  You shouldn’t even be clicking something with the word ‘Valentine’ in the title.  You should be at home alone with your cats, were you belong forever because no one likes you.

I’m gonna start off with some advice for men because obviously they need it most –

1. If it doesn’t cost money, do not give it to her.  If you haven’t spent your hard earned money on something, it’s not worth our time.
2. If it’s not pink, red, or have hearts on it, your girlfriend will not like it.
3. All females like chocolate, so no matter how many times they tell you they’re on a diet, you must buy it for them.  Women love feeling terrible about themselves and going to the gym.
4. If you really love your other half, you will get the biggest, most expensive card in the shop.  Ensure you get this from Hallmark or Urban Outfitters – Tesco cards will not do.  
5. Get a ridiculously large teddy – Every female out there loves big, elaborate, mortifying gifts.  Please do not make the mistake of giving it to us in the privacy of our own home.  You must give it to us in the most public setting you can fathom.  Middle of the shopping centre?  Perfect.
6. Send flowers to work.  We all love when we get the phone call from the front office saying that there’s a gift for us.  The only thing we love more than getting the call is carrying the flowers back to our desk.
7. Buy us a holiday.  Expect to pay for everything on said holiday because YOU bought it for US, and that’s included in the present.
8. Take us shopping.  Tell us to get whatever we want.  Do not dare make a face when you see the bill at Karl Lagerfeld.
9. Make a bath filled with rose petals.  Every girl on the planet loves the smell of roses and has time for a bath in the middle of the day.
10. If all else fails – Propose with the most expensive ring you cannot afford.  Bitches love weddings.

Advice for girls –

1.  If you make it through the day, you must make him a sandwich the very next day.  If he doesn’t follow the above steps – End it. Thems the rules for happiness.

 

 

P.S – JK.

 

 

 

 

Friends Required: Apply Within

 

I have always been terrible at making friends.  When I first started school, I hated the other children so much that I insisted I stayed with Mrs Fegan, the cleaner.  She tactically convinced me into painting something one day, and when I turned my back she had sneaked away to get on with her duties.  I cried for the rest of the day.  I was shit at being a child.

Remember the Wendy house in the corner of the classroom that every school had?  I was extremely intimidated by other girls and the friendships they had so easily formed, so I didn’t step foot in the Wendy house till my Mum was late one day and all the other pupils had left.  My brother Harry played with me while my Mum and Mrs O’Connor talked. He stole a plastic onion and we laughed all the way home.

I did have friends eventually, but not until I was around 10.  These are happy memories, but I distinctly remember spending all or most of my time trying to impress them.  I was (and admittedly still am) extremely needy and over-protective, so if someone even indicated they were trying to steal my best friend, they were going down.  I’m not proud to say I was a bit of a bully in my final year of primary school.

The tables really turned in secondary school.  I learned the hard way that being a teenage girl is just the worst.  I had formed group of new ‘best friends’ who dumped me out of the blue one day because they just didn’t want me around anymore. Poof.  I was sitting there one day, offering up my gummy strawberries, and the next thing I know I’m at the back of the classroom alone and crying again.  It didn’t end there though, because they insisted on harassing me on MSN messenger and via text.  One girl in particular was relentless.  I’m not going to name names but lets’ call her Cunty McCunterson.  If anyone treated my sisters the way that she treated me, there is no doubt I would have the police involved. Can you tell I’m still bitter?  Yeah, I’m still bitter.

Fast forward a few years, to when I really was happy.  Truly happy.  I had friends that I loved and I thought I was set for life.  I still had issues with trust, but I finally felt like I could be myself. They meant more to me than my family.  In the end, I relied on them so much I took advantage of them and eventually they left me too. I blamed them for abandoning me, telling myself that if they had of loved me, they would have stayed.  I realise now that they actually gave me loads of chances to be a better friend, and I fucked each one up entirely.  I was never a bad person, I just made some really bad choices.

I told myself for a long time that I was better off alone.  I shut off from everyone and was drifting through life with the mantra that I didn’t care about anyone, and I eventually stopped caring about myself too.  Some people scraped the surface and made me feel like my old self (shout out to my sister, KD, KOH and JC) but in the end I knew I would let them down too.  So I shut them out as well.

*Cue violins* When I met Gareth, a part of me changed.  I wanted to do things differently. So I did. From the very beginning he meant something more to me, so I told him everything; what I had done and who I had let down, why I hated myself as a person and why I felt everyone hated me.  I told him I wanted to change and he believed me. For the first time in a long time he reminded me what it was like not to be so alone.

Being a newly reformed 24 year old is not ideal for making friends.  It’s not like school where you’re socially forced to talk to people.  The thought of voluntarily entering a communal situation like a yoga class or asking someone out on a girl-date is more horrifying than that first day of Primary School.  Truth is, I have no idea how to make friends any more. I wish it was as easy as messaging someone and saying “Hey you seem cool, wanna hang out?” But I’m nervous around girls.  I laugh at my own jokes and create awkward silences. I pretend to be cool and pretty when really; I haven’t showered in a week.  I run away from conversation but get jealous if you have other friends.  

 

The changes I’ve been trying to make this year have influenced this blog.  I need positive people around me.  Everyone is worthy of friends, and I need to stop being so scared of having them.

Baked Vanilla Cheesecake.

If someone asked me what my signature dish was, it would be this. Baked Vanilla Cheesecake. This recipe makes a massive cheesecake, perfect for this time of year if you have a big family or, (like Boyfriend and I) are greedy pigs. Be patient with this cheesecake, it’s quick to put together but it does require a lot of chillin’.

This is not healthy in any shape or form, but if like me, you like deserts that are sweet, sticky, dense and creamy, then this is the one for you. If you think deserts can be healthy… You should leave now. I made this recipe up, but will do my best to be specific with measurements.

You will need;

For the base;

200g packet of Digestives

200g packet of Hobnobs

Half a block of butter

Half a jar of peanut butter

Sharing bar of galaxy chocolate (optional)

A pinch of salt

For the filling;

1 tub of full fat cream cheese

1 tub of full fat mascarpone cheese

1 can of condensed milk

80mls of double cream

Vanilla extract or vanilla seeds (don’t use Vanilla flavouring)

Tablespoon of corn flour

6 Eggs

Zest of half a lemon

Method for the base;

To start, turn your oven on to 150 C. Put on a pan of water and bring to the boil. Meanwhile, put the base ingredients (apart from the biscuits) into a bowl to melt over the pan of water. Don’t be tempted to use a microwave for this, it will not work.

Whilst they’re in the bowl warming up and being friends, crush your biscuits and add your pinch of salt. Get the biscuits as fine as you can, but don’t worry if you have lumps (these can make the base taste better).

Add in all the melted ingredients and mix together. It should look like wet sand. If you think it looks to dry, add more melted butter and apologise to your cholesterol.

Put this mixture into a nonstick springform cake tin and bake for around 30minutes and then lick the spoon and bowl.

Method for the filling;

This isn’t too difficult. Start by adding your condensed milk, two types of cheese and double cream. I recommend whisking this together for a while so it becomes a bit more loose.

Add your eggs, zest of lemon, vanilla and sieve in the cornflour.

Whisk this together for a good 5-7minutes until it’s all the same colour/no lumps etc.

Take the base out of the oven. It might still look crumbly but don’t worry, the baking will make it stronger.

This is important; wrap the bottom 3/4 of the cake tin in 3 or 4 layers of tin foil and put it on top of a tray of about 5cm of water. This is a Bain Marie and will steam and help circulate the hot air around your cheesecake.

Put this back in the oven THEN pour the filling in. This is a lot easier because you won’t be wobbling all over the place trying to make it to the oven.

Bake for a grand total of 1hour and 40 minutes. But! Don’t take it out of the oven yet. Just open the door and let it sit there for another hour. This it to prevent the top cracking.

Take it out and make sure it has cooled down completely before putting it in the fridge.

You’ll have to leave it in the fridge for at least 12 hours (sorry) but 24 hours is ideal.

Feel free to add your own bits and bobs on top, maybe some fresh berries or a coulis. Something bitter to counteract the sweetness is good.

If you try it, let me know how it goes and what you think!

Sun, Bums and Thanks.

Isn’t it amazing how brilliant the sun makes you feel?  I am undeniably a sun worshiper, nothing makes me more irritated than being cold for a prolonged period of time.

Ireland definitely does not boast the best weather, but Belfast this week has been glorious!  When it’s good, it is so good.  G and I went to Botanic Park last week with Barney and lay in the sun drinking beer.  Everything was beatific.  Even when Barney knocked over a toddler and ate a sausage roll from a strangers’ picnic.

There is something about having real heat from the sun that makes you feel there’s something to anticipate, like a friend you haven’t seen in a long time is home, or that tingly feeling you have when you just know you’re going to have a good night out

I feel more positive than I have done for a long time.  After my last post, I wiled away an irrational amount of time contemplating my own happiness, despite it being one of my most enjoyable posts to write so far.  Now that I’ve shaken that off and seen the light, I have so many things to look forward to!  The countdown to our holidays in France has begun, notwithstanding the eternal struggle convincing myself not to go shopping for ‘holiday clothes’ I don’t need, I’m pretty content with sitting back enjoying the time flow by between then and now.

Something I have been struggling with lately is the insistent pressure I’m putting on myself to “eat clean”.  Where did this term come from?  “Fit-not-thin” is another thing I’m seeing flung around internet blogs and those dedicated to providing ‘fitspiration’.  Back in my day it was ‘thinspiration’.  Why is there a constant drive at young women to be something else, something more?  A recent survey showed that 16-25 year old’s spend an average of 16 minutes and 7 attempts to take the illusive ‘perfect selfie’…. That’s kinda sad.  Not that I don’t take the aforementioned selfie, I just don’t spend 20 minutes a day taking one that only I truly care about and no one else will see.

On a different note, anal glands.  No…  Not mine.  Barney has been having issues with his.  This is totally common (apparently) in dogs, but also totally gross.  It cost £53.18 for some worming tablets and a certain procedure I do not want to get into.  Let’s just say, Barney has a sensitive bum does not like the vet. Tips for dog owners – If your dog is chasing his tail, OK, cute and funny at the start, but it’s probably because they can’t get a satisfying scratch at their ass.

I also wanted to encourage a little more interaction from the people who read this blog  – I honestly found it really hard to write this week.  I’m planning a whole lot of nothing for the next few days (apart from “clean eating” BBQ food and UV rays), but would love if I got some ideas or topics to engage in.

Last week I was chuffed to have over 200 views.  I know this is a drop in the ocean in terms of internet popularity, but I was utterly thrilled.  I really wanted to thank those who have taken the time to click on the WordPress link I share on Twitter or Facebook, and actually making it to the end of my posts.

The Problem with Unidentified Sadness.

Why is it that there’s times in life when you can’t be happy?  I’m not talking about those who suffer from a mental health issues like manic depression or bipolar disorder.  I’m talking about the inexplicable times where you sit back and admit to yourself that you’re just sad.

I have read and laughed at a number of articles online that have highlighted the differences between men and women.  One of my personal favourites is the picture of a man and woman in bed, obviously a couple, lying with their backs to each other.  They’re both awake and look deep in thought.  The woman is thinking something along the lines of; 

“Why doesn’t he love me anymore?  Why hasn’t he spoken to me in days?  Did I do something?  Should I change for him? Is it because I put on 2lbs?”

At the same time he’s staring into the distance thinking, “Why wouldn’t the car start last Thursday?”

I am not saying that men are emotionally vacant, which this article implied.  I am questioning why I am emotionally plagued.  This might be an entry I do not want my boyfriend to read after what I’m about to admit, but sometimes, I am downright insane.  

My boyfriend is my best friend, and we get along pretty much all of the time. I do feel sorry for him however, when I get the dreaded ‘unidentified sad’. There’s been a time where he’s come home from work and went into the kitchen instead of coming in and saying hello to me first.  This has upset me.  

He’s good at telling if I’m distressed because he asks, “Why you wee sourpuss face?” Which makes me laugh, then become more annoyed because he’s not taking my feelings seriously.  I become increasingly pugnacious with every word he says.  I’m a wee sourpuss face because I feel like being a wee sourpuss face.  Why won’t he leave me alone?  But he better not DARE leave me alone, not without fixing my non-existent problem of ‘unidentified sad’. He better sit there under my baleful stare.  But he better not look me in the eye. Or use a certain tone of voice.  Or sit less than six inches away from me. Or hug me for more than 10 seconds. Or stand up.  Or sit down.  Or breathe.

Let’s face it, when I have ‘unidentified sad’, that poor man is fucked.

When I was younger and my parents used to fight, they would bitch behind each other’s back to my siblings and me.  My mum would complain my dad never listened or took hints, and my dad would complain my mum should see a brain doctor.  I told myself when I was in a serious relationship I would just TELL my partner what was wrong rather than have them guess.  I was good at this at the start, but there came to be a point in our relationship where I just felt he should know.  He should know things, like I know that he’s looking for his keys.  He should know I’m mad that he didn’t text me first, like I know he’s mad because he’s hungry.  He should know what to get me in the shop even when I don’t know what I want.

My literary effusions are in jest, but in the past I have been in a very dark place.  I worry when ‘unidentified sad’ lingers with me throughout the day like a gloomy dark cloud.  I have found the best way to extinguish this feeling is by embracing it.  I let it get to its worst, and then I let it go.  Sometimes I need to be sad.  It’s wrong for me to labour myself with the delusion that everything is consistently rosy, because periodically (and realistically), it isn’t.

There are things that keep ‘unidentified sad’ away – spending quality time with my boyfriend (phones away and wine poured), my dog when he’s being a good boy, talking to my dad on the phone (mum too when she’s in a good mood), seeing my brother and sisters, food, knitting, exercise, painting my nails or doing my make-up, writing, breakfast in bed (despite crumbs), reading, watching cooking programs, or just sitting thinking.  

What helps me most is realizing that I am not alone.  I had a comment about my last post from a girl I haven’t spoken to in years, who told me she agreed with everything I had written and really enjoyed my blog so far.  I’m always solicitous to cultivate opinions so I was touched, her small act of appreciation brought a golf-ball shaped lump of emotion into my throat.  Just to know someone can identify with me as a person, makes fighting my own ‘unidentified sad’ seem perfectly perfunctory.