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.

Things That Need to Leave.

Avocados need to leave.  Stop being pretentious, creamy, disgusting mush.  You’re not a substitute for butter, you’re not good with eggs, you feel weird in my mouth, you’re only ever over or under ripe, and you have to go.

Zoos need to leave.  Ever went to a zoo as an adult and felt happy?  Maybe it’s because I’ve been researching veganism (and they’re all pretty mental), but lately, I can’t ever imagine why I ever enjoyed a zoo.  If people think animals don’t have emotions, go to a zoo.  These are creatures in environments that they were never supposed to be in.  And for those who say – ‘They don’t know any better’ – Maybe they don’t, but why does that matter? Zoos need to leave.

Ghosts need to leave.  They need to leave reality.  Ghosts don’t exist.  They exist in movies, but in real life, ghosts are born from over active imaginations and tricks of the eye.  A ghost is not going to visit me and tell me I’m wrong about this.  Buildings are not haunted, the dead don’t leave their spirit behind, a Physic can’t tell your future and angels aren’t watching you.

Donald Trump needs to leave.  That blonde-haired, racist, homophobic, chauvinistic, idiotic, money grabbing, small minded pig of a man not only needs to leave, he needs to get the fuck out.  I’m not interested in his politics or policies, or his self-absorbed idea to “make America great again”, he is a backwards thinking piece of shit that needs to pack up his things and leave.

Money needs to leave.  Money is like the person who comes into your house and doesn’t take off their coat or sit down because they don’t wanna stay too long.  I’ve had enough of it.  I either have loads of it for a second, or none of it for a year, and either way I’m not happy.  The past year I have spent struggling to make it to the end of the month, constantly having to borrow off my fiancé (hehehe that’s the first time I’ve referred to him as fiancé) or my parents, and it makes me feel really scummy.  Yes, I could be better at spending but I really love make-up, drinking and food. Money needs to come in and sit down and leave when I tell  it to.

Decisions need to leave.  I am officially the worst person ever at making a decision.  How am I going to go about planning a wedding?  I’m so afraid of offending someone or someone disagreeing with me, that I’d rather just not try at all.  The one decision I’ve made about the wedding so far?  I’m definitely marrying Gareth.  And there will be no avocados served, no animals exploited, no ghosts, no Donald Trump and no money spent.

 

Just kidding, there is going to be so much money spent.

 

 

Things that Drive me Mildly Insane.

 

Let’s face it; most of us will never be 100% sane. In a weird way, I’m kinda proud of being a bit ‘cookie’.  There’s something endearing about a weirdo.

This being said, there are some small tribulations in life that push me closer into the realm of complete nutjob.  

My first one is to do with breakfast.  I pretty much always have porridge and banana for breakfast but every-so often, if I’m not completely starving, I’ll boil some eggs and have eggs on toast. What drives me mildly insane about having eggs on toast, is when you get those shitty eggs that you can’t peel.  Bear with me, because this is kind of difficult to explain.  You have to have experienced the shitty egg before you can really grasp how irritating this is.  Most of the time, when you peel an egg you crack the shell and get that silky skin underneath.  This helps lift the hard shell off.  Sometimes the egg white sticks to the shell and you spend an inappropriate amount of time going around the egg trying to find the silky skin so you can get the shell off easily, in big pieces. If you get a shitty egg, you end up losing most of the white, which, albeit may not the best part – but I don’t want to be short changed.  I want the egg to toast ratio to be equal. 

On a similar note, and equally as strange, are oranges.  I generally like oranges, but it drives me mad when I spend a lot of time peeling one, only to find it tastes like total dirt.  It’s not the taste that annoys me; it’s the effort I made getting there.

I know that most people find rude people irritating.  I also know that people are entitled to be rude, as everyone has bad days where even the sight of another person makes you want to scratch their eyes out.  I understand.  However, if you are employed in a job where most of your day is spent dealing with the public, you should not be rude.  It’s OK to be angry, but it’s not OK to be cruel.  I went to an orthodontist a few years ago, she had a receptionist who was the meanest person I’ve ever met.  My Mum and I would walk into the reception and she wouldn’t even look up to greet us.  That’s basic human behaviour. So we stand there for a good five minutes she asked us if we had an appointment.  Of course I have an appointment; you booked it for me last week. I’d been coming there for a year or more and she was still pretending not to know my name.  She was rude to everyone, like they were doing her a great disservice for needing braces. Everyone who spoke to her had that WhatTheHellDidIDo face. How did she even get that job? What happened in your life that makes you hate people that much? To this day, I regret not standing up for myself.  She’s still driving me mildly insane.

Next, I know I talk a lot about how much I love my dog, because I really really do.  However, he can really annoy me. Is this what it’s like to have children?  Like, you love them but have flashes of rage where you actually have to stop yourself from strangling them?  I would never ever hurt Barney, but when he chases his tail or eats my make-up brushes, or barks insistently at absolutely nothing, I can physically feel anger rising inside me.  I’ve found myself screaming at him things like “JUST STOP BEING BOLD!” or “WHY BARNEY WHY?!”. I had a friend over last week (oooh friend) and he thought the chasing the tail was funny for about 30 seconds then said “Yeah I can see this getting annoying”

The last thing that has driven me mildly insane this week has been the general reaction to Stephen Fry’s ‘Bag Lady’ comment at the BAFTAs.  I read comments about him being sexist, ignorant, judgemental, disgusting, rude… The list goes on.  Stephen Fry has had to deal with a lot in the past.  His comments were about a personal friend who, let’s face it, was dressed like the pigeon lady in Home Alone – should not be something he has to answer to.  

There are real villains in this world like dirt oranges, cruel people, untrained dogs and shitty eggs. Stephen Fry is a hero.

Owning a Dog: Pros and Cons

When I asked my parents should I get a dog for Christmas, their response went something like; “No Molly, dear God, no.”  This isn’t because they didn’t like dogs, (in fact, my Grandad bred them when my mum was growing up) they responded like this because if there’s anyone that knows my flaws, it’s my parents.  Me?  Be responsible for something’s life?  Oh the horror.

They said I wouldn’t be able to look after it, it’d be too hard to train, and it would be unfair on the dog.  I agreed with them at the time, but continued to research breeds anyway because I’ve never listened to a word my parents say.

I bought Barney off a man in the car park of a hotel on Boxing Day.  This, I do not recommend.  Despite being the sweetest thing I’d ever seen, Barney was not a healthy puppy.  My heart broke slightly when I had to choose between him and his brother, and to this day I regret not taking both of them.  Within five minutes of having Barney in the car, he took a poo, and I knew then that I loved him, because I wasn’t even mad.

Barney was a Christmas gift for Boyfriend, who always loved dogs.  He had no idea what I’d done and I was nervous when I heard him coming home the day after Christmas.  I put Barney in a box and put a sheet of festive wrapping paper over him.  True to form, when Boyfriend came into the living room, Barney had jumped out of the box and peed on the rug.

The first, and probably the strongest Pro to owning a dog is that they are ALWAYS happy to see you.  When you’ve had the most terrible day at work, nothing is better than being greeted by your dog when you first come through the door.  It’s as if you’ve died and have been raised again. I’m convinced he thinks the last time he sees you go out the door was the last time he’ll see you ever. If your very presence can make a dogs tail wag at lightning speed, you’re doing something right.

Con.  Dogs don’t really like dog food.  Every morning when I come home from work I go to the kitchen to make breakfast.  Every morning Barney stands beside me waiting, hoping against all hope that I drop some food on the floor.  If either Boyfriend or I are eating in the living room, Barney becomes entranced, with one eye on your plate and the other hypnotised by the chewing motion of your jaw.  It’s as though he hasn’t eaten in days, despite having a full bowl of his own food in the kitchen.  Last Christmas, I made a ham.  Once the ham was finished, we had no where to put the stock and the vegetables left in the pot, so we poured it outside.  Obviously this attracted the dog, so we put up a fence.  To this day, Barney still tries to get over the fence to eat what’s left of last year’s Christmas ham.

Pro. Dogs are great conversation starters and ice-breakers.  People are just friendlier when you have a dog.  Dogs are funny, they do funny things.  When I take Barney to the park, everyone wants to chat because he’s there.  Once, after we first got Barney, Boyfriend and I were having a fight, and it was getting pretty serious. Barney trots in and squats to take a poo, proceeding to do this weird squat-walk across the living room.  What had happened was; he had eaten some string. He’d pooed most of it out but the rest was yet to be liberated, so he was just walking around with a dangling bit of poo on the end of a string coming out of his rear.  Boyfriend and I were hysterical, the row forgotten.

Con.  Cleaning up after your dog.  I’m not just talking about string-poo, but pee, vomit, rocks he brings into the house, half eaten toilet roll holders, half eaten books, half eaten Xbox controllers, half eaten clothes (including dressing gowns, shoes, socks, pans and bras) not to mention the amount of hair he sheds.  We have a black rug, and with a white fluffy dog…  Well we need a new rug now.

Pro. Dogs enjoy the simple things.  Barney needs food, walks, water and love.  That’s it. How I wish I could be made so happy so easily.

I had more cons drafted to write about but now that I come to it, they’re not cons at all.  Of course there are little things that annoy me but there is nothing I would change about Barney.  He might be bold and extremely irritating sometimes, but that’s all part of his little personality.  I never thought I’d say this, but I am now a ‘dog person’ thanks to my little scruffy ball of joy.  If you’re considering getting a dog for Christmas, please make sure you can look after it properly. Do your research, prepare your house, but most of all, make sure you can love it as much as we love Barney.

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.